THE SLEEPING BEAUTY 

There were once a King and Queen who had no children, though they had been married for many years. At last, however, a little daughter was born to them, and this was a matter of great rejoicing through all the kingdom.

When the time came for the little Princess to be christened, a grand feast was prepared, and six powerful fairies were asked to stand as her godmothers. Unfortunately the Queen forgot to invite the seventh fairy, who was the most powerful of them all, and was also very wicked and malicious.

On the day of the christening the six good fairies came early, in chariots drawn by butterflies, or by doves or wrens or other birds. They were made welcome by the King and Queen, and after some talk they were led to the hall where the feast had been set out. Everything there was very magnificent. There were delicious fruits and meats and pastries and game and everything that could be thought of. The dishes were all of gold, and for each fairy there was a goblet cut from a single precious stone. One was a diamond, one a sapphire, one a ruby, one an emerald, one an amethyst, and one a topaz. The fairies were delighted with the beauty of everything. Even in their own fairy palaces they had no such goblets as those the King had had made for them.

They were just about to take their places at the table when a great noise was heard outside on the terrace. The Queen looked from the window and almost fainted at the sight she saw. The bad fairy had arrived. She had come uninvited, and the Queen guessed that it was for no good that she came. Her chariot was of black iron, and was drawn by four dragons with flaming eyes and brass scales. The fairy sprang from her chariot in haste, and came tapping into the hall with her staff in her hand.

“How is this? How is this?” she cried to the Queen. “Here all my sisters have been invited to come and bring their gifts to the Princess, and I alone have been forgotten.”

The Queen did not know what to answer. She was frightened. However, she tried to hide her fear, and made the seventh fairy as welcome as the others. A place was set for her at the King’s right hand, and he and the Queen tried to pretend they had expected her to come. But for her there was no precious goblet, and when she saw the ones that had been given to the six other fairies her face grew green with envy, and her eyes flashed fire. She ate and drank, but she said never a word.

After the feast the little Princess was brought into the room, and she smiled so sweetly and looked so innocent that only a wicked heart could have planned evil against her.

The first fairy took the child in her arms and said, “My gift to the Princess shall be that of contentment, for contentment is better than gold.”

“Yet gold is good,” said the second fairy, “and I will give her the gift of wealth.”

“Health shall be hers,” said the third, “for wealth is of little use without it.”

“And I,” said the fourth, “will gift her with beauty to win all hearts.”

“And wit to charm all ears,” said the fifth. “That is my gift to her.”

The sixth fairy hesitated, and in that moment the wicked one stepped forward. While the others had spoken she had been swelling with spite like a toad. “And I say,” cried she, “that in her seventeenth year she shall prick her finger with a spindle and fall dead.”

When the Queen heard this she shrieked aloud, and the King grew as pale as death. But the sixth fairy stepped forward.

“Wait a bit,” said she. “I have not spoken yet. I cannot undo what our sister has done, but I say that the Princess shall not really die. She shall fall into a deep sleep that shall last a hundred years, and all in the castle shall sleep with her. At the end of that time she shall be awakened by a kiss.”

When the wicked fairy heard this she was filled with rage, but she had already spoken; she could do no more. She rushed out of the castle and jumped into her chariot, and the dragons carried her away, and where she went no one either knew nor cared.

The other fairies also went away, and they were sad because of what was to happen to the Princess.

But at once the King gave orders that every spinning-wheel and spindle in the land should be destroyed, and when this was done he felt quite happy again. For if all the spindles were gone the Princess could not prick her finger with one; and if she did not prick her finger she would not fall into the enchanted sleep.

So the King and Queen were at peace, and all went well in the castle for seventeen years. All that the fairies had promised to the Princess came true. She was so beautiful that she was the wonder of all who saw her, and so witty and gentle-hearted that everyone loved her. Beside this she had health, wealth, and contentment, and was smiling and joyous from morn till night.

One day the King and Queen went away on a journey, and the Princess took it into her head to mount to a high tower where she had never been before, and to watch for their return from there.

She found the stairs that led to the tower, and then she mounted them, up and up and up, until she was high above the roofs of the castle. At last she reached the very top of the tower, and there was an iron door with a rusty key in it.

The Princess turned the key and the door swung open. Beyond she saw a room, and an old, old, wrinkled woman sat there at a wheel spinning.

The Princess had never seen a spinning-wheel before. It seemed a curious thing to her. She went in and stood close to the old woman so as to see it better.

“What is that you are doing?” she asked.

“I am spinning,” answered the old woman.

“And what is that little thing that flies around so fast?”

“That is a spindle.”

“It is a curious little thing,” said the Princess, and she reached out her hand to touch it. Then the point of the spindle pricked her finger, and at once the Princess sighed, and her eyes closed, and she sank back on a couch in a deep sleep.

Immediately a silence fell also upon all in the castle. The King and Queen had just returned from their journey; they had alighted from their horses and had entered the castle, and just then sleep fell upon them. The courtiers who followed them also fell asleep. The dogs and horses in the courtyard slept, and the pigeons on the eaves. The boy who turned the spit in the kitchen slept and the cook did not scold him, for she too was asleep. The meat did not burn, for the fire was sleeping. Even the flies in the castle and the bees among the flowers hung motionless. All slept.

Then all about the castle sprang up an enchanted forest that shut it in like a wall. The forest grew so dark and high that at last not even the top-most tower of the castle could be seen.

But though the Princess slept she was not forgotten. Many brave princes and heroes came and tried to cut their way through the forest to rescue her, but the boughs and branches were as hard as iron, and moreover as fast as they were cut away they grew again; also they were twisted so closely together that no one could creep between them. Then as years passed by, the brave heroes who had sought the Princess grew old and had children of their own. These, too, grew to be men and married, and at last the Princess was forgotten by all, or was remembered only as an old tale.

At last a hundred years had slipped away, and then a young and handsome Prince came by that way. He had been hunting, and he had ridden so fast and eagerly that he had left his huntsmen far behind. Now he was hot and weary, and seeing a hut he stopped and asked for a drink of water.

The man who lived in the hut was very old. He brought the water the Prince asked for, and after the Prince had drank, he sat awhile and looked about him. “What is that darkness, like a cloud, that I see over yonder?” he asked.

“I cannot tell you for sure,” said the old man, “for it is a long distance away and I have never gone to see. But my grandfather told me once that it was an enchanted forest. He said there was a castle hidden deep in the midst of it, and that in that castle lay a Princess asleep. That Princess, so he said, was the most beautiful Princess in all the world, but a spell had been laid on her, and she was to sleep a hundred years. At the end of that time a Prince was to come and waken her with a kiss.”

“And how long has she slept now?” asked the Prince, and his heart beat in his breast like a bird.

“That I cannot say,” answered the old man, “but a long, long time. My grandfather was an old man when he told me, and he could not remember her.”

The Prince thanked the old man for what he had told him, and then he rode away toward the enchanted forest, and he could not go fast enough, he was in such haste.

When he was at a distance from the forest, it looked like a dark cloud, but as he came nearer it began to grow rosy. All the boughs and briers had begun to bud. By the time he was close to them they were in full flower, and when he reached the edge of the forest the branches divided, leaving an open path before him. Along this path the Prince rode and before long he came to the palace. He entered the courtyard and looked about him wondering. The dogs lay sleeping in the sunshine and never wakened at his coming. The horses stood like statues. The guards slept leaning on their arms.

The Prince dismounted and went on into the palace; on he went through one room after another, and no one woke to stop nor stay him. At last he came to the stairway that led to the tower and he went on up it, — up and up, as the Princess had done before him. He reached the tower-room, and then he stopped, and stood amazed. There on the couch lay a maiden more beautiful than he had ever dreamed of. He could scarcely believe there was such beauty in the world. He looked and looked and then he stooped and kissed her.

The Sleeping Beauty

 

At once — on the moment — all through the castle sounded the hum of waking life. The King and Queen, down in the throne-room stirred and rubbed their eyes. The guards started from sleep. The horses stamped, the dogs sprang up barking. The meat in the kitchen began to burn, and the cook boxed the boy’s ears. The courtiers smiled and bowed and simpered.

Up in the tower the Princess opened her eyes, and as soon as she saw the Prince she loved him. He took her hand and raised her from the couch. “Will you be my own dear bride?” said he. And the Princess answered yes.

And so they were married with great rejoicings, and the six fairies came to the wedding and brought with them gifts more beautiful than ever were seen before. As for the seventh fairy, if she did not burst with spite she may be living still. But the Prince and Princess lived happily forever after.

Jack and his mother lived all alone in a little hut with a garden in front of it, and they had nothing else in the world but a cow named Blackey.

One time Blackey went dry; not a drop of milk would she give. “See there now!” said the mother. “If Blackey doesn’t give us milk we can’t afford to keep her. You’ll have to take her off to market, Jack, and sell her for what you can get.”

Jack was sorry that the little cow had to be sold, but he put a halter around her neck and started off with her.

He had not gone far, when he met a little old man with a long gray beard.

“Well, Jack,” said the little old man, “where are you taking Blackey this fine morning?”

Jack was surprised that the stranger should know his name, and that of the cow, too, but he answered politely, “Oh, I am taking her to market to sell her.”

“There is no need for you to go as far as that,” said the little old man, “for I will buy her from you for a price.”

“What price would you give me?” asked Jack, for he was a sharp lad.

“Oh, I will give you a handful of beans for her,” said the old man.

“No, no,” Jack shook his head. “That would be a fine bargain for you; but it is not beans but good silver money that I want for my cow.”

“But wait till you see the beans,” said the old man; and he drew out a handful of them from his pocket. When Jack saw them his eyes sparkled, for they were such beans as he had never seen before. They were of all colors, red and green and blue and purple and yellow, and they shone as though they had been polished. But still Jack shook his head. It was silver pieces his mother wanted, not beans.

“Then I will tell you something further about these beans,” said the man. “This is such a bargain as you will never strike again; for these are magic beans. If you plant them they will grow right up to the sky in a single night, and you can climb up there and look about you if you like.”

When Jack heard that he changed his mind, for he thought such beans as that were worth more than a cow. He put Blackey’s halter in the old man’s hand, and took the beans and tied them up in his handkerchief and ran home with them.

His mother was surprised to see him back from market so soon.

“Well, and have you sold Blackey?” she asked.

Yes, Jack had sold her.

“And what price did you get for her?”

Oh, he got a good price.

“But how much? How much? Twenty-five dollars? Or twenty? Or even ten?”

Oh, Jack had done better than that. He had sold her to an old man down there at the turn of the road for a whole handful of magic beans; and then Jack hastened to untie his handkerchief and show the beans to his mother.

But when the widow heard he had sold the cow for beans she was ready to cry for anger. She did not care how pretty they were, and as to their being magic beans she knew better than to believe that. She gave Jack such a box on the ears that his head rang with it, and sent him up to bed without his supper, and the beans she threw out of the window.

The next morning when Jack awoke he did not know what had happened. All of the room was dim and shady and green, and there was no sky to be seen from the window, — only greenness.

He slipped from bed and looked out, and then he saw that one of the magic beans had taken root in the night and grown and grown until it had grown right up to the sky. Jack leaned out of the window and looked up and he could not see the top of the vine, but the bean-stalk was stout enough to bear him, so he stepped out onto it and began to climb.

He climbed and he climbed until he was high above the roof-top and high above the trees. He climbed till he could hardly see the garden down below, and the birds wheeled about him and the wind swayed the bean-stalk. He climbed so high that after awhile he came to the sky country, and it was not blue and hollow as it looks to us down here below. It was a land of flat green meadows and trees and streams, and Jack saw a road before him that led straight across the meadows to a great tall gray castle.

Jack set his feet in the road and began to walk toward the castle.

He had not gone far when he met a lovely lady, and she was a fairy, though Jack did not know it.

“Where are you going, Jack?” she asked.

“I’m going to yonder castle to have a look at it,” said Jack.

“That is well,” said the lady, “only you must be careful how you poke about there, for that castle belongs to a very fierce and rich and terrible giant: and now I will tell you something: all the riches he has used to belong to your father; the giant stole them from him, so if you can fetch anything away with you it will be a right and fair thing.”

Jack thanked her for what she told him, and then he went on, setting one foot before the other.

After awhile he came to the castle, and there was a woman sweeping the steps, and she was the giant’s wife.

When she saw Jack she looked frightened. “What do you want here?” she cried. “Be off with you before my husband comes home, for if he finds you here it will be the worse for you I can tell you.”

“Yes, yes, I know”; said Jack, “but I’ve had no breakfast, and I’m like to drop I’m so hungry. Just give me a bite to stay my stomach and I’ll be off.” The giant’s wife did not want to do that at all, but Jack begged and coaxed until at last she let him come into the house and got out a bit of bread and cheese for him.

Jack had hardly set down to it when there was a great noise and stamping outside.

“Oh, mercy!” cried the giant’s wife, and she turned quite pale. “There’s my husband coming in, and if he sees you here he’ll swallow you down in a trice, and give me a beating into the bargain.”

When Jack heard that he did not like it at all. “Can you not hide me some place?” he asked.

“Here, creep into this copper pot,” cried the woman, taking off the lid. She helped Jack into the pot and put the lid over him, and she had no more than done it before the giant came stumping into the room.

“What nonsense!” said his wife. “If anyone had come here don’t you suppose I would have seen him? A crow flew over the roof and dropped a bone down the chimney, and that is what you smell.”

When she said that the giant believed her. He sat down at the table and called for breakfast. The woman set before him three whole roasted oxen and two loaves of bread each as big as a hogshead, and the giant ate them up in a twinkling.

“Now, wife, bring me my moneybags from the treasure-room,” he said.

His wife went out through a great door studded with nails, and when she came back she brought two bags with her and set them on the table in front of the giant. The giant untied the strings and opened them, and they were full of clinking golden money. The giant sat there and counted and counted the money. After it was all counted he put it back in the bags again, and then he stretched his legs out in front of him and went to sleep and snored until the rafters shook.

The giant’s wife worked around for awhile and then she went into another room. Jack waited until he was sure she had gone, and then he pushed the lid of the pot aside and crept out. He crept over to the table and seized hold of the moneybags and made off with them, and neither the giant nor his wife knew anything about it until Jack was safe down the bean-stalk and home again.

When Jack’s mother saw the moneybags she was filled with wonder and joy. “Those were once your father’s,” said she, “but they were stolen from him, and never did I think to see them again.”

After that Jack and his mother lived well, they had plenty to eat and drink, and good clothes to wear, and everything they wanted. And they were not stingy; they shared their good luck with their neighbors as well.

After awhile the money was almost gone. “I’ll just climb up the bean-stalk again,” said Jack to himself, “and see what else the giant has in his castle.”

He climbed and he climbed and he climbed, and after awhile he came to the giant’s country, and there in front of him lay the road to the castle. Jack walked along briskly, setting one foot in front of the other till he came to the castle door, and as he saw no one he opened the door and stepped inside.

There was the giant’s wife scouring the pots and pans, and when she saw Jack she almost dropped the skillet she was holding.

“You here again?”

“Yes, here I am again,” said Jack.

“Then I wish you were some place else,” said the giant’s wife; “when you were here before our moneybags were stolen, and I can’t help thinking you had something to do with it.”

“Oh, oh! How can you think that?” cried Jack.

“Well, be off with you, anyway”; and the giant’s wife spoke quite glumly. “I want no more strange lads around here.”

Yes, Jack would be off in a moment, but wouldn’t she give him a bite of breakfast first?

No, the giant’s wife wouldn’t, and that was flat.

But Jack was not to be turned off so easily; he talked and begged and argued, and while he was still talking they heard the giant at the door.

The giant’s wife was terribly scared, “Oh, if he finds you here won’t I get a beating!” she cried.

“Quick; into the pot again!”

Jack crawled into the copper pot and the giant’s wife put the lid over him.

The next moment the giant stamped into the room.

“Nonsense,” said his wife, “you’re always fancying things. Here, sit down at the table and eat your breakfast. A crow flew over the roof and dropped a bone in the fire, and that is what you smell.”

The giant sniffed about a bit, and then, still muttering to himself, he sat down at the table and began to eat. After he had finished he cried, “Now wife, bring me my little red hen from the treasure-room.”

His wife went into the treasure-room, and presently she came back with a little red hen in her apron. She set it on the table before the giant. The giant grinned till he showed all his teeth.

“My little red hen, my pretty red hen, lay,” said the giant.

As soon as he said that the hen laid an egg all of pure gold.

“My little red hen, my pretty red hen, lay!” said the giant. Then the little red hen laid another egg.

“My little red hen, my pretty red hen, lay,” said the giant. Then the hen laid a third egg.

“There!” said the giant, “that is enough for to-day. Now, wife, you can take her back to the treasure-room again.”

His wife took up the hen and carried her off to the treasure-room, but when she came back into the kitchen she forgot to shut the treasure-room door behind her.

Then the giant stretched his legs out in front of him and went to sleep and snored till the rafters shook.

His wife worked around in the kitchen, and after awhile, when she wasn’t looking, Jack crept out of the pot. He crept over to the door of the treasure-room and slipped through, and there was the little red hen sitting comfortably on a golden nest.

Jack caught her up under his arm and she never made a sound. Then he crept back through the kitchen and out through the door, and made off down the road, and the giant’s wife never saw him at all.

But just as Jack reached the bean-stalk the hen began to cackle. This woke the giant. “Wife, wife,” he roared, “someone is stealing my little red hen,” and he ran out of the castle and looked all about him; but he could see no one, for Jack was already half-way down the bean-stalk.

After that Jack and his mother never had any lack of anything, for whenever he wanted money he had only to say, “My little red hen, my pretty red hen, lay,” and the hen would lay a gold egg.

Still Jack was not satisfied. He wanted to see what else was in the giant’s castle. So one day, without saying a word to his mother, he climbed the bean-stalk and hurried along the road to the giant’s castle. He did not want to meet the giant’s wife, for he thought maybe she had guessed that it was he who had taken the giant’s hen, and the moneybags, and so indeed she had, and what was more she had told the giant all about it, too.

Jack crept up to the castle very carefully, and he saw no one. He opened the castle door a crack and peeped in, and still he saw no one. He pushed it open a little wider and then he ran in and across the kitchen and hid himself in the great oven.

He had no more than done this before the giant’s wife came in. “Pfu!” said she. “What a draft!” and she closed the outside door. Then she set the giant’s breakfast on the table, still talking to herself. “The door must have blown open,” said she. “I’m sure I closed it when I went out.”

Presently the giant came thumping and stumping into the house. The moment he entered the room he began to bawl —

“What? What?” cried his wife, “I found the door open just now. Do you suppose that dratted boy is in the house again?”

“If he is, I’ll soon put an end to him,” said the giant.

The giant’s wife ran to the copper pot and lifted the lid, and looked inside it, but no one was there. Then she and the giant began to hunt about. They looked in the cupboards and behind the doors, and every place, but they never thought of looking in the oven.

“He can’t be here after all,” said the wife, “or we would have found him. It must be something else you smell.”

So the giant sat down and began to eat his breakfast, but as he ate he mumbled and grumbled to himself.

After he had finished he said, “Wife, bring out my golden harp to sing for me.”

His wife went into the treasure-room and came back carrying a golden harp. She set it on the table before the giant and at once it began to make music, and the music was so beautiful that it melted the heart to hear it. The giant’s wife sat down to listen, too, and presently the music put them both to sleep. Then Jack crept out of the oven and seized the harp and made off with it.

At once the harp began to call, “Master! master! help! Someone is running off with me!”

The giant started out of sleep and looked about him. When he found the harp gone he gave a roar like an angry bull. He ran to the door and there was Jack already more than half-way down the road. “Stop! stop!” cried the giant, but Jack had no idea of stopping. He ran until he reached the bean-stalk, and then he began climbing down it as fast as he could, still carrying the harp.

The giant followed and when he came to the bean-stalk he looked down, and there was Jack far, far below him. The giant was not used to climbing. He did not know whether to follow or not. Then the harp cried again, “Help, master, help!” The giant hesitated no longer. He caught hold of the bean-stalk and began to climb down.

By this time Jack had reached the ground. “Quick! quick, mother!” he cried. “Bring me an ax.”

His mother came running with an ax. She did not know what he wanted it for, but she knew he was in a hurry.

Jack seized the ax and began to chop the bean-stalk. The giant above felt the stalk tremble. “Wait! wait a bit!” he cried, “I want to talk to you!”

But before he could say anything more the bean-stalk was chopped through and fell with a mighty crash, and as the giant fell with it that was the end of him.

But Jack and his mother lived in peace and plenty forever after.

There was once a merchant who had three daughters. The two older ones were handsome enough, but the third was a beauty, and no mistake; her eyes were as blue as the sky, her hair was as black as ebony, and her cheeks were like roses. The merchant loved his two older daughters dearly, but this Beauty was the darling of his heart.

Things went along pleasantly for a long time, and the merchant was rich and prosperous, but then things began to go wrong with him. One after another of his ships was lost at sea, and a great part of his fortune with them.

One day the merchant called his daughters to him and said, “My children, I find it will be necessary for me to go on a long journey. I am no longer a rich man, but I wish to bring home a gift to each one of you, so tell me what you would like to have.”

Then the two older daughters began to think of all the things they wanted, and each was afraid the other would get something finer than she did.

At last the eldest spoke, “Dear father,” said she, “I wish you would bring me a velvet robe embroidered with gold, and shoes to match, and a fan to wave in my hand.”

“And I,” said the second, “would like a necklace of pearls, and pearls for my hair, and a fine bracelet.”

The merchant was troubled that his daughters should ask for such costly things, but he did not like to refuse them. “And you, Beauty,” said he, turning to his youngest daughter, “what will you have?”

“Dear father,” said she, “you have given me so much that I have nothing left to wish for; but if you bring me anything at all let it be a rose.”

When her older sisters heard this they were very angry. They thought that Beauty had asked only for a rose so that she might shame them before their father, and make him think she was more unselfish than they were. But Beauty had had no such thought as that.

The merchant smiled at his youngest daughter and kissed her thrice, but his older daughters he kissed only once. Then he mounted his horse and rode away.

He journeyed on for several days, and at last he reached the city he was bound for. Here he found he had lost even more of his fortune than he had thought. He was now a poor man. Still he managed to buy the gifts his two older daughters had asked for, and then with a sad heart he set out for home.

He had not journeyed far, however, when he was overtaken by a storm and lost himself in a deep forest. He rode this way and that, trying to find the way out, and then suddenly he came to an open place, and there he saw before him a magnificent castle.

The merchant was amazed. He had never heard of such a castle in that forest. He rode up to the door and knocked, hoping to find shelter for the night.

Scarcely had he knocked when the great door swung open before him. He entered and looked about, no one was there; everything was silent. Wondering he went on into one room after another. Everything was very magnificent and well arranged, but nowhere was a soul to be seen. At last he came to a room where a supper was set out. The plates were all of gold, and the fruits and meats were of the rarest and most delicious kinds.

The merchant was so hungry that he sat down at the table, and at once the food was served to him by invisible hands, while soft music sounded from a hidden room beyond.

He ate heartily and then arose and went in search of a place to sleep. This he soon found. A bed had been made ready in a large chamber, and here he undressed and lying down he slept until morning without being disturbed.

When he awoke he found his own travel-stained clothes had been taken away. In their place a handsome suit had been laid out, and other necessary things, all of the richest kind. There was also a bag filled with gold pieces. Wondering still more, the merchant arose and dressed and went out into the gardens to look about him. Here everything was more beautiful than any garden he had ever seen before. There were winding paths and fountains, and fruit-trees and flowering plants.

Beside one of the fountains was a rose-bush covered with the roses. The sight of these roses reminded the merchant of Beauty’s wish, and he thought it would be no harm to break off one to carry to her. He chose the largest and finest rose. Scarcely had he plucked it, however, when the air was filled with a sound of thunder, the ground rocked under his feet, and a terrible looking beast appeared before him.

“Miserable man!” cried the Beast, “what have you done? All the best in the castle was offered to you. Why have you broken my rose-bush that is dearer to me than anything in the world? Now for this you must surely die.”

The merchant was terrified. “Oh, dear, good Beast do not kill me!” he cried. “I meant no harm. Only let me go, and I will never trouble you again.”

“No, no,” answered the Beast. “You shall not escape so easily. You have broken my rose-bush and you must suffer for it.”

Still the merchant begged and entreated to be spared and at last the Beast had pity on him. “If I spare your life,” said he, “what will you give me in return for it?”

“Alas,” said the merchant, “what can I give you? I have lost all my fortune and I am now a poor man. I have nothing left in the world but my three daughters.”

“Give me one of your daughters for a wife and I will be satisfied,” said the Beast.

The merchant was horrified at the thought of such a thing. He would have refused, but he feared that if he did so the Beast would tear him to pieces at once.

“You may have three months in which to think it over,” said the Beast. “But you must promise me that at the end of that time you will return here and either bring me one of your daughters or come prepared to die.”

The merchant was obliged to promise this; he could not help himself. As soon as he had promised the Beast disappeared and the man was free to go, and this he was not slow to do.

He rode on toward his home and his heart was heavy within him. He did not see how he could possibly give one of his daughters to be the bride of a hideous beast and yet he did not wish to die.

His daughters met him with joy, and the two older sisters were delighted when they saw the beautiful gifts he had brought them. Only Beauty noticed his sad and downcast looks.

“Dear father,” said she, “why are you troubled? Has something unfortunate happened to you?”

At first her father would not tell her, but she urged and entreated him to tell her until finally he could keep silence no longer. He told his daughters all about the castle and his adventure there and of the Beast, and of how unless one of them would consent to marry the Beast he would have to lose his life.

When the older daughters heard this they were ready to faint. Not even to save their father’s life could they consent to marry such a creature.

“Dear father,” said Beauty, “you shall not die. I will be the Beast’s bride.”

“Yes, yes,” cried her sisters. “That is only right. If Beauty had not asked for the rose this misfortune would not have happened.”

To this the merchant would not at first agree. Beauty was the dearest to him of all his daughters. He had hoped that if any of them was to marry the Beast it might be one of the older sisters. But they would not hear of this and when, at the end of three months, the merchant set out to return to the castle he took Beauty with him.

They rode along and rode along and after awhile they came to the forest, and then it did not take the merchant long to find the castle. He knocked at the door, and it opened as before, and he and Beauty went in through one room after another, and everything was so magnificent that she could not but admire it. At last they came to the supper-room, and here a delicious feast was set out for them. They sat down and ate while soft music sounded around them. Beauty began to think the master of all this could not be such a terrible creature after all.

But scarcely had they finished their supper before the Beast appeared before them, and when Beauty saw him she began to shake and tremble, for he was even more dreadful looking than her father had said.

“Do not fear me, Beauty,” he said in a gentle voice. “I will do you no harm. Your father has brought you here, and it is true that here you must stay, but you need not marry me unless you are quite willing to.”

“I do not wish to marry you, Beast, and you must know that,” said Beauty. “But I fear that if I do not you may harm my father.”

“No, Beauty, I will not harm him. He may go in peace, and perhaps after you have been here awhile you may learn to like me enough to marry me.”

Beauty did not believe this, but the Beast spoke so gently that she no longer feared him and when the time came for her father to go she bade him good-by and did not grieve him by weeping.

After that Beauty lived there in the Beast’s castle and was well content. Every day she went out into the gardens, and the Beast came and played with her for awhile, and she grew very fond of him. Every day before he left her he said, “Beauty, are you willing to marry me?”

But always Beauty answered, “No, dear Beast, I do not wish to marry you.”

Then the Beast would sigh heavily and go away.

One day Beauty was sitting before a large mirror in her room, and she was sad because she had not seen her father for so long.

“I wish,” said she, “that I could see what my dear father is doing at this moment.”

As she said this she raised her eyes to the mirror. What was her surprise to see in it the reflection of a room quite different from the one she was in. It was a room in her own home that she saw reflected there. She saw in it the images of her father and sisters. She could see them smile and move, and she could tell exactly what they were doing. She found she could watch them in the mirror for as long as she pleased and whenever she pleased.

After this Beauty often came to sit before the mirror, and she had only to wish it and she could see her home, and all that was going on there.

But one day when she sat down before the glass she saw that her father was ill. He lay upon his bed so pale and weak that Beauty was terrified. She jumped up and ran out into the garden calling for the Beast.

At once he appeared before her. “What is it?” asked the Beast anxiously. “What has frightened you, Beauty?”

“Alas,” she cried, “my father is ill. Oh, dear, kind Beast let me go to him I pray, and I will love you for ever after.”

The Beast looked very grave. “Very well, Beauty,” he said, “I will let you go, for I can refuse you nothing. But promise me you will return at the end of a week, for if you do not some great misfortune will happen to me.”

Beauty was very willing to promise this. The Beast then gave her a ring set with a large ruby. “When you go to bed to-night,” he said, “turn the ruby in toward the palm of your hand and wish you were in your father’s house, and in the morning you will find you are there. When you are ready to return do the same thing, and you will find yourself back in the castle again. And do not forget that by the end of a week, to an hour, you must return or you will bring suffering upon me.”

Beauty did as the Beast told her. That night when she lay down she turned the ruby of the ring in toward the palm of her hand and wished she were in her father’s house, and what was her joy, when she awakened the next morning, to find herself in her own bed at home. She arose and ran to her father’s room, and the merchant was so delighted to see her that from that hour he began to get better, and in a few days he was as well as ever again.

Beauty’s sisters asked her a great many questions about the castle where she lived, and when they heard how fine it was, and how happy she was there, they were filled with envy. “Beauty always gets the best of everything,” they said to each other. “She is younger than either of us, and see how finely she lives; much better than we do.” They then planned together as to how they could keep Beauty from going back to the castle at the end of the week. “If we can only make her break her promise to the Beast,” said they, “he might be so angry with her that he would send her away and take one of us to live at his castle instead.”

The day before Beauty was to return to the Beast they put a sleeping-powder in the goblet that she drank from.

As soon as Beauty had swallowed this powder she became very sleepy. Her eyelids weighed like lead, and presently she fell into a deep slumber, and she did not awaken for two days and nights. At the end of that time Beauty had a dream, and in her dream she walked in the castle gardens. She came to the rose-bush beside the fountain, and there lay the poor Beast stretched out on the ground, and he was almost dead. He opened his eyes and looked at her sadly. “Ah, Beauty, Beauty,” he said, “why did you break your promise to return at the end of a week? See what suffering you have brought on me.”

Beauty awoke, sobbing bitterly. “Alas, alas!” she cried. “I must go at once. I feel some harm has come to the Beast, and that it is my fault, though how I do not know.” For she did not know she had been asleep for two days and nights.

She turned the ruby ring with the ruby toward the palm of her hand, and wished herself back in the castle and then lay down and went to sleep.

When she awoke she was in the castle again, and it was early morning. She ran out into the garden, and straight to the rose-bush. There, as in her dream, she saw the Beast stretched out on the ground, and he seemed to be without life or breath. Beauty threw herself down on the ground and took his head in her lap, and her tears ran down and fell upon him, and it seemed to her she did not love even her father as dearly as she loved the Beast. “Oh, Beast — dear, dear Beast,” she cried, “can you not hear me? Are you quite, quite dead?”

Then the Beast opened his eyes and looked at her. “Ah, Beauty,” he said, “I thought you had deserted me. Do you not yet love me enough to marry me?”

“Oh, I do! I do love you enough, and gladly will I be your bride,” cried Beauty.

No sooner had she said this than the rough furry hide of the Beast fell apart, and a handsome young prince all dressed in white satin and silver stood before her. Beauty looked at him wondering. “Yes, you shall indeed be my own dear bride,” cried the Prince, “for you and you alone have broken the enchantment that held me.”

Then the Prince, a Beast no longer, told Beauty that a wicked fairy had changed him into the shape of a Beast, and not until a fair young maiden would love him enough to be his bride would the enchantment be broken. But Beauty had loved him for his kindness and goodness in spite of his ugly form, and now never again could the wicked fairy have any power over him.

And now all through the castle was heard a sound of life and of voices and of running to and fro. For the same enchantment that had changed the Prince to a Beast had made all his people invisible, and now, they too were freed from the spell.

Then how happy Beauty was. If she had loved the Beast she loved the handsome young Prince a thousand times better. A grand wedding feast was prepared, and her father and sisters were sent for. Her father was given the place of honor, but it was quite different with her sisters; because of their hard hearts they were changed into two statues and they stood one on either side of the doorway.

But Beauty was too gentle to bear them any ill-will. After she was married she often used to go and stand beside the statues and talk to them, and her tears fell upon them so that after awhile their hard hearts grew soft and the stone melted back to flesh again. Then they were all very happy together. The two sisters were married to two noblemen of the court.

As for Beauty and the Prince, nothing could equal their love for each other, and they lived together happy forever after, and no further harm ever came to them.

There was once a stout Cornish lad named Jack who had trained himself in every sort of sport. He could wrestle and throw and swim better than any other lad in the country; indeed there were few, even among the men, who could equal him in strength and skill.

At that time there lived, on an island just off the coast of Cornwall, a giant named Cormoran. This giant was the pest of the whole land. He was twenty feet high, and as broad as any three men. People were so afraid of him that when he waded over from his island to the mainland they all ran and hid in their houses, and then he carried off their flocks and herds as he chose, and asked no leave of anyone. Seven sheep he ate at a meal, and three oxen were not too much for him. There was much complaining through the land because of the way he wasted it.

Now Jack was as bold as he was strong, and he made up his mind to free the people from this scourge of a giant. He waited for a dark night when there was no moon, and then he swam from the mainland over to the island. The waves were high and the water cold, but Jack paid no heed to that. He took with him a pick, a shovel, an ax, and a horn.

As soon as he landed on the island he set to work to dig a pit in front of the giant’s cave — a pit both wide and deep. The giant was asleep, for Jack could hear him snoring in his cave, and so he knew nothing of what was being done by the brave lad.

Toward morning the pit was finished. Then Jack covered it over with branches, and scattered earth and stones over it so that no one could have told it was any different from the ground around it. After that he took his horn and blew a blast both loud and long.

The sound awakened the giant from his sleep, and he sprang to his feet and came stumbling out from his cave. He glared about him and presently his eyes fell upon Jack.

“Miserable dwarf!” he cried. “Is it you who has dared to disturb my sleep? Wait but a moment until I have my hands on you, and I will punish you as you deserve!”

Jack laughed aloud. “I fear you not!” he cried. “And as for punishing me, you will find that easier said than done.”

The giant gave a cry of rage and sprang toward Jack, but no sooner did he step upon the branches that covered the pit than they gave way beneath him, and he fell down into the pit and broke his neck. There he lay without sound or motion, and seeing that he was dead Jack left him where he lay and swam back to the mainland.

When the people learned that the giant was dead and would trouble them no more they went wild with joy. Jack was hailed as a hero and a belt was given him on which were letters of gold that read —

And now the lad was no longer called plain Jack, but Jack-the-Giant-Killer.

Now many miles away in a deep forest there lived still another giant named Blunderbore. This giant was full as strong and great as Cormoran had ever been.

When Blunderbore heard how the Cornish lad had killed Cormoran, and that now he was called “Jack-the-Giant-Killer” he was filled with rage. He swore he would find Jack and destroy him even as Cormoran had been destroyed.

But Jack was no whit afraid. He had made up his mind to altogether free the land from giants; and he wished nothing better than to try his wits with Blunderbore. So one day he took a stout oak in his hand and set out in search of the giant.

He walked along and walked along, and after awhile he came to a forest, and there a cool spring bubbled up in the shade of the trees.

Jack was hungry and thirsty, and tired too, so he sat him down by the spring and ate the bread and cheese he carried, and drank of the fresh water, and then he stretched himself out and went fast asleep.

He had not been long asleep when the giant Blunderbore came by that way. Blunderbore was very much surprised to see a youth lying there and sleeping quietly beside his fountain, for none ever before had dared to venture here into this forest for fear of him.

He saw a glitter of golden letters upon a belt the lad wore, and stooping he read the words —

At once the giant knew who Jack was, and he was filled with joy at the thought that now he had the lad in his power. He did not wait for Jack to waken, but swung him up on his shoulder, and made off with him through the forest.

Now Blunderbore was so tall that his shoulders were up among the branches as he strode along, and the boughs whipped Jack in the face and woke him from his sleep. He was greatly amazed to find himself journeying along among the leaves on the giant’s shoulder instead of resting quietly beside the fountain. However, he was not afraid. “I can do nothing at present,” thought he to himself, “but after awhile the giant will put me down, and then my wits will soon teach me a way to get the better of him.”

The giant strode along without stop or stay until at last he came to a great gloomy castle and, this was where he lived. He carried Jack in through the door into the castle and up a flight of stone steps to a room that was directly over the outer doorway. Here he came to a halt and threw Jack down upon a heap of straw in the corner.

“Lie there for awhile, my little giant-killer,” cried he. “I have a brother who is not only bigger and stronger than I am, but has more wits as well. I will go off and fetch him, and after he gets here then we will decide what to do with you.”

So saying the giant left the room, and after locking the door behind him he made off across the hills in search of his brother.

No sooner was Jack left alone than he began to examine the room. He quickly noticed that the door of the castle was directly under his window. In one corner of the room lay a great coil of rope. Jack took up this rope and made a slip noose in one end of it. This noose he hung from the window. The other end he passed over a great beam overhead. Then he sat down and waited for the monster to return.

He did not have long to wait. Soon he heard the giant and his brother talking and grumbling together as they came up the road to the castle. He waited until they had reached the doorway and were directly under the window. Then he dropped the slip noose over both their heads. Quickly snatching up the other end of the rope he pulled with all his might and drew the two giants up into the air, struggling and kicking. He then leaned from the window and with his sword he cut off both their heads.

It did not take him long after that to slide down the rope and get the keys that hung from Blunderbore’s belt. With these in his hand he reëntered the castle and went all through it, unlocking door after door.

He opened the giant’s treasure-chamber and found it full of gold and silver and jewels and all sorts of precious stuffs that had been stolen from the people of the land, for Blunderbore was a great robber.

In the dungeons under the castle were many merchants and noblemen and fair ladies whom the giant had robbed and kept as prisoners.

When these people found that Jack had come to free them, and that he had killed the giant, they were so glad and grateful that there was nothing they would not have done for the lad. Some of them wept for joy.

Jack led them to the treasure-chamber and bade them take all they could carry of the treasures that were there. They would gladly have left it all for him, but the lad would have none of it.

“No, no,” he said. “I have no need of riches, and if I were loaded down with gold and silver I could not travel about so lightly as I do.”

He bade the grateful people good-by and journeyed on his way, leaving them to find their own way home, which, no doubt they all did in good time.

By evening of the next day Jack was well away from Blunderbore’s forest, and just as he was wondering where he should find food and shelter for the night he came to a great house and saw a light shining from the windows.

He knocked, and the door was opened to him by a giant with two heads. This giant was quite as wicked as either Cormoran or Blunderbore, but he was very sly and cunning. Instead of seizing Jack and throwing him into a dungeon he made him welcome. He set a hot supper before him, and talked with him pleasantly, and after awhile he showed the lad to a room where he could sleep.

But smiling and pleasant though the giant was Jack did not trust him. He felt sure the monster was planning some mischief, so instead of going to bed after the giant left him, he stole to the door of the room and listened. He heard the giant striding up and down, and presently he heard him mutter to himself,

“That you shall not,” thought Jack to himself. “And if you think I am going to get into bed and lie there while you beat me with a cudgel you are mistaken.”

He began to feel about the room, and presently he found a great billet of wood. This he laid in the bed in his place, and drew the coverlet over it, and then he hid in a corner of the room.

Not long afterward the giant opened the door. He crept over to the bed very quietly and felt where the billet of wood was lying under the covers. Then he took his club and beat it until, if Jack had been lying there, he would certainly have been pounded to a jelly. After that the monster went back to his own bed well satisfied, and slept and snored.

But what was his astonishment the next morning when Jack appeared brisk and smiling and without so much as even a bruise upon him.

“Did — did you sleep well last night?” stammered the giant.

“Oh, well enough,” answered Jack, “but a rat must have run over the bed, for I thought I felt him whisk his tail in my face once or twice. I looked for him this morning, but I could not find him, so perhaps I dreamed it.”

When the giant heard this he was frightened. He thought Jack must be a wonderful hero to stand such blows as his and scarcely feel them. However, he said no more, and the two sat down to breakfast together. The giant ate and drank as much as ten men, but Jack had hidden a leather bag under his doublet and he kept slipping the food into this as fast as the giant set it before him. The monster wondered and wondered that such a small man could eat so much.

After breakfast Jack said, “Now I will show you a trick, and if you cannot do the same thing then you will have to own that I am the better fellow of us two.”

To this the giant agreed. Jack then took a knife and ripped open the leather bag that was hidden under his doublet.

“There!” he cried. “Can you do the like?”

The giant was amazed, for he never guessed that it was only a bag that Jack had cut open. However, he was not to be outdone. Catching up a knife he ripped himself open, and that was the end of him.

“The world is well rid of another monster,” said Jack, and leaving the giant where he lay he set out in search of further adventures.

He had not gone far along the road when he met a young prince riding along without any attendants to follow him. This Prince was the son of the great King Arthur of Britain, and he had left his father’s court and ridden out into the world in search of a lovely lady who had been carried off by a magician. This magician held her prisoner by his enchantments and it was to free her that the Prince had ridden forth alone.

When Jack learned who the Prince was, and the adventure he was bent on, he begged to be allowed to go along as an attendant.

“That is all very well,” said the Prince, “but if you travel with me you will fare hard indeed. I have given away all my money, and I do not know where to find food or even a place to sleep.”

“Do not let that trouble you,” said Jack. “Not far from here lives a three-headed giant. He has a fine castle and a well-stocked larder. Only leave the matter to me and I will arrange it so that you can spend the night there and have a fine feast beside.”

At first the Prince was very unwilling to agree to this. The adventure seemed to him a very dangerous one, but in the end Jack persuaded him to agree to it, and mounting on the Prince’s horse he set out for the castle, leaving the Prince to await him by the wayside.

Jack rode briskly along and it did not take him long to reach the castle. He knocked boldly at the door.

“Who is there?” called the giant from within.

“It is your Cousin Jack, and I bring you news,” answered Jack.

The giant opened the door and looked out. “Well, Cousin Jack, and what is the news you bring?”

Why, the news was that a Prince and his company intended to spend the night in the giant’s castle, and were even then almost at the door. If the giant were wise he would flee away and leave the castle to the Prince. Then after the Prince and his company had gone the giant might safely return again.

But no, the monster was not so easily to be scared out of his castle. “I can drive back five hundred men,” cried he, “so why should I be afraid?”

“Yes, but can you drive back two thousand?” asked Jack.

“Two thousand! Two thousand, did you say?” Why that was a different matter, and if the Prince were coming with two thousand men at his back, then it was indeed time for the giant to hide away. He then told Jack where there was a secret chamber all made of iron. There he would hide, and he begged the lad to lock him in, and not, for any cause to unlock the door until the Prince had gone.

This Jack promised. He locked the giant in the secret chamber, and then he rode back to fetch his master.

That night Jack and the Prince feasted right merrily on the good things from the monster’s larder, and the next morning the Prince rode on his way and Jack unlocked the chamber door and let the giant out.

“What a blockhead I am!” cried the monster as soon as he was free. “Yonder in the corner lie the cap of darkness, the cloak of wisdom, and the sword of sharpness. If I had only thought of putting on the cap no one could have seen me, and I would not have had to hide in the secret chamber.”

“That is true,” answered Jack. “But thanks to me you are safe at any rate, and I think I should be rewarded.”

He then asked the giant to give him the cap, the cloak, and the sword, and out of gratitude the giant agreed right gladly. “They will be of more use to you than to me at any rate,” said the giant, “for when I need them most is the time when I forget all about them.”

Jack took the cap, the cloak, and the sword and thanked the giant for the gifts, and at once set out after the Prince, whom he found waiting for him not far away.

They now journeyed on until they came to another castle where they hoped to spend the night. Here they were made welcome, and bidden to feast with the noble lady who was the mistress there. This lady was, indeed, the very one of whom the Prince was in search, but he did not know her, and she did not know him because of the spell of enchantment that was upon her.

After the lady, the Prince, and Jack had feasted together the lady drew out a precious handkerchief and passed it over her lips. “To-morrow,” said she, “you shall tell me to whom I have given this handkerchief in the night. If you cannot tell me this, you shall never leave this castle alive.”

The Prince was greatly troubled when he heard these words, but Jack bade him have no fear. He waited until the lady left them, and then he put the cap of darkness on his head and followed her, and she could not see him because of the cap. She did not know that anyone followed her, and she went out from the castle and along a path to the edge of a wood. There she was met by a tall dark man, and because of the cloak of wisdom which he wore, Jack knew this man at once as a magician.

The lady gave him the handkerchief. “That is well,” said the magician. “To-morrow I will change this bold Prince into another marble statue to adorn my hall. As to his servant I will change him into a dog, a fox, or a deer as the fancy strikes me.”

“That you shall not!” cried Jack, and drawing the sword of sharpness he struck the magician’s head from his shoulders with one blow.

At once the lady was freed from the enchantment, and she looked about her like one wakening from a dream. She did not know where she was nor how she came there.

Jack led her back to the castle and no sooner did the Prince and she meet than they knew each other. They were filled with joy, and the Prince made ready to take her back with him to his father’s court. He wished Jack to come with him, and promised that if he would he should be made a great nobleman, but to this the giant-killer would not consent. He still had work to do in his own country, and he would never leave Wales until it was freed entirely from the pest of giants.

So the Prince and his lady bade Jack farewell, and rode away together, while Jack set out in search of further adventures.

He had traveled a long distance, and night was falling when he heard doleful cries sounding from a wood near by. A moment later a giant came breaking out from the wood dragging a knight and a lady with him. He had captured them and was taking them with him to his cave.

Without a moment’s pause, Jack put on his cap of darkness, and running up close to the giant he cut him down with one single blow of his sword. The lady and the knight were amazed. They had seen no one, and yet the giant had suddenly fallen dead, cleft through with a sword. They were still more amazed when Jack lifted the cap from his head and appeared before them. He then explained to them who he was, and how he had been able to kill the giant so strangely.

“This is a wonderful story,” said the knight, “and you have saved us from worse than death.” He and his lady then begged Jack to come back with them to their castle, and to this he agreed, for he was weary with all his adventures.

When they reached the castle, a great feast was made ready, and Jack was treated with the greatest honor. He sat at the knight’s right hand, and all the best in the castle was none too good for him.

But while they were still in the midst of their feasting, a messenger arrived in great haste. His face was pale, and his teeth chattered with fear.

“What is it?” cried the knight. “What is the news you bring?”

“The giant! The great giant Thundel!” cried the messenger. “He has heard that Jack-the-Giant-Killer is here, and he is coming to destroy this castle and all who are in it.”

Even the knight turned pale at this news, but Jack bade him have no fear. “I had intended to set out in search of this giant,” said he, “but now he has saved me the trouble.” He then asked the knight to send for a dozen stout workmen. This was done and Jack at once led the workmen out to the bridge that crossed the moat, and bade them cut the timbers almost through so that they would only bear the weight of one man, or of two at most. This bridge was the only way of entrance, and unless the giant crossed it he could not get to the castle.

While the workmen were still busy over their task, the giant appeared, striding along toward the castle. At once Jack slipped on his cap of darkness and hurried out to meet him.

The giant could not see Jack because of his cap of darkness, but his sense of smell was very keen. He stopped short, and began to snuff about him like a hound.

“That is all very well,” said Jack, “but first you will have to catch him.” He then jumped about from one side of the giant to the other. “Here! Here I am!” he cried. “Here to the right of you! No, to the left. Quick, quick, if you would catch me.”

The giant turned first one way and then the other, clutching at the empty air, for Jack was invisible and so was easily able to keep out of his reach.

At last the lad tired of the game. He looked behind him and saw that the workmen had finished their task and had retreated to the castle. He then caught the cap of darkness from his head and ran across the bridge. “Now, you miller-giant, who would grind my bones, catch me if you can,” he cried.

The giant gave a bellow of rage and ran after Jack, who had already reached the other side. The timbers held till the giant was in the middle of the bridge; then, with a great crash, they gave way beneath him, and down he fell into the moat and was drowned. So Jack saved the lives of the knight and his lady for the second time, and freed the land of still another giant.

But now came the most dangerous of all of Jack’s adventures.

Gargantua was the greatest and most powerful of all the giants, and he was a magician as well. He lived on the top of a high mountain, and from there he would come down to rob and steal and carry off prisoners. These prisoners he changed into various sorts of wild animals, and he kept them in the gardens that surrounded his palace. He had carried off a duke’s only daughter in this way, and had changed her into a doe.

The duke had been in despair over the loss of his daughter for she was his only child and he loved her dearly. He promised that anyone who brought her back to him should have her for his bride, and because she was very beautiful many princes and brave heroes had gone in search of her, but of them all none had ever returned.

It was this dangerous giant that Jack determined to seek out and destroy.

He girded the sword of sharpness at his side and took his cap of darkness and his cloak of wisdom and set out.

He journeyed on and journeyed on, and after awhile he came to a high and rocky mountain, and at the very top of it he could see a great castle with gardens around it and high walls.

Jack climbed up and up over rock and brier, stump and stone, until he came to the gate of the garden. There he stopped to put the cap of darkness on his head; then he ventured in.

The gardens were very fine, as he saw at once, and many animals were grazing on the grass, or resting in the shadows. One of them, a beautiful doe, raised its head and looked toward him, then at once came over to him and rested its head on his arm, and looked up at him with its great dark eyes.

Jack was very much troubled at this. He feared there was some enchantment about the place that made him visible in spite of his cap of darkness. However, none of the other animals paid any attention to him, so he hoped it was only the doe that could see him.

He went on through the gardens until he came to the door of the castle, and there hanging beside it was a golden horn, and on the horn were these words:

Jack raised the horn to his lips and blew a blast so loud and clear that the castle echoed with it.

At once a wonderful change came over the garden. The doe beside him changed into a maiden more beautiful than any Jack had ever dreamed of. The wild animals became princes and heroes and noble ladies.

As for the castle itself, it fell into ruins; a great chasm yawned under it, and into this chasm it crumbled with a dreadful noise, carrying the giant with it. Then the ground closed over the ruins and not a single stone was left to mark the place where the castle had stood.

So ended the last of Jack’s adventures, and so perished the last and most wicked of all his giant foes. From then on the land was at peace.

Jack was married to the beautiful maiden who had followed him as a doe, and as she was the duke’s daughter the poor lad became very rich and powerful. He and the duke’s daughter loved each other dearly, and so they lived in great happiness all their lives, honored by everyone about them.

Once upon a time a poor man took his ax and went out into the forest to cut wood. He was a lazy fellow, so as soon as he was in the forest he began to look about to see which tree would be the easiest to cut down. At last he found one that was hollow inside, as he could tell by knocking upon it with his ax. “It ought not to take long to cut this down,” said he to himself. He raised his ax and struck the tree such a blow that the splinters flew.

At once the bark opened and a little old fairy with a long beard came running out of the tree.

“What do you mean by chopping into my house?” he cried; and his eyes shone like red hot sparks, he was so angry.

“I did not know it was your house,” said the man.

“Well, it is my house, and I’ll thank you to let it alone,” cried the fairy.

“Very well,” said the man. “I’d just as lieve cut down some other tree. I’ll chop down the one over yonder.”

“That is well,” said the fairy. “I see that you are an obliging fellow, after all. I have it in my mind to reward you for sparing my house, so the next three wishes you and your wife make shall come true, whatever they are; and that is your reward.”

Then the fairy went back into the tree again and pulled the bark together behind him.

The man stood looking at the tree and scratching his head. “Now that is a curious thing,” said he. Then he sat down and began to wonder what he should wish for. He thought and he thought, but he could decide on nothing. “I’ll just go home and talk it over with my wife,” said he; so he shouldered his ax, and set off for home. As soon as he came in at the door he began to bawl for his wife, and she came in a hurry, for she did not know what had happened to him.

He told his story and his wife listened. “This is a fine thing to have happen to us,” said she. “Now we must be very careful what we wish for.”

They sat down one on each side of the fire to talk it over. They thought of ever so many things they would like to have — a bag of gold, and a coach and four, and a fine house to live in, and fine clothes to wear, but nothing seemed just the right thing to choose.

They talked so long that they grew hungry. “Well, here we sit,” said the man, “and not a thing cooked for dinner. I wish we had one of those fine black puddings you used to make.”

No sooner had he spoken than there was a great thumping and bumping in the chimney and a great black pudding fell down on the hearth before him.

“What is this?” cried the man staring.

“Oh, you oaf! you stupid!” shrieked his wife. “It’s the pudding you wished for. There’s one of our wishes wasted. I wish the pudding were stuck on the end of your nose! It would serve you right!”

The moment she said this the pudding flew up and stuck to the man’s nose, and there it was and he couldn’t get it off; the man pulled and tugged, and his wife pulled and tugged, but it was all of no use.

“Well, there’s no help for it,” said the husband; “we’ll have to wish it off again.”

His wife begun to cry and bawl. “No, no,” she cried. “We only have one wish left, and we can’t waste it that way. Let’s wish ourselves the richest people in the world.”

But to this the man would not agree. He wanted the pudding off his nose whatever it cost. So at last the wife was obliged to let him have his own way. “I wish the pudding was off my nose again,” said the man, and that was the third of their wishes. So all the good they had of the fairy’s gift was a black pudding for dinner; but then it was the best black pudding they had ever eaten. “And after all,” said the man, “there’s nothing much better in the world to wish for than a full stomach.”

There was once a beautiful young Princess who had been promised in marriage to the Prince of a far country.

When the time for the marriage came she made ready to journey to his country, for it was there that the wedding was to be celebrated, and not in her own land.

Her mother furnished her with all sorts of grand jewels and beautiful clothes to carry with her, and furniture and linens, and she also made her a present of a wonderful horse named Falada, that could talk.

Just before the Princess was ready to set out, her mother called her to her, and made a little cut in her finger, and allowed three drops of blood to fall upon a handkerchief.

“Here, my child, take this with you,” said the Queen; “put it in the bosom of your dress, and guard it carefully. It is a charm, and as long as you have it no evil of any kind can have power over you.”

The Princess thanked her mother, and put the handkerchief in the bosom of her dress as she was told. Then she kissed the Queen tenderly, and bade her farewell, and set out upon the journey with her waiting-maid riding beside her.

Now this waiting-maid, who rode with the Princess, had a very bad heart. She was both sly and deceitful. She pretended to the Queen that she loved the Princess dearly, but all the while she hated and envied her, and would have been glad enough to do her an ill turn.

She and the Princess journeyed on together for some time, and the sun shone bright and hot and the road was dusty, so the Princess became very thirsty. Presently they came to a stream, and there the Princess drew rein, and said to the waiting-maid, “Light down, I pray of you, and fill my little golden cup that I may drink, for I am thirsty.”

But the waiting-maid scowled and answered rudely, “Light down yourself, and drink from the stream, if you are thirsty. I am tired of serving you.”

The Princess was very much surprised at being answered in such a manner. However, she was young and timid, and without more words she slipped from her horse, and as she was afraid to ask for the cup, which the waiting-maid carried, she stooped over and drank from the brook as it rippled over its stones.

As she did so the drops of blood upon the handkerchief said to her: —

The Princess made no answer, but having quenched her thirst she mounted her horse again and rode forward, and presently forgot her maid’s rudeness.

After awhile they reached another stream, and as the Princess was again thirsty, she said to the waiting-maid, “Light down, I pray you, and fill my cup with water, that I may drink.”

But the waiting-maid answered even more rudely than before, “No, I will not; get down and get the water for yourself, for I will serve you no more.”

The Princess slipped from her horse, sighing deeply, and as she bent over the stream the three drops of blood said to her:

The Princess made no answer, but as she stooped still lower to drink the handkerchief slipped from her bosom and floated away on the stream, but the Princess did not notice this because her eyes were full of tears. The waiting-maid noticed it, however, and her heart was filled with joy, because now the Princess had nothing to protect her, and the wicked servant could do with her as she chose.

When the Princess arose and was about to mount Falada the waiting-maid said to her, “Wait a bit! I am tired of acting as your servant. Now, we will try it the other way around. Give me your fine clothes, and you can dress yourself in these common things I am wearing.”

The Princess was afraid to refuse; she gave the waiting-maid her beautiful dress and her jewels, and dressed herself in the common clothes.

Again she was about to mount Falada, but again the waiting-maid bade her stay; “You shall ride my horse,” said she, “and I will ride Falada.” As she said so it was done. The waiting-maid also made the Princess swear that she would tell no living soul who she was. The Princess dared not refuse for fear of her life. But Falada made no such promise, and he had seen and heard all that had happened.

When they rode on again the waiting-maid was in front, dressed in the fine clothes and mounted on Falada, and the Princess came behind on the waiting-maid’s horse, and she was dressed in the common clothes, but even so she was far more beautiful than the servant.

They reached the palace, and the Prince came out to meet his bride. He lifted down the waiting-maid from Falada, for he thought she was the Princess, and he led her up the grand stairway and into the room where the King sat, but the Princess was left below in the courtyard, and no one paid any attention to her.

The King was surprised when he saw the waiting-maid, for he supposed her to be the Princess, and he had expected her to be much more beautiful. However, he said nothing about it to anyone, but made her welcome. Presently he happened to look out of the window, and there he saw the true Princess down below. “Who is that standing in the courtyard?” he asked, for he saw at once that she was very beautiful, and he was curious about it.

“Oh, that is only my waiting-maid,” answered the false bride carelessly. “I wish you would give her some work to do so that she may not be spoiled by idleness.”

“I do not know what she can do except take care of the geese,” answered the King. “Conrad, who is the goose-herd, is only a boy, and he would be glad of help in caring for them.”

“Very well; then let her be a goose-herd,” answered the false bride.

So the Princess went out in the field to help tend the geese, and the waiting-maid lived in the palace, and was treated to all that was best there. But the Prince was not happy, for his bride was rude and ill-tempered, and he could not love her.

One day the false bride said to the Prince, “I wish you would have Falada’s head cut off. I am weary of him, and besides he stumbles when I ride him.” But really she feared Falada might speak and tell all he had seen.

The Prince was shocked. “Why should you kill a horse that is so beautiful and gentle?” he asked.

“Because, as I tell you, I do not like him,” answered the waiting-maid. “Besides the horse is mine, and I can do as I like with him. If you refuse to have this done I shall know very well that it is because you do not love me.”

The Prince dared refuse no longer. He sent for a man and had Falada’s head cut off.

When the true Princess heard this she wept bitterly. She sent for the man and offered him a piece of gold if he would bring Falada’s head and nail it up over the gateway through which she passed every morning.

The man was anxious to have the gold. He took the money and nailed Falada’s head up over the gateway where the Princess wished it put.

The next morning as the Princess and Conrad drove the geese out to pasture she looked up at Falada and said:

“Ah, Falada, that thou shouldst hang there!”

And Falada answered:

“Ah, Princess, that thou shouldst pass here!

If thy mother knew thy fate,

Then her heart would surely break!”

The little goose-herd stared and wondered to hear this talk between the goose-girl and the horse’s head, but he said nothing. He and the Princess went on out to the meadows driving the geese before them, and when they were far off in the meadows where no one could see, the Princess sat down and unbound her golden hair, so that it fell all about her in a shower, and began to comb it.

Conrad had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life before, for her hair shone and glittered in the sunshine until it was enough to dazzle one. He longed to have just one thread of it to keep, so he crept up behind the Princess, meaning to steal one. But the Princess knew what he was about. Just as he reached out his hand she sang:

At once the wind caught Conrad’s hat from his head and sent it flying and rolling across the meadows, and Conrad was obliged to run after it or he would have lost it.

By the time he came back again with the hat the Princess had combed her hair and fastened it up under her cap so that not a thread of it could be seen.

Conrad was very cross when he went home with the Princess that evening. He would not speak a word to her.

The next morning when they started out with the geese they passed under the gateway as usual, and the Princess looked up and said:

“Ah, Falada, that thou shouldst hang there!”

And the head answered:

Conrad listened and wondered, but said nothing.

When they reached the meadow the Princess let down her hair as before and began to comb it. It looked so beautiful and glittering and bright that Conrad felt he must have a hair of it. He crept up behind her and then, just as he was about to seize it, the Princess sang:

At once the wind whirled Conrad’s hat away across the meadows, and he had to run after it to catch it.

When he came back he was so sulky that he would not even look at the Princess, but already she had her hair combed and fastened up under her cap.

That evening the goose-herd went to the King and said, “I do not wish that girl to go out to the meadows with me any more. I would rather take care of the geese by myself.”

“Why?” asked the King. “What is the matter with her?”

“Oh, she vexes me, and she has strange ways that I cannot understand.”

“What ways?” asked the King.

Then Conrad told him how every day as he and the girl passed through the gateway she would look up at the horse’s head and say:

“Ah, Falada, that thou shouldst hang there!”

And how the head would answer:

“I do not like such strange ways,” said Conrad.

The King looked thoughtful and stroked his beard. Then he told Conrad not to say anything about this matter to anyone. “I myself,” said he, “will watch by the gateway to-morrow morning, for I wish to hear for myself exactly what passes between the girl and Falada.”

So the next morning very early the King hid himself in the shadow beside the gateway, and presently the Princess and Conrad came along driving the geese before them.

As they reached the gateway the Princess looked up and sighed:

And the head answered:

After they had spoken thus the King stepped out from the shadow and called to the Princess. “What is the meaning of these words?” asked he. “Who are you, and what is your story?”

The Princess began to weep. “Alas, I cannot answer,” said she, “for I have sworn that I would not tell a single living soul.”

“Very well,” said the King, “if you have sworn, then you must keep your oath; but to-night, after all the servants have left the bakehouse go and tell your story to the great oven that is there.”

This the Princess promised she would do. So that night, when she came home, she went into the bakehouse and looked about her. She saw no one, and she thought she was alone there, but the King had hidden himself inside the oven, though she did not know it.

Then the Princess began to tell her story to the oven. She told how she had left home with her false-hearted waiting-maid. She told of how she had lost the kerchief with the drops of blood upon it, and how the waiting-maid had made her exchange clothing with her and dress herself as a servant; and she told how she had been forced to swear that she would not tell all this to a living soul. All, the whole story, she told to the bake-oven, and the King sat inside of it and listened and understood.

When she had made an end of speaking the King came out and took her by the hand. “You have been very cruelly treated,” said he, “but now your sorrows are over.”

He then led the Princess into the palace, and she was dressed in the richest clothes that were there, and when this was done she was as beautiful as the moon when the clouds drift over it.

The King sent for the Prince, and when he saw the Princess he was filled with joy and love, and he knew at once that this must be his true bride.

He and the King planned together as to how the false bride should be punished. And this is what was done:

A grand feast and entertainment were arranged. The Prince sat upon a high seat with the false bride upon one hand and the true bride upon the other. But the false bride was so dazzled by all the splendor, and by her own pride that she did not even see the Princess.

Everyone ate and drank to his heart’s content, and then the King began asking riddles. After the riddles he said he would tell the guests a story, and the story he told was that of the Princess and the waiting-maid, and still the false bride was too dazzled by her own splendor to understand the story.

When he had finished the story the King asked, “What should be the punishment of such a false servant as that?”

Then the false bride cried boldly, “She should be taken to a high cliff and thrown over into the sea.”

“So shall it be,” cried the King sternly, “for you yourself are that false servant, and here sits the true bride whom you have wronged.”

Then the waiting-maid understood what she had done, and she was filled with terror. But the Princess had pity on her, and begged for mercy for her. So the waiting-maid was not thrown into the sea, but her fine clothes were stripped from her, and she was driven out to beg her way through the world.

Then the Prince and Princess were married and lived happily ever after, and Falada’s head was taken down and placed upon his body and he came to life again and lived for many years in the castle stable, and the Princess loved him dearly.

 One time a little old woman was sweeping her room, and she found in the corner a bright silver shilling. “There!” said the old woman, “Now I can buy that little pig I have been wanting for such a long time.”

She finished her sweeping in a hurry and put on her bonnet and her shawl and started off to market to buy her pig, and she carried a tin pail with her so she could gather blackberries along the way.

The bushes were fairly loaded down with berries, so it did not take her long to fill her pail, and after that she got to market in no time.

At first she could not find just the pig she wanted. Some were too little and some were too big; some were too fat and some were too thin. But at last she found just exactly the right pig; it was round and pink and it had one black ear, and the curliest tail there was in the market. She paid just exactly a shilling for it, and then she tied a rope around its hind leg and started home with it, driving it before her, and carrying the pail of blackberries on her arm.

At first all went well. The little pig trotted quietly along, and the sun shone, and the birds sang, and the little white clouds floated across the sky. But presently they came to a stile, and the pig did not want to go over it. Now, there was no way to go round, and no way to get home except over this stile.

“Go on, piggy,” said the old woman, shaking the rope. But piggy wouldn’t go on. The old woman tried to drive him, and he wouldn’t go, and then she tried to lead him, and then she coaxed him and talked to him, but he just wouldn’t go over the stile.

At last the old woman quite lost patience with him. She saw a dog trotting along the road, and she called to him. “Here! here, good dog; come and bite piggy, for I can’t make pig go over the stile, and at this rate I won’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

The dog stopped and looked at her and looked at the pig, but he would not bite it.

Close by a stick lay in the road, and the woman called to it (and she was quite cross by this time). “Stick, stick, beat dog; dog won’t bite pig, pig won’t go over the stile, and at this rate I shan’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

But the stick wouldn’t. It lay there quietly in the road just as though she hadn’t spoken to it.

Over in the field a fire was burning, and the old woman called to it, “Fire, fire, burn stick; stick won’t beat dog, dog won’t bite pig, pig won’t go over the stile, and at this rate I won’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

But the fire wouldn’t.

Then the old woman called to a brook near by, “Water, water, quench fire; fire won’t burn stick, stick won’t beat dog, dog won’t bite pig, pig won’t go over the stile, and I shan’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

But the brook wouldn’t.

She saw an ox over in the field. “Ox, ox,” she cried, “drink water; water won’t quench fire, fire won’t burn stick, stick won’t beat dog, dog won’t bite pig, pig won’t go over the stile, and I shan’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

But the ox wouldn’t.

She saw a butcher riding along the road, and she called to him “Butcher, butcher, kill ox; ox won’t drink water, water won’t quench fire, fire won’t burn stick, stick won’t beat dog, dog won’t bite pig, pig won’t go over the stile, and I won’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

But the butcher wouldn’t.

There was a piece of rope twisted about the fence. “Rope, rope,” she cried, “hang butcher; butcher won’t kill ox, ox won’t drink water, water won’t quench fire, fire won’t burn stick, stick won’t beat dog, dog won’t bite pig, pig won’t go over the stile, and I shan’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

But the rope wouldn’t.

Then she called to a rat that lived in a hole under the stile, “Rat, rat, gnaw rope; rope won’t hang butcher, butcher won’t kill ox, ox won’t drink water, water won’t quench fire, fire won’t burn stick, stick won’t beat dog, dog won’t bite pig, pig won’t go over the stile, and I shan’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

But the rat wouldn’t.

A cat was sitting on a gate-post. “Puss, puss, catch rat,” called the old woman. “Rat won’t gnaw rope, rope won’t hang butcher, butcher won’t kill ox, ox won’t drink water, water won’t quench fire, fire won’t burn stick, stick won’t beat dog, dog won’t bite pig, and I shan’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

“No,” answered puss, “I am very comfortable sitting here. Why should I disturb myself just to please you. But if you will get the red cow to give you a saucerful of milk for me then I will catch the rat.”

So the little old woman tied the pig to the stile, and then she climbed over the fence into the field where the red cow was standing.

“Please, good cow, give me a saucerful of milk for puss,” she said, “so that puss will catch the rat that won’t gnaw the rope that won’t hang the butcher who won’t kill the ox that won’t drink the water that won’t quench the fire that won’t burn the stick that won’t beat the dog that won’t bite the pig that won’t go over the stile so that I can get home before midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

Said the cow, “If you will go over yonder to where the haymakers are working and fetch me a wisp of hay to eat, then I will give you the milk.”

So the little old woman went over to the haymakers and said, “Please, good kind haymakers, give me a wisp of hay to give to the cow so that she may give me some milk to give to the cat.”

The haymakers were very hot and thirsty and they said, “Very well; if you will go down to the stream and fetch us a pailful of water we will give you the hay.”

So the little old woman emptied out her blackberries on the ground very carefully and then she hurried down to the stream and brought back to the haymakers a pailful of fresh cool water.

The haymakers drank deep of it and then they gave the little old woman all the hay she wanted. She put the blackberries back in the pail and hurried back to the cow with the hay.

The cow gladly gave her a saucerful of milk in return for the hay.

The old woman took the milk to the cat, and while puss was drinking it the old woman untied the rope that fastened the pig to the stile.

Puss finished the milk and licked up the last drop of it, and then she bounded down beside the stile and began to catch the rat.

The rat squeaked with terror and began to gnaw the rope.

The rope began to hang the butcher, the butcher began to kill the ox, the ox began to drink the water, the water began to quench the fire, the fire began to burn the stick, the stick began to beat the dog, the dog began to bite the pig, and the pig squealed at the top of its lungs and scrambled over the stile and ran for home so fast that the little old woman could hardly keep up with it.

They got home in less than no time; it wasn’t even midday, and the little old woman had her blackberries for dinner, and what was left over she gave to the pig.

There was once a king who had three sons, and he loved them all so tenderly that each one was dearer to him than the others. He loved them all so well that he could not make up his mind to which one to leave his kingdom. He thought and thought, and then he called his wise old councilor to him and asked his advice.

“Your Majesty,” said the Councilor, “you love all three of the princes equally, and so my advice is to leave the kingdom to the one who loves you best.”

“But I do not know which one loves me best,” said the King.

“Then set them three tasks. The one who performs the tasks the best, and who takes the most trouble to please you, — he must be the one who bears you the most love.”

This advice pleased the King, and he sent for his three sons, and told them what he had decided to do. “I have,” said he, “a great wish for a little dog to amuse me. I will give you a year in which to find me the smallest and prettiest little dog in the world. Whichever of you will bring me such a dog shall receive a third of my kingdom.”

As soon as the princes heard this they were eager to set out in search of such a dog. The two older brothers were sure one of them would find it, for they did not think much of their younger brother. Each one rode away to a great city, and went to the best dog dealers there. The eldest son bought a little white dog no larger than a small kitten, and very pretty and playful. The second son bought a red dog so small it could curl up in the palm of his hand. Each was content with his choice, and rode home without searching further.

The King was delighted with the dogs they brought, and his sons wished him to decide at once as to which of them deserved the kingdom, but this the King would not do. “No, no,” said he, “we must wait until your brother comes. He can hardly find another dog as pretty as these, but still it is only right to wait until he returns, or until the year is up.”

Meanwhile the youngest prince had ridden on and on, much farther than either of his other brothers. Everywhere he asked for dogs, and hundreds of them were brought to him, big and little, fat and thin, black and white, and gray and red and yellow. But not one of them was what the Prince wanted.

At last one day he came to a deep forest. A storm had risen; the Prince was wet to the skin with rain, and covered with mud. He saw a light before him shining through the trees, and he rode toward it. He hoped he might find there some shelter for the night.

What was his surprise, as he drew near the light, to see it came from a magnificent palace that had been built here in the deep forest far away from any city. The Prince knocked at the door and at once it opened before him. He went in and looked about him, but he saw no one, though invisible hands closed the door behind him. An unseen hand took his and he was led through several rooms to a handsome chamber that seemed to have been made ready for him. His wet and muddy clothes were removed and he was dressed in a suit of white and silver; but with all this he still saw no one.

He was then led to a banquet hall where a fine feast was laid out.

Suddenly, while the Prince stood looking about him there was a sound of trumpets; the doors opposite to him swung open, and a strange procession marched into the room. First, walking upright came a small and very pretty white cat. She was dressed all in black, and wore a long black veil, and an ebony crown. She was followed by other cats. Some of these were dressed as ladies-in-waiting, some as courtiers, and some as trumpeters.

The White Cat came up to the Prince and bade him welcome. “I saw you as you rode through the forest,” she said, “and this feast was made ready for you. Come, Prince, let us take our places at the table and eat.”

The cat then seated herself at the head of the table and motioned the Prince to sit beside her.

Unseen hands at once served them with the most rare and delicious dishes. The cat ate daintily, and the Prince noticed that she touched nothing but some oddly cooked birds, and some cream.

He himself was hungry and ate of everything, and while he ate the White Cat talked to him with so much sense and wit that he was delighted with her.

After supper the White Cat left him and he was led by invisible hands to a magnificent chamber, where he spent the night.

The next morning when he awoke he found a hunting-suit of green laid out for him, and high riding-boots and a plumed hat. Unseen hands dressed him, and food was served to him in a breakfast-room hung about with curtains of satin embroidered with gold.

After he had eaten, the Prince went in search of the White Cat. He found her in the courtyard. She and her attendants and several cats dressed as huntsmen were about to set out on a hunt. She invited the Prince to go with them, and he gladly accepted.

A troop of monkeys all saddled and bridled were led up to the palace steps. The Prince looked on in wonder while the White Cat sprang upon the back of the largest and finest monkey. The other cats also mounted, but as the Prince was too large to ride a monkey a large wooden horse on wheels was brought for him to ride. This seemed so absurd to the Prince that he was about to refuse, but the White Cat motioned him to it so politely that he was ashamed to say no. He sprang to the back of the wooden steed, and at once he felt it move and stir under him as though it were alive. The cat-huntsmen sounded their horns, and away the hunting-party went. The White Cat and the Prince rode first, and the Prince found the wooden horse rolled along so smoothly and swiftly that nothing could have been pleasanter.

The day was spent in hunting through the forest, and in the evening there was another grand feast at the palace, this time with music and dancing. The dancers were six large black cats dressed in spangled clothes, and their leaps and bounds and twirlings were wonderful. The Prince had never been so well amused in his life before.

Day after day slipped by, and still the Prince stayed at the White Cat’s palace, and he was so happy there that he quite forgot his father and the kingdom he had hoped to win. The year had passed, all but three days, when suddenly the Prince remembered his errand. He was filled with dismay, for now it was too late for him to seek for a little dog, and he feared he had lost all chance of winning the kingdom.

But the White Cat saw his trouble. “Do not be dismayed, Prince,” she said. “I know the errand that brought you here, and I am ready to help you.” She then handed him an acorn. “Here,” she said, “take this and you will find in it the thing you seek.”

The Prince thought the cat was mocking him, but she bade him put the acorn to his ear and listen. When he did this he could hear from within the acorn a sound of barking as thin and small as the squeaking of a mouse.

“Do not open it until you reach home,” said the White Cat. “Then, when your father sees what is inside of it he will know that you are the one who deserves the kingdom.”

The Prince thanked the cat, and mounted his own horse, which had been brought from the stables, and rode on home. Just before he reached his father’s palace he bought an ugly dog from a beggar, and took it with him.

When he entered the palace he went at once to the room where his father sat upon his throne with his two elder sons by him.

When the two princes saw their younger brother enter the court with the ugly dog at his heels they laughed aloud with scorn. They felt very sure that now the kingdom would belong to them.

The King was very much offended. He spoke to the young Prince harshly. “Why do you bring such an ugly cur to my court?” he asked. “Have you no more respect for my wishes than to present me with such a dog as that?”

The Prince, however, answered gently, “Dear father, have patience for a moment and I may offer you something that will please you better.”

He then drew out the acorn and opened it. Inside it was a tiny satin cushion, and upon this cushion lay a dog so small and so exquisite that the King was filled with wonder. He could scarcely believe his eyes.

“Truly you deserve to have the kingdom at once,” cried he, “but I have promised that there shall be three trials before I give the kingdom to any one of you.”

The King then told the princes that he wished them to bring him a piece of muslin so fine and delicate that it could be drawn through the eye of a needle. Whichever one succeeded best should receive at least a part of the kingdom.

The three princes at once set out on this new errand. The elder brothers sought out the dealers in great cities as before, but the youngest Prince rode straight to the castle of the White Cat.

The cat received him kindly. “I know what is required of you,” she said. “Do not trouble yourself in the matter. Stay here with me, and when the proper time arrives you shall have what is needed.”

So the Prince stayed there in the White Cat’s palace for a year, all but three days, and the time passed even more pleasantly than before. At the end of that time the White Cat gave a walnut to the Prince. “Take this,” she said, “and do not open it until you are at home again. Within it you will find what you desire.”

The Prince took the walnut and rode away. When he reached the court his brothers were already there. Each had brought with him a piece of muslin so fine that it would pass through the eye of a darning-needle, but they could not draw it through the eye of a cambric needle.

Then the third Prince took out the walnut and cracked it. Within it he expected to see a piece of muslin, but instead he found only a hazel-nut. He cracked the hazel-nut and inside of it was a cherry-stone. He cracked the cherry-stone and inside of it was a grain of wheat. The Prince began to fear the White Cat had deceived him, and that he must lose the kingdom. As for his brothers, they laughed aloud and mocked at him.

“What trick is this that you are playing on us?” they asked. “If you have the muslin show it to us, and if not then confess to our father that you have failed.”

Without answering, the Prince cracked the grain of wheat, and inside it was a millet-seed. His heart sank. However, he cracked the millet seed, and there was the piece of muslin the cat had promised to him. He shook it out and there were ells and ells of it and all as fine as gossamer. Never had such a piece of cloth been seen before. The King looked and wondered and admired. The muslin was so fine it could be drawn not only through the eye of a darning-needle, but through the eye of a cambric needle as well.

“This is a wonderful piece of cloth,” said the King to the young Prince. “You have indeed again deserved the kingdom, but there is one more task to be performed before I can give it to anyone. I wish you to bring to me the most beautiful princess in the world. Whichever of you can do this shall receive at least a half of the kingdom.”

When the elder brothers heard this they were in haste to set out. The youngest brother had already brought to their father the smallest and prettiest dog in the world, and the finest piece of muslin, but with good luck one of them might still bring to him the most beautiful princess. They journeyed away to far kingdoms where there were princesses who were famed for their beauty; but the youngest prince rode no place at all but to the palace of the White Cat.

The cat welcomed him even more kindly than before. “I know what you have come to seek,” said she. “This matter is not so easy as the others were. But do not be downhearted. I will help you when the proper time comes.”

Again the days passed pleasantly in the White Cat’s castle, and the Prince was well content to stay there. He was so happy that a whole year, all but a day, slipped by before he thought about it. Then one morning he awoke, and remembered that the next day he must be back at the King’s palace with the most beautiful princess in the world, if he were to win the kingdom. “Alas, alas!” he cried. “The kingdom is certainly lost to me. I have no time left to seek for a princess, and moreover it is a three days’ journey back to the palace. Before I reach there the kingdom will certainly have been divided between my brothers.”

“Have I not promised to help you?” asked the cat. “Why do you trouble yourself? If you do exactly as I tell you the kingdom will be yours; and not that kingdom only, but others beside.”

The cat then told the Prince to draw his sword and cut off her head, but the Prince refused to do such an act. He was filled with horror at the bare thought of it.

The White Cat began to weep bitterly. “What have I not done for you?” she cried; “and you will not do even this one thing for me.”

She wept and lamented so bitterly that at last the Prince could refuse no longer. He drew his sword to cut off the cat’s head, but at the same time he closed his eyes that he might not see the cruel deed.

When he opened his eyes again what was his wonder to see no cat, but a beautiful princess who stood before him smiling. Never had he seen such beauty before.

“Prince,” said the Princess, “you have saved me from a cruel fate. I was taken by the fairies when I was a baby and lived with them as a daughter until I grew up. Then I made them angry because I would not marry a very rich and ugly dwarf who was a friend of theirs. They then changed me and all my companions into cats, and we were obliged to live in these shapes until some young and kind-hearted prince would cut off my head. This you have done, and now we are all restored to our proper shapes again. This shows me that the fairies have forgiven me and will give me back the two kingdoms that were mine by rights.”

The Princess, a cat no longer, then ordered the wooden horse to be brought to the door. She and the Prince mounted upon it, and away they went, so fast that the wind whistled past their ears. The three day’s journey was made in less than a day, and when the Prince led the Princess into court, everyone was obliged to own that now he had indeed fairly won the kingdom. His two brothers had also brought home with them beautiful princesses, but neither could compare in beauty with the bride of the youngest Prince; for his bride she had promised to be.

As soon as a feast could be prepared, she and the young Prince were married.

As the Princess had already two kingdoms of her own she begged the old King to divide his kingdom between his two elder sons. This was done, the older princes were married to the beauties they had brought home with them, and they all lived in love and happiness forever after.

There was once a man who was such a boaster that scarcely a word he said was true. One day he was talking with some companions and he said, “I have no need to work or worry over anything. I could be richer than the King himself if I chose, for I have a daughter who can spin straw into gold.”

A nobleman who was passing by overheard this, and he went to the King and repeated to him what the man had said.

Now the King of that country was very fond of gold; he never could have enough of it. He at once sent to the boaster’s house and had him and his daughter brought to the palace. They were brought to where the King sat, and the King said, “I hear that you have boasted that your daughter can spin straw into gold. Is that true?”

The man was very much frightened when he heard this, but he was afraid to deny what he had already said.

“Yes, your majesty, that is what I said,” he answered.

“Very well,” said the King. “We shall soon know whether you have spoken the truth or not. I have had a large room made ready for your daughter. It is filled with straw. I will have her taken to it, and if she spins it into gold you shall be well rewarded, but if she fails you shall both be punished severely.”

Both the father and daughter were terrified at these words. They did not know what would become of them. The boaster was allowed to go home, but the girl was taken to a large room filled with straw, and was left there. She sat and cried and cried.

Presently the door opened and a crooked little brown dwarf came into the room.

“Tut, tut, what a noise,” said he. “Why are you crying so bitterly.”

“I am crying because the King has put me here to spin this straw into gold, and I do not know how to set about it.”

“That should not be such a hard matter. What will you give me if I do it for you?”

“This necklace around my neck,” said the girl.

“Very well, give it to me.” The dwarf took the necklace and sat down to the spinning wheel, and it did not take him long to spin all the straw into gold — heaps and heaps of it. Then he hopped away, and no one saw him come or go but the girl.

Early the next morning the King came to see how the girl was getting on. When he saw the room full of glittering gold instead of straw he was filled with joy and wonder. But for all that he was not satisfied. He led the girl into a still larger room, and it, too, was full of straw.

“You have done very well,” said he, “but I expect you to do still better. Spin this straw into gold for me and the reward shall not be lacking.” Then he went away, leaving the girl alone.

She sat and cried and cried.

Presently the door opened, and the same little dwarf came hopping into the room.

“What will you give me,” said he, “if I spin this straw into gold for you?”

“I will give you the gold ring from my finger,” answered the girl.

The dwarf sat down at the spinning wheel, and soon all the straw was spun into gold. Then the dwarf took the ring from the girl’s finger and went away.

The next day, when the King came and saw all the gold he was even more delighted than before. He was now as rich as any emperor, but even yet he was not content. He took the girl into a still larger room, and it, like the others, was full of straw.

“If you will spin this, too, into gold, then you shall be my bride,” said he.

The King had scarcely left her before the dwarf came hopping into the room. “Well,” said he, “what will you give me this time if I spin the straw into gold for you?”

“Alas, alas!” cried the girl, “I have nothing more to give.”

“Promise me that if the King marries you, you will give me your first child, and I will help you,” said the dwarf.

At first the girl did not want to promise this, but then she thought that after all it was very unlikely the King would marry her, and even if he did she might never have a child. “Very well,” said she, “I promise.”

The dwarf laughed aloud and snapped his fingers with joy. Then he sat down at the spinning wheel and spun till the wheel whirred. You could scarcely see it, it flew so fast. Soon all the straw was spun. “There,” said he, “now you will not need me again. But do not forget your promise, for at the right time I shall certainly come to claim the child.” Then he hopped away, laughing as he went.

Not long afterward the King came into the room. He could wait no longer to see whether the girl had finished her task. When he saw the heaps of gold, more than ever before, he hardly knew what to do with himself, he was so happy.

“Now I am satisfied,” said he. “You shall be my wife, as I promised, and your father shall be brought to court and become a great nobleman.”

As the King said, so it was done. He and the girl were married, and her father was sent for to come and live at the court.

And now the girl was very happy. She loved the King, and she had forgotten all about the promise she had made to the dwarf.

At the end of a year a fine little child was born to the Queen. The whole kingdom was filled with rejoicings. As to the King he was almost beside himself with joy.

One day, as the Queen was sitting by the baby’s cradle, the door opened, and the crooked little dwarf hopped into the room. When the Queen saw him she turned as white as paper.

“Well,” said the dwarf, “and are you ready to keep the promise you made when I spun the straw into gold for you?”

Then the Queen began to beg and entreat that the dwarf would leave the baby with her, and not take it away. She offered him gold and jewels, and even the golden crown from her head, if he would only leave her the child. But no — no — the dwarf had gold and jewels, more than he cared for. It was the young Prince he wanted.

At last he said, “Listen, I will give you one chance. If within three days you can guess what my name is you shall keep the child, but if you fail in this then you must give him to me, and no more words about it.”

To this the Queen agreed willingly, for she had no fear but what she could guess the dwarf’s name.

As soon as he had gone she sent out to all the neighbors round to learn what were the names of all the men they knew, and when the dwarf came the next day she was ready for him.

“Was his name John?” “No, it was not.” “Was it Henry?” “No.” “Was it James or Conrad or Phillip or Habbakuk?” “No, no, no; it was none of them.” The Queen went over all the names she had learned, but not one of them was the right one, and the dwarf went away rejoicing.

The next day he came again and the Queen had a fresh list of names ready, for she had sent out messengers far and wide, and they had brought back every name they could hear of. But the dwarf said no to all of them. Not one of them was right. Then the Queen’s heart sank within her, but she plucked up courage, and as soon as the dwarf had gone, sent out other messengers, but these brought back not a single name but those she knew already. The Queen was in despair. She sat at the window and waited for the dwarf to come, and she held the baby in her arms.

Then she heard the King’s forester talking to his sweetheart in the courtyard below. He had heard nothing of how the Queen had sent far and wide to gather names, for he had been off in the forest for three days. The forester told his sweetheart how he had lost his way in the forest the night before. Then he had come to a hollow, and it was full of rocks, and a red fire was burning among them. Around this fire a crooked little dwarf was dancing and as he danced he sang:

When the Queen heard that, she laughed aloud. Then she arose and put the baby down, and sent word to the forester that he should tell no one else of what he had seen in the forest.

Not long afterward the dwarf came as usual.

“Well, and have you guessed my name?” he asked; “for if you have not I must have the child.”

The Queen pretended to be in great trouble. “Is it — is it Short-Shanks?” she asked.

“No,” cried the dwarf and his eyes shone like sparks.

“Is it Long-Arms?”

“No,” shouted the dwarf, and he hopped up and down with joy.

“Is it — is it by any chance Brittle-Legs?”

When the Queen said that the dwarf gave a scream of rage. His face grew first as black as thunder, and then as red as fire.

“Someone has told you! Someone has told you!” he shrieked and he stamped so hard that his foot sank down into the floor and he could not pull it out, so he shook it off and hopped away, leaving one leg behind him, and what became of him after that nobody ever knew. But the Queen lived happy and untroubled forever after.

“I WENT UP ONE PAIR OF STAIRS,” ETC.

Now I will tell you a joke; whatever I say to you, you must answer “Just like me.” Now we will begin.

Just like you! Ha, ha! You said the monkey was just like you; I think you must be a little monkey yourself if it looked just like you.

Now I will tell you something else. I will say one and then you must say two; I will say three, and you must say four and so on; but each time we must say after the number “a dead horse.” Like this. I say one a dead horse, and you must say two a dead horse.

Now begin.

Eight a dead horse! Ate a dead horse! You said you ate a dead horse. Oh! oh! Did it taste good? I hope you enjoyed it. For my part I wouldn’t care to eat a dead horse.

Now I will tell you what kind of a lock I am, and you must be the same kind of a key. If I say I am a gray lock, you must say you are a gray key. If I say I am a queer lock you must say you are a queer key. If I say I am a rusty lock you must say you are a rusty key.

 You’re a monkey! You’re a monkey. That’s the second time you’ve said it, so now I’m sure it must be so. Well, what other kinds of locks and keys are we? Let us begin all over again.

Are you indeed? Are you really a dear little donkey? Who would have thought it?

 A bean and a hot coal met each other on the highroad, and as they were both rolling along in the same direction they soon struck up a friendship.

Presently they were joined by a straw, and the three began talking together. They were all going out in the world to seek their fortunes.

“It is just a bit of luck that I can travel about in this way,” said the bean. “If I had not been a stout active fellow I would have been boiled into soup by now. The mistress was about to throw me into the pot with a lot of other beans, but I managed to slip through her fingers and rolled out through the doorway and down the steps without her even noticing I was gone.”

“That was a clever trick,” said the hot coal. “I, too, am a lively chap. I and my brothers were set to heat a kettle, but I jumped out of the fire, and I was so hot the cook did not dare to touch me. She pushed me out of doors with her foot, and now I am free to go about the world as I choose, and seek my fortune.”

The straw sighed. “I was never as active as that,” she said. “Always wherever the wind blew me I went. The farmer had picked up a whole armful of straws to make a bed for the cow; but the wind caught me up and carried me off — and here I am.”

While they were talking in this way the comrades came to a brook, and this stopped their journey, for they did not know how to get across. The straw could easily have sailed over on the first puff of wind, but that way would not do for the other two.

“Listen!” said the straw. “I am long enough to reach from one side of the stream to the other. I will lay myself across it like a bridge, and then you can both walk on over me without getting wet.”

To this plan the other two were glad to agree, so the straw laid herself across the stream.

“You go first,” said the bean, for he was a cautious fellow, and wanted to see whether the bridge was safe before he tried it.

The coal, however, was quick and fiery. He ran out on the straw, but half-way over he grew dizzy and had to stop.

“Quick! quick!” cried the straw. “I am burning”; for the coal was still very hot.

“Wait,” said the coal, balancing himself. “Just a minute!”

But the straw could not wait even for a minute. The coal had burned through it, and down they both went into the water, the coal hissing as it fell.

That seemed so comical to the bean that it began to laugh. It laughed and laughed; it laughed so hard that at last it split its skin, and that would have been the end of it if a tailor had not chanced to come by just then.

“Help! help!” cried the bean.

The tailor looked all about him, and then he saw the bean lying on the ground. He picked it up, and it did not take him long to see what was the matter with it. “This slit can be easily mended,” said he, and he whipped out his needle and thread and sewed up the bean in a trice. Unluckily he had only black thread, and the stitches made a line of black down the side of the bean. And ever since then, if you look, you will see that every bean of that kind has a black line down one side of it.

THE WATER-SPRITE

A little brother and sister were playing one day on the edge of a well that belonged to a water-sprite. The little girl held her brother’s hand, and leaned far over to look down into it.

“It seems to me that down below there I can see green meadows and flocks of sheep moving over them,” she said.

“It is only the reflection of the clouds,” said the little boy. “But be careful. I fear you will fall in.”

Even as he spoke the little girl slipped and fell into the well, and as she had hold of her brother’s hand she pulled him in after her.

The two children went down — down — down — through the waters, and when they came to the bottom they found themselves in a country of green meadows and trees and streams, and before them stood a shining castle with domes and towers.

This castle belonged to the water-sprite who owned the well.

 The little brother and sister went up to the castle and knocked at the door, and at once the water-sprite opened it to them.

“Come in, come in,” said she. “I saw you playing on the edge of the well, and it was I who caused you to fall in. I am lonely here, so you shall stay with me and be my servants, and whatever I bid you do that you must do.”

The water-sprite would have been beautiful if only she had not been so green. Her face was green and her hair was green, and her eyes were green. Only her teeth were white.

The sprite led the children into the kitchen and there she gave the little girl a bucket that had no bottom. “Go,” said she, “and fetch me some water to boil the dumplings for supper. And you,” said she to the boy, “must cut me some wood,” and she gave him an ax that had no edge. It was as blunt as a hammer.

The little sister went out to the spring that the water-sprite showed her, and tried to dip up water, but as fast as she dipped it up it ran out again, for the bucket had no bottom.

The brother began to chop at a tree near by. He chopped and he chopped and he chopped, but he could scarcely make a dent, the ax was so blunt.

When the children came back to the castle without either wood or water, the sprite was very cross with them. “I can easily see that you are both very stupid,” said she. “But sit down; sit down at the table. Even if you are stupid I suppose you must eat.”

The children sat down at the table, and the water-sprite set before them a dish of dumplings, but as the dumplings had not been cooked and were only dough the children could not eat them. They slipped them into their pockets, and then, when the sprite was not looking they gave the dumplings to the water-cat that rubbed about their chairs.

After that the children went to bed and slept.

The next day it was the same thing over again. The water-sprite set them tasks that they could not possibly do, and gave them only dough to eat, so the children made up their minds to run away. They waited, however, until afternoon, when the water-sprite went up to the top of the well to look about her.

When they were about to set out, the water-cat said to them, “You do well to run away. You would not be happy here. But do not think my mistress will allow you to escape if she can help it. When she comes home and finds you gone, she will at once set out in pursuit of you. She can go very much faster than you, and she will certainly catch you unless you take with you her comb, her brush, and her mirror. These are magic things. Each time you find she is about to catch you, throw one or other of these things over your shoulder. By this means, and by this means only, can you hope to escape.”

The children thanked the little cat, and did as it advised them. They took the water-sprite’s brush and comb and mirror, and carried them off with them, and ran as fast as they could along the road that led to the upper world.

Soon after they had left, the water-sprite came home. When she found them gone she only stopped long enough to scold the cat, and then she put on her shoes of swiftness and started after them.

Presently the children looked behind them and saw her coming. She came so fast on her shoes of swiftness, that it seemed as though they could not possibly escape her.

However, the children remembered what the water-cat had told them. They threw the comb behind them, and at once it spread and grew into a wall of spikes, tremendously stiff and high. It took the water-sprite a long time to climb over this wall, and the children were well on their way before they heard her behind them again.

Then the little girl threw the brush over her shoulder. At once the brush became a great thick forest, through which the water-sprite could hardly find her way.

But she got through it at last, and then it did not take her long to be at their heels again.

“And now we have only one more thing left,” said the brother, and he threw the mirror behind him.

At once the mirror became a hill of glass so steep and smooth that no one could possibly climb it. The sprite tried to run up it, but no sooner had she gone a step or so than she slipped back again. At last, with a shriek of rage, she turned and fled back to her castle, and that was the last of her.

But the children went on their way, and the road led them straight to the upper world and the door of their home. After that they were always careful to keep away from the edge of the water-sprite’s well.

A little girl once lived all alone with her old grandmother upon the borders of a forest. They were so poor that they were scarcely able to buy food for their mouths, or clothes to cover them.

“Never mind, Granny,” the little girl would say. “Some day I will be big enough to work, and then I will earn so much that I will be able to buy everything that we need, and to give something to other poor folk as well.”

One day the child went off into the forest to gather fagots. These she hoped to sell for a few pennies in the town over beyond the hill. She was to be gone all day, so she took with her into the forest a bit of the black bread, which was all they had left to eat.

It was winter, and the air was bitterly cold. The child wrapped her little shawl about her, and ran on as fast as she could. She was hungry, but she intended to save her crust until after the fagots were gathered.

Just as she reached the edge of the forest she met a boy, even smaller than she herself, and he was crying bitterly.

The little girl had a tender heart. She stopped and asked the child why he was weeping.

“I am weeping,” he answered, “because I am hungry.”

“Have you had nothing to eat to-day?” she asked.

“I have had nothing, and I am like to starve, for I know not where to go for food.”

The little girl sighed. “You are, perhaps, hungrier than I,” she said, and she took the crust from her pocket and gave it to the boy. Then she again hurried on.

A little farther on, she met another child who was even more miserable-looking than the first, for this child seemed almost frozen with cold. Her clothing hung about her in rags, and her skin looked blue through the rents.

“Ah,” cried she, “if I had but a warm little dress like yours! Help me, I pray of you, or I will certainly die of cold.”

The good little girl was filled with pity. “It is not right,” thought she, “that I should have both a dress and a shawl. I will give one of them to this poor child.”

She took off her dress and gave it to the child, and then wrapped the shawl closely about her shoulders. In spite of the shawl she felt very cold. Still she was near the place where the fagots were to be found, and as soon as she had gathered them she would run home again.

She hastened on, but when she reached the place where the fagots were she saw an old woman already there, gathering up the fallen wood. The old woman was so bent and poor and miserable-looking that the little girl’s heart ached for her.

“Oh, oh!” groaned the old woman. “How my poor bones do ache. If I had but a shawl to wrap about my shoulders I would not suffer so.”

The child thought of her own grandmother, and of how she sometimes suffered, and she had pity on the old woman.

“Here,” said she, “take my shawl”; and slipping it from her shoulders she gave it to the old woman.

And now she stood there in the forest with her arms and shoulders bare, and with nothing on her but her little shift. The sharp wind blew about her, but she was not cold. She had eaten nothing, but she was not hungry. She was fed and warmed by her own kindness.

She gathered her fagots and started home again. It was growing dusk, and the stars shown through the bare branches of the trees. Suddenly an old man stood beside her. “Give me of your fagots,” said he, “for my hearth is cold, and I am too old to gather wood for myself.”

The little girl sighed. If she gave him the fagots she would have to stop to gather more. Still she would not refuse him. “Take them,” she said, “in heaven’s name.”

No sooner had she said this than she saw it was not an old man who stood before her, but a shining angel.

“You have fed the hungry,” said the angel, “you have clothed the naked, and you have given help to those who asked it. You shall not go unrewarded. See!”

At once a light shone around the child, and it seemed to her that all the stars of heaven were falling through the bare branches of the trees, but these stars were diamonds and rubies and other precious stones. They lay thick upon the ground. “Gather them together,” said the angel, “for they are yours.”

Wondering, the child gathered them together — all that she could carry in the skirt of her little shift.

When she looked about her again the angel was gone, but the child hastened home with her treasure. It was enough to make her and her old grandmother rich. From then on they lacked for nothing. They were not only able to have all they wished for, but to give to many who were poor. So they were not only rich, but beloved by all who knew them.

There was once a poor widow who had only one daughter, a child who was so good and gentle that everyone who knew her, loved her.

One day the child went into the forest to gather firewood, and she was very sad because there was nothing left in the house to eat, and because she and her mother were so often obliged to go hungry.

She had already gathered a bundle of sticks, and was about to go home, when she saw a poor old woman who had also come to the forest for wood. The woman was so bent and stiff that it was pitiful to see her. The child felt sorry for her and wished to help her.

“Good mother,” said she, “let me gather the wood for you; it must be hard for you to stoop.”

She put down her own load, and gathered for the old woman as much as she was able to carry. “I would take it home for you,” said the little girl, “but my mother is waiting for me, and I must make haste, for I am already late.”

“Child,” said the old woman, “you have a good heart, and you deserve to be rewarded.” She then drew out from under her cloak a little iron pot. “Take this,” she said. “It is a magic pot. Whenever you are hungry you have only to say —

She made the child repeat the words after her several times, and she then gave her the pot and hobbled away through the forest.

The child was filled with joy at the thought that now she and her mother need never be hungry again. She ran home as fast as she could, carrying the pot with both hands.

When she came in her mother asked her where the wood was.

“I have brought home something better than wood,” cried the child. “The wood only warms us, but here is something that will feed us as well.” She set the pot upon the table and said:

The pot at once began to bubble and boil, and soon it was full and brimming over with sweet porridge. The widow caught up a spoon and dipped some of the porridge out into a bowl, but the more she dipped out the more there was in it. When all the bowls in the house were full, the child said:

The widow was overjoyed at the treasure the little girl had brought home. “Come,” cried she, “let us sit down and eat.”

“Yes, dear mother,” said the child, “but first I will carry some of the porridge to the neighbors who were so kind to us when we had nothing.”

She filled a large kettle with porridge and started out with it, but no sooner had she gone than the widow began to wonder whether they had kept enough for themselves. She did not feel satisfied, so she said to the pot:

Immediately the pot began to bubble and boil. Soon it was full and the porridge began to run over. The widow wished to stop it, but she had forgotten what to say. “Enough!” she cried. “Stop! Stop!” but the porridge still boiled up and over the edge of the pot. The widow caught up the spoon and again began dipping out the porridge; she dipped as fast as she could. Soon all the pots and pans in the house were full and still the pot continued to boil out porridge. In despair the widow seized the pot and threw it outside the door, but the porridge flowed out from it in a stream, and ran down the road.

The little girl was coming home when she met the stream of porridge, and at once she guessed what had happened. She ran as fast as she could and when she came to the place where the pot lay she cried:

At once the pot stopped boiling, but already enough porridge had been wasted to have fed the whole countryside.

After that the widow never again dared to tell the pot to boil. When they wished for porridge it was the child who spoke to it. But from then on she and her mother never lacked for anything, for the porridge was so delicious that people came from far and near to buy from them.