THE FROG-PRINCE

One fine evening a young princess put on her bonnet and clogs, and
went out to take a walk by herself in a wood; and when she came to a
cool spring of water, that rose in the midst of it, she sat herself
down to rest a while. Now she had a golden ball in her hand, which was
her favourite plaything; and she was always tossing it up into the
air, and catching it again as it fell. After a time she threw it up so
high that she missed catching it as it fell; and the ball bounded
away, and rolled along upon the ground, till at last it fell down into
the spring. The princess looked into the spring after her ball, but it
was very deep, so deep that she could not see the bottom of it. Then
she began to bewail her loss, and said, 'Alas! if I could only get my
ball again, I would give all my fine clothes and jewels, and
everything that I have in the world.'

Whilst she was speaking, a frog put its head out of the water, and
said, 'Princess, why do you weep so bitterly?' 'Alas!' said she, 'what
can you do for me, you nasty frog? My golden ball has fallen into the
spring.' The frog said, 'I want not your pearls, and jewels, and fine
clothes; but if you will love me, and let me live with you and eat
from off your golden plate, and sleep upon your bed, I will bring you
your ball again.' 'What nonsense,' thought the princess, 'this silly
frog is talking! He can never even get out of the spring to visit me,
though he may be able to get my ball for me, and therefore I will tell
him he shall have what he asks.' So she said to the frog, 'Well, if
you will bring me my ball, I will do all you ask.' Then the frog put
his head down, and dived deep under the water; and after a little
while he came up again, with the ball in his mouth, and threw it on
the edge of the spring. As soon as the young princess saw her ball,
she ran to pick it up; and she was so overjoyed to have it in her hand
again, that she never thought of the frog, but ran home with it as
fast as she could. The frog called after her, 'Stay, princess, and
take me with you as you said,' But she did not stop to hear a word.

The next day, just as the princess had sat down to dinner, she heard a
strange noise--tap, tap--plash, plash--as if something was coming up
the marble staircase: and soon afterwards there was a gentle knock at
the door, and a little voice cried out and said:

 'Open the door, my princess dear,
  Open the door to thy true love here!
  And mind the words that thou and I said
  By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.'

Then the princess ran to the door and opened it, and there she saw the
frog, whom she had quite forgotten. At this sight she was sadly
frightened, and shutting the door as fast as she could came back to
her seat. The king, her father, seeing that something had frightened
her, asked her what was the matter. 'There is a nasty frog,' said she,
'at the door, that lifted my ball for me out of the spring this
morning: I told him that he should live with me here, thinking that he
could never get out of the spring; but there he is at the door, and he
wants to come in.'

While she was speaking the frog knocked again at the door, and said:

 'Open the door, my princess dear,
  Open the door to thy true love here!
  And mind the words that thou and I said
  By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.'

Then the king said to the young princess, 'As you have given your word
you must keep it; so go and let him in.' She did so, and the frog
hopped into the room, and then straight on--tap, tap--plash, plash--
from the bottom of the room to the top, till he came up close to the
table where the princess sat. 'Pray lift me upon chair,' said he to
the princess, 'and let me sit next to you.' As soon as she had done
this, the frog said, 'Put your plate nearer to me, that I may eat out
of it.' This she did, and when he had eaten as much as he could, he
said, 'Now I am tired; carry me upstairs, and put me into your bed.'
And the princess, though very unwilling, took him up in her hand, and
put him upon the pillow of her own bed, where he slept all night long.
As soon as it was light he jumped up, hopped downstairs, and went out
of the house. 'Now, then,' thought the princess, 'at last he is gone,
and I shall be troubled with him no more.'

But she was mistaken; for when night came again she heard the same
tapping at the door; and the frog came once more, and said:

 'Open the door, my princess dear,
  Open the door to thy true love here!
  And mind the words that thou and I said
  By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.'

And when the princess opened the door the frog came in, and slept upon
her pillow as before, till the morning broke. And the third night he
did the same. But when the princess awoke on the following morning she
was astonished to see, instead of the frog, a handsome prince, gazing
on her with the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, and standing at
the head of her bed.

He told her that he had been enchanted by a spiteful fairy, who had
changed him into a frog; and that he had been fated so to abide till
some princess should take him out of the spring, and let him eat from
her plate, and sleep upon her bed for three nights. 'You,' said the
prince, 'have broken his cruel charm, and now I have nothing to wish
for but that you should go with me into my father's kingdom, where I
will marry you, and love you as long as you live.'

The young princess, you may be sure, was not long in saying 'Yes' to
all this; and as they spoke a gay coach drove up, with eight beautiful
horses, decked with plumes of feathers and a golden harness; and
behind the coach rode the prince's servant, faithful Heinrich, who had
bewailed the misfortunes of his dear master during his enchantment so
long and so bitterly, that his heart had well-nigh burst.

They then took leave of the king, and got into the coach with eight
horses, and all set out, full of joy and merriment, for the prince's
kingdom, which they reached safely; and there they lived happily a
great many years.

THE FOX AND THE HORSE

A farmer had a horse that had been an excellent faithful servant to
him: but he was now grown too old to work; so the farmer would give
him nothing more to eat, and said, 'I want you no longer, so take
yourself off out of my stable; I shall not take you back again until
you are stronger than a lion.' Then he opened the door and turned him
adrift.

The poor horse was very melancholy, and wandered up and down in the
wood, seeking some little shelter from the cold wind and rain.
Presently a fox met him: 'What's the matter, my friend?' said he, 'why
do you hang down your head and look so lonely and woe-begone?' 'Ah!'
replied the horse, 'justice and avarice never dwell in one house; my
master has forgotten all that I have done for him so many years, and
because I can no longer work he has turned me adrift, and says unless
I become stronger than a lion he will not take me back again; what
chance can I have of that? he knows I have none, or he would not talk
so.'

However, the fox bid him be of good cheer, and said, 'I will help you;
lie down there, stretch yourself out quite stiff, and pretend to be
dead.' The horse did as he was told, and the fox went straight to the
lion who lived in a cave close by, and said to him, 'A little way off
lies a dead horse; come with me and you may make an excellent meal of
his carcase.' The lion was greatly pleased, and set off immediately;
and when they came to the horse, the fox said, 'You will not be able
to eat him comfortably here; I'll tell you what--I will tie you fast
to his tail, and then you can draw him to your den, and eat him at
your leisure.'

This advice pleased the lion, so he laid himself down quietly for the
fox to make him fast to the horse. But the fox managed to tie his legs
together and bound all so hard and fast that with all his strength he
could not set himself free. When the work was done, the fox clapped
the horse on the shoulder, and said, 'Jip! Dobbin! Jip!' Then up he
sprang, and moved off, dragging the lion behind him. The beast began
to roar and bellow, till all the birds of the wood flew away for
fright; but the horse let him sing on, and made his way quietly over
the fields to his master's house.

'Here he is, master,' said he, 'I have got the better of him': and
when the farmer saw his old servant, his heart relented, and he said.
'Thou shalt stay in thy stable and be well taken care of.' And so the
poor old horse had plenty to eat, and lived--till he died.

  A Mad Tea-Party


  There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house,
and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it:  a
Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two
were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking
over its head.  `Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,' thought Alice;
`only, as it's asleep, I suppose it doesn't mind.'

  The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded
together at one corner of it:  `No room!  No room!' they cried
out when they saw Alice coming.  `There's PLENTY of room!' said
Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one
end of the table.

  `Have some wine,' the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.

  Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it
but tea.  `I don't see any wine,' she remarked.

  `There isn't any,' said the March Hare.

  `Then it wasn't very civil of you to offer it,' said Alice
angrily.

  `It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being
invited,' said the March Hare.

  `I didn't know it was YOUR table,' said Alice; `it's laid for a
great many more than three.'

  `Your hair wants cutting,' said the Hatter.  He had been
looking at Alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was
his first speech.

  `You should learn not to make personal remarks,' Alice said
with some severity; `it's very rude.'

  The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all
he SAID was, `Why is a raven like a writing-desk?'

  `Come, we shall have some fun now!' thought Alice.  `I'm glad
they've begun asking riddles.--I believe I can guess that,' she
added aloud.

  `Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?'
said the March Hare.

  `Exactly so,' said Alice.

  `Then you should say what you mean,' the March Hare went on.

  `I do,' Alice hastily replied; `at least--at least I mean what
I say--that's the same thing, you know.'

  `Not the same thing a bit!' said the Hatter.  `You might just
as well say that "I see what I eat" is the same thing as "I eat
what I see"!'

  `You might just as well say,' added the March Hare, `that "I
like what I get" is the same thing as "I get what I like"!'

  `You might just as well say,' added the Dormouse, who seemed to
be talking in his sleep, `that "I breathe when I sleep" is the
same thing as "I sleep when I breathe"!'

  `It IS the same thing with you,' said the Hatter, and here the
conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute,
while Alice thought over all she could remember about ravens and
writing-desks, which wasn't much.

  The Hatter was the first to break the silence.  `What day of
the month is it?' he said, turning to Alice:  he had taken his
watch out of his pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking
it every now and then, and holding it to his ear.

  Alice considered a little, and then said `The fourth.'

  `Two days wrong!' sighed the Hatter.  `I told you butter
wouldn't suit the works!' he added looking angrily at the March
Hare.

  `It was the BEST butter,' the March Hare meekly replied.

  `Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,' the Hatter
grumbled:  `you shouldn't have put it in with the bread-knife.'

  The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily:  then
he dipped it into his cup of tea, and looked at it again:  but he
could think of nothing better to say than his first remark, `It
was the BEST butter, you know.'

  Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity.
`What a funny watch!' she remarked.  `It tells the day of the
month, and doesn't tell what o'clock it is!'

  `Why should it?' muttered the Hatter.  `Does YOUR watch tell
you what year it is?'

  `Of course not,' Alice replied very readily:  `but that's
because it stays the same year for such a long time together.'

  `Which is just the case with MINE,' said the Hatter.

  Alice felt dreadfully puzzled.  The Hatter's remark seemed to
have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English.
`I don't quite understand you,' she said, as politely as she
could.

  `The Dormouse is asleep again,' said the Hatter, and he poured
a little hot tea upon its nose.

  The Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without
opening its eyes, `Of course, of course; just what I was going to
remark myself.'

  `Have you guessed the riddle yet?' the Hatter said, turning to
Alice again.

  `No, I give it up,' Alice replied:  `what's the answer?'

  `I haven't the slightest idea,' said the Hatter.

  `Nor I,' said the March Hare.

  Alice sighed wearily.  `I think you might do something better
with the time,' she said, `than waste it in asking riddles that
have no answers.'

  `If you knew Time as well as I do,' said the Hatter, `you
wouldn't talk about wasting IT.  It's HIM.'

  `I don't know what you mean,' said Alice.

  `Of course you don't!' the Hatter said, tossing his head
contemptuously.  `I dare say you never even spoke to Time!'

  `Perhaps not,' Alice cautiously replied:  `but I know I have to
beat time when I learn music.'

  `Ah! that accounts for it,' said the Hatter.  `He won't stand
beating.  Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he'd do
almost anything you liked with the clock.  For instance, suppose
it were nine o'clock in the morning, just time to begin lessons:
you'd only have to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the
clock in a twinkling!  Half-past one, time for dinner!'

  (`I only wish it was,' the March Hare said to itself in a
whisper.)

  `That would be grand, certainly,' said Alice thoughtfully:
`but then--I shouldn't be hungry for it, you know.'

  `Not at first, perhaps,' said the Hatter:  `but you could keep
it to half-past one as long as you liked.'

  `Is that the way YOU manage?' Alice asked.

  The Hatter shook his head mournfully.  `Not I!' he replied.
`We quarrelled last March--just before HE went mad, you know--'
(pointing with his tea spoon at the March Hare,) `--it was at the
great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing

            "Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
            How I wonder what you're at!"

You know the song, perhaps?'

  `I've heard something like it,' said Alice.

  `It goes on, you know,' the Hatter continued, `in this way:--

            "Up above the world you fly,
            Like a tea-tray in the sky.
                    Twinkle, twinkle--"'

Here the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep
`Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle--' and went on so long that
they had to pinch it to make it stop.

  `Well, I'd hardly finished the first verse,' said the Hatter,
`when the Queen jumped up and bawled out, "He's murdering the
time!  Off with his head!"'

  `How dreadfully savage!' exclaimed Alice.

  `And ever since that,' the Hatter went on in a mournful tone,
`he won't do a thing I ask!  It's always six o'clock now.'

  A bright idea came into Alice's head.  `Is that the reason so
many tea-things are put out here?' she asked.

  `Yes, that's it,' said the Hatter with a sigh:  `it's always
tea-time, and we've no time to wash the things between whiles.'

  `Then you keep moving round, I suppose?' said Alice.

  `Exactly so,' said the Hatter:  `as the things get used up.'

  `But what happens when you come to the beginning again?' Alice
ventured to ask.

  `Suppose we change the subject,' the March Hare interrupted,
yawning.  `I'm getting tired of this.  I vote the young lady
tells us a story.'

  `I'm afraid I don't know one,' said Alice, rather alarmed at
the proposal.

  `Then the Dormouse shall!' they both cried.  `Wake up,
Dormouse!'  And they pinched it on both sides at once.

  The Dormouse slowly opened his eyes.  `I wasn't asleep,' he
said in a hoarse, feeble voice:  `I heard every word you fellows
were saying.'

  `Tell us a story!' said the March Hare.

  `Yes, please do!' pleaded Alice.

  `And be quick about it,' added the Hatter, `or you'll be asleep
again before it's done.'

  `Once upon a time there were three little sisters,' the
Dormouse began in a great hurry; `and their names were Elsie,
Lacie, and Tillie; and they lived at the bottom of a well--'

  `What did they live on?' said Alice, who always took a great
interest in questions of eating and drinking.

  `They lived on treacle,' said the Dormouse, after thinking a
minute or two.

  `They couldn't have done that, you know,' Alice gently
remarked; `they'd have been ill.'

  `So they were,' said the Dormouse; `VERY ill.'

  Alice tried to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary ways
of living would be like, but it puzzled her too much, so she went
on:  `But why did they live at the bottom of a well?'

  `Take some more tea,' the March Hare said to Alice, very
earnestly.

  `I've had nothing yet,' Alice replied in an offended tone, `so
I can't take more.'

  `You mean you can't take LESS,' said the Hatter:  `it's very
easy to take MORE than nothing.'

  `Nobody asked YOUR opinion,' said Alice.

  `Who's making personal remarks now?' the Hatter asked
triumphantly.

  Alice did not quite know what to say to this:  so she helped
herself to some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the
Dormouse, and repeated her question.  `Why did they live at the
bottom of a well?'

  The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and
then said, `It was a treacle-well.'

  `There's no such thing!'  Alice was beginning very angrily, but
the Hatter and the March Hare went `Sh! sh!' and the Dormouse
sulkily remarked, `If you can't be civil, you'd better finish the
story for yourself.'

  `No, please go on!' Alice said very humbly; `I won't interrupt
again.  I dare say there may be ONE.'

  `One, indeed!' said the Dormouse indignantly.  However, he
consented to go on.  `And so these three little sisters--they
were learning to draw, you know--'

  `What did they draw?' said Alice, quite forgetting her promise.

  `Treacle,' said the Dormouse, without considering at all this
time.

  `I want a clean cup,' interrupted the Hatter:  `let's all move
one place on.'

  He moved on as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed him:  the
March Hare moved into the Dormouse's place, and Alice rather
unwillingly took the place of the March Hare.  The Hatter was the
only one who got any advantage from the change:  and Alice was a
good deal worse off than before, as the March Hare had just upset
the milk-jug into his plate.

  Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse again, so she began
very cautiously:  `But I don't understand.  Where did they draw
the treacle from?'

  `You can draw water out of a water-well,' said the Hatter; `so
I should think you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well--eh,
stupid?'

  `But they were IN the well,' Alice said to the Dormouse, not
choosing to notice this last remark.

  `Of course they were', said the Dormouse; `--well in.'

  This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse
go on for some time without interrupting it.

  `They were learning to draw,' the Dormouse went on, yawning and
rubbing its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy; `and they drew
all manner of things--everything that begins with an M--'

  `Why with an M?' said Alice.

  `Why not?' said the March Hare.

  Alice was silent.

  The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was going
off into a doze; but, on being pinched by the Hatter, it woke up
again with a little shriek, and went on:  `--that begins with an
M, such as mouse-traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness--
you know you say things are "much of a muchness"--did you ever
see such a thing as a drawing of a muchness?'

  `Really, now you ask me,' said Alice, very much confused, `I
don't think--'

  `Then you shouldn't talk,' said the Hatter.

  This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear:  she got
up in great disgust, and walked off; the Dormouse fell asleep
instantly, and neither of the others took the least notice of her
going, though she looked back once or twice, half hoping that
they would call after her:  the last time she saw them, they were
trying to put the Dormouse into the teapot.

  `At any rate I'll never go THERE again!' said Alice as she
picked her way through the wood.  `It's the stupidest tea-party I
ever was at in all my life!'

  Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a
door leading right into it.  `That's very curious!' she thought.
`But everything's curious today.  I think I may as well go in at once.'
And in she went.

  Once more she found herself in the long hall, and close to the
little glass table.  `Now, I'll manage better this time,'
she said to herself, and began by taking the little golden key,
and unlocking the door that led into the garden.  Then she went
to work nibbling at the mushroom (she had kept a piece of it
in her pocket) till she was about a foot high:  then she walked down
the little passage:  and THEN--she found herself at last in the
beautiful garden, among the bright flower-beds and the cool fountains.

TOM TIT TOT

Once upon a time there was a woman, and she baked five pies. And when
they came out of the oven, they were that overbaked the crusts were
too hard to eat. So she says to her daughter:

"Darter," says she, "put you them there pies on the shelf, and leave
'em there a little, and they'll come again."--She meant, you know, the
crust would get soft.

But the girl, she says to herself: "Well, if they'll come again, I'll
eat 'em now." And she set to work and ate 'em all, first and last.

Well, come supper-time the woman said: "Go you, and get one o' them
there pies. I dare say they've come again now."

The girl went and she looked, and there was nothing but the dishes. So
back she came and says she: "Noo, they ain't come again."

"Not one of 'em?" says the mother.

"Not one of 'em," says she.

"Well, come again, or not come again," said the woman "I'll have one
for supper."

"But you can't, if they ain't come," said the girl.

"But I can," says she. "Go you, and bring the best of 'em."

"Best or worst," says the girl, "I've ate 'em all, and you can't have
one till that's come again."

Well, the woman she was done, and she took her spinning to the door to
spin, and as she span she sang:

  "My darter ha' ate five, five pies to-day.
  My darter ha' ate five, five pies to-day."

The king was coming down the street, and he heard her sing, but what
she sang he couldn't hear, so he stopped and said:

"What was that you were singing, my good woman?"

The woman was ashamed to let him hear what her daughter had been
doing, so she sang, instead of that:

  "My darter ha' spun five, five skeins to-day.
  My darter ha' spun five, five skeins to-day."

"Stars o' mine!" said the king, "I never heard tell of any one that
could do that."

Then he said: "Look you here, I want a wife, and I'll marry your
daughter. But look you here," says he, "eleven months out of the year
she shall have all she likes to eat, and all the gowns she likes to
get, and all the company she likes to keep; but the last month of the
year she'll have to spin five skeins every day, and if she don't I
shall kill her."

"All right," says the woman; for she thought what a grand marriage
that was. And as for the five skeins, when the time came, there'd be
plenty of ways of getting out of it, and likeliest, he'd have
forgotten all about it.

Well, so they were married. And for eleven months the girl had all she
liked to eat, and all the gowns she liked to get, and all the company
she liked to keep.

But when the time was getting over, she began to think about the
skeins and to wonder if he had 'em in mind. But not one word did he
say about 'em, and she thought he'd wholly forgotten 'em.

However, the last day of the last month he takes her to a room she'd
never set eyes on before. There was nothing in it but a spinning-wheel
and a stool. And says he: "Now, my dear, here you'll be shut in to-
morrow with some victuals and some flax, and if you haven't spun five
skeins by the night, your head'll go off."

And away he went about his business.

Well, she was that frightened, she'd always been such a gatless girl,
that she didn't so much as know how to spin, and what was she to do
to-morrow with no one to come nigh her to help her? She sat down on a
stool in the kitchen, and law! how she did cry!

However, all of a sudden she heard a sort of a knocking low down on
the door. She upped and oped it, and what should she see but a small
little black thing with a long tail. That looked up at her right
curious, and that said:

"What are you a-crying for?"

"What's that to you?" says she.

"Never you mind," that said, "but tell me what you're a-crying for."

"That won't do me no good if I do," says she.

"You don't know that," that said, and twirled that's tail round.

"Well," says she, "that won't do no harm, if that don't do no good,"
and she upped and told about the pies, and the skeins, and everything.

"This is what I'll do," says the little black thing, "I'll come to
your window every morning and take the flax and bring it spun at
night."

"What's your pay?" says she.

That looked out of the corner of that's eyes, and that said: "I'll
give you three guesses every night to guess my name, and if you
haven't guessed it before the month's up you shall be mine."

Well, she thought she'd be sure to guess that's name before the month
was up. "All right," says she, "I agree."

"All right," that says, and law! how that twirled that's tail.

Well, the next day, her husband took her into the room, and there was
the flax and the day's food.

"Now there's the flax," says he, "and if that ain't spun up this
night, off goes your head." And then he went out and locked the door.

He'd hardly gone, when there was a knocking against the window.

She upped and she oped it, and there sure enough was the little old
thing sitting on the ledge.

"Where's the flax?" says he.

"Here it be," says she. And she gave it to him.

Well, come the evening a knocking came again to the window. She upped
and she oped it, and there was the little old thing with five skeins
of flax on his arm.

"Here it be," says he, and he gave it to her.

"Now, what's my name?" says he.

"What, is that Bill?" says she.

"Noo, that ain't," says he, and he twirled his tail.

"Is that Ned?" says she.

"Noo, that ain't," says he, and he twirled his tail.

"Well, is that Mark?" says she.

"Noo, that ain't," says he, and he twirled his tail harder, and away
he flew.

Well, when her husband came in, there were the five skeins ready for
him. "I see I shan't have to kill you to-night, my dear," says he;
"you'll have your food and your flax in the morning," says he, and
away he goes.

Well, every day the flax and the food were brought, and every day that
there little black impet used to come mornings and evenings. And all
the day the girl sat trying to think of names to say to it when it
came at night. But she never hit on the right one. And as it got
towards the end of the month, the impet began to look so maliceful,
and that twirled that's tail faster and faster each time she gave a
guess.

At last it came to the last day but one. The impet came at night along
with the five skeins, and that said,

"What, ain't you got my name yet?"

"Is that Nicodemus?" says she.

"Noo, t'ain't," that says.

"Is that Sammle?" says she.

"Noo, t'ain't," that says.

"A-well, is that Methusalem?" says she.

"Noo, t'ain't that neither," that says.

Then that looks at her with that's eyes like a coal o' fire, and that
says: "Woman, there's only to-morrow night, and then you'll be mine!"
And away it flew.

Well, she felt that horrid. However, she heard the king coming along
the passage. In he came, and when he sees the five skeins, he says,
says he,

"Well, my dear," says he, "I don't see but what you'll have your
skeins ready to-morrow night as well, and as I reckon I shan't have to
kill you, I'll have supper in here to-night." So they brought supper,
and another stool for him, and down the two sat.

Well, he hadn't eaten but a mouthful or so, when he stops and begins
to laugh.

"What is it?" says she.

"A-why," says he, "I was out a-hunting to-day, and I got away to a
place in the wood I'd never seen before And there was an old chalk-
pit. And I heard a kind of a sort of a humming. So I got off my hobby,
and I went right quiet to the pit, and I looked down. Well, what
should there be but the funniest little black thing you ever set eyes
on. And what was that doing, but that had a little spinning-wheel, and
that was spinning wonderful fast, and twirling that's tail. And as
that span that sang:

  "Nimmy nimmy not
  My name's Tom Tit Tot."

Well, when the girl heard this, she felt as if she could have jumped
out of her skin for joy, but she didn't say a word.

Next day that there little thing looked so maliceful when he came for
the flax. And when night came, she heard that knocking against the
window panes. She oped the window, and that come right in on the
ledge. That was grinning from ear to ear, and Oo! that's tail was
twirling round so fast.

"What's my name?" that says, as that gave her the skeins.

"Is that Solomon?" she says, pretending to be afeard.

"Noo, t'ain't," that says, and that came further into the room.

"Well, is that Zebedee?" says she again.

"Noo, t'ain't," says the impet. And then that laughed and twirled
that's tail till you couldn't hardly see it.

"Take time, woman," that says; "next guess, and you're mine." And that
stretched out that's black hands at her.

Well, she backed a step or two, and she looked at it, and then she
laughed out, and says she, pointing her finger at it:

"NIMMY NIMMY NOT, YOUR NAME'S TOM TIT TOT!"

Well, when that heard her, that gave an awful shriek and away that
flew into the dark, and she never saw it any more.

MOUSE AND MOUSER

The Mouse went to visit the Cat, and found her sitting behind the hall
door, spinning.

MOUSE. What are you doing, my lady, my lady, What are you doing, my
lady?

CAT (_sharply_). I'm spinning old breeches, good body, good body
I'm spinning old breeches, good body.

MOUSE. Long may you wear them, my lady, my lady, Long may you wear
them, my lady.

CAT (_gruffly_). I'll wear' em and tear 'em, good body, good
body. I'll wear 'em and tear 'em, good body.

MOUSE. I was sweeping my room, my lady, my lady, I was sweeping my
room, my lady.

CAT. The cleaner you'd be, good body, good body, The cleaner you'd be,
good body.

MOUSE. I found a silver sixpence, my lady, my lady, I found a silver
sixpence, my lady.

CAT. The richer you were, good body, good body, The richer you were,
good body.

MOUSE. I went to the market, my lady, my lady, I went to the market,
my lady.

CAT. The further you went, good body, good body The further you went,
good body.

MOUSE. I bought me a pudding, my lady, my lady, I bought me a pudding,
my lady.

CAT (_snarling_). The more meat you had, good body, good body,
The more meat you had, good body.

MOUSE. I put it in the window to cool, my lady, I put it in the window
to cool.

CAT. (_sharply_). The faster you'd eat it, good body, good body,
The faster you'd eat it, good body.

MOUSE (_timidly_). The cat came and ate it, my lady, my lady, The
cat came and ate it, my lady.

CAT (_pouncingly_). And I'll eat you, good body, good body, And
I'll eat you, good body.

(_Springs upon the mouse and kills it._)

THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES

Many years ago, there was an Emperor, who was so excessively fond of new
clothes, that he spent all his money in dress. He did not trouble himself in
the least about his soldiers; nor did he care to go either to the theatre or
the chase, except for the opportunities then afforded him for displaying his
new clothes. He had a different suit for each hour of the day; and as of any
other king or emperor, one is accustomed to say, "he is sitting in council,"
it was always said of him, "The Emperor is sitting in his wardrobe."

Time passed merrily in the large town which was his capital; strangers arrived
every day at the court. One day, two rogues, calling themselves weavers, made
their appearance. They gave out that they knew how to weave stuffs of the most
beautiful colors and elaborate patterns, the clothes manufactured from which
should have the wonderful property of remaining invisible to everyone who was
unfit for the office he held, or who was extraordinarily simple in character.

"These must, indeed, be splendid clothes!" thought the Emperor. "Had I such a
suit, I might at once find out what men in my realms are unfit for their
office, and also be able to distinguish the wise from the foolish! This stuff
must be woven for me immediately." And he caused large sums of money to be
given to both the weavers in order that they might begin their work directly.

So the two pretended weavers set up two looms, and affected to work very
busily, though in reality they did nothing at all. They asked for the most
delicate silk and the purest gold thread; put both into their own knapsacks;
and then continued their pretended work at the empty looms until late at
night.

"I should like to know how the weavers are getting on with my cloth," said the
Emperor to himself, after some little time had elapsed; he was, however,
rather embarrassed, when he remembered that a simpleton, or one unfit for his
office, would be unable to see the manufacture. To be sure, he thought he had
nothing to risk in his own person; but yet, he would prefer sending somebody
else, to bring him intelligence about the weavers, and their work, before he
troubled himself in the affair. All the people throughout the city had heard
of the wonderful property the cloth was to possess; and all were anxious to
learn how wise, or how ignorant, their neighbors might prove to be.

"I will send my faithful old minister to the weavers," said the Emperor at
last, after some deliberation, "he will be best able to see how the cloth
looks; for he is a man of sense, and no one can be more suitable for his
office than he is."

So the faithful old minister went into the hall, where the knaves were working
with all their might, at their empty looms. "What can be the meaning of this?"
thought the old man, opening his eyes very wide. "I cannot discover the least
bit of thread on the looms." However, he did not express his thoughts aloud.

The impostors requested him very courteously to be so good as to come nearer
their looms; and then asked him whether the design pleased him, and whether
the colors were not very beautiful; at the same time pointing to the empty
frames. The poor old minister looked and looked, he could not discover
anything on the looms, for a very good reason, viz: there was nothing there.
"What!" thought he again. "Is it possible that I am a simpleton? I have never
thought so myself; and no one must know it now if I am so. Can it be, that I
am unfit for my office? No, that must not be said either. I will never confess
that I could not see the stuff."

"Well, Sir Minister!" said one of the knaves, still pretending to work. "You
do not say whether the stuff pleases you."

"Oh, it is excellent!" replied the old minister, looking at the loom through
his spectacles. "This pattern, and the colors, yes, I will tell the Emperor
without delay, how very beautiful I think them."

"We shall be much obliged to you," said the impostors, and then they named the
different colors and described the pattern of the pretended stuff. The old
minister listened attentively to their words, in order that he might repeat
them to the Emperor; and then the knaves asked for more silk and gold, saying
that it was necessary to complete what they had begun. However, they put all
that was given them into their knapsacks; and continued to work with as much
apparent diligence as before at their empty looms.

The Emperor now sent another officer of his court to see how the men were
getting on, and to ascertain whether the cloth would soon be ready. It was
just the same with this gentleman as with the minister; he surveyed the looms
on all sides, but could see nothing at all but the empty frames.

"Does not the stuff appear as beautiful to you, as it did to my lord the
minister?" asked the impostors of the Emperor's second ambassador; at the same
time making the same gestures as before, and talking of the design and colors
which were not there.

"I certainly am not stupid!" thought the messenger. "It must be, that I am not
fit for my good, profitable office! That is very odd; however, no one shall
know anything about it." And accordingly he praised the stuff he could not
see, and declared that he was delighted with both colors and patterns.
"Indeed, please your Imperial Majesty," said he to his sovereign when he
returned, "the cloth which the weavers are preparing is extraordinarily
magnificent."

The whole city was talking of the splendid cloth which the Emperor had ordered
to be woven at his own expense.

And now the Emperor himself wished to see the costly manufacture, while it was
still in the loom. Accompanied by a select number of officers of the court,
among whom were the two honest men who had already admired the cloth, he went
to the crafty impostors, who, as soon as they were aware of the Emperor's
approach, went on working more diligently than ever; although they still did
not pass a single thread through the looms.

"Is not the work absolutely magnificent?" said the two officers of the crown,
already mentioned. "If your Majesty will only be pleased to look at it! What a
splendid design! What glorious colors!" and at the same time they pointed to
the empty frames; for they imagined that everyone else could see this
exquisite piece of workmanship.

"How is this?" said the Emperor to himself. "I can see nothing! This is indeed
a terrible affair! Am I a simpleton, or am I unfit to be an Emperor? That
would be the worst thing that could happen--Oh! the cloth is charming," said
he, aloud. "It has my complete approbation." And he smiled most graciously,
and looked closely at the empty looms; for on no account would he say that he
could not see what two of the officers of his court had praised so much. All
his retinue now strained their eyes, hoping to discover something on the
looms, but they could see no more than the others; nevertheless, they all
exclaimed, "Oh, how beautiful!" and advised his majesty to have some new
clothes made from this splendid material, for the approaching procession.
"Magnificent! Charming! Excellent!" resounded on all sides; and everyone was
uncommonly gay. The Emperor shared in the general satisfaction; and presented
the impostors with the riband of an order of knighthood, to be worn in their
button-holes, and the title of "Gentlemen Weavers."

The rogues sat up the whole of the night before the day on which the
procession was to take place, and had sixteen lights burning, so that everyone
might see how anxious they were to finish the Emperor's new suit. They
pretended to roll the cloth off the looms; cut the air with their scissors;
and sewed with needles without any thread in them. "See!" cried they, at last.
"The Emperor's new clothes are ready!"

And now the Emperor, with all the grandees of his court, came to the weavers;
and the rogues raised their arms, as if in the act of holding something up,
saying, "Here are your Majesty's trousers! Here is the scarf! Here is the
mantle! The whole suit is as light as a cobweb; one might fancy one has
nothing at all on, when dressed in it; that, however, is the great virtue of
this delicate cloth."

"Yes indeed!" said all the courtiers, although not one of them could see
anything of this exquisite manufacture.

"If your Imperial Majesty will be graciously pleased to take off your clothes,
we will fit on the new suit, in front of the looking glass."

The Emperor was accordingly undressed, and the rogues pretended to array him
in his new suit; the Emperor turning round, from side to side, before the
looking glass.

"How splendid his Majesty looks in his new clothes, and how well they fit!"
everyone cried out. "What a design! What colors! These are indeed royal
robes!"

"The canopy which is to be borne over your Majesty, in the procession, is
waiting," announced the chief master of the ceremonies.

"I am quite ready," answered the Emperor. "Do my new clothes fit well?" asked
he, turning himself round again before the looking glass, in order that he
might appear to be examining his handsome suit.

The lords of the bedchamber, who were to carry his Majesty's train felt about
on the ground, as if they were lifting up the ends of the mantle; and
pretended to be carrying something; for they would by no means betray anything
like simplicity, or unfitness for their office.

So now the Emperor walked under his high canopy in the midst of the
procession, through the streets of his capital; and all the people standing
by, and those at the windows, cried out, "Oh! How beautiful are our Emperor's
new clothes! What a magnificent train there is to the mantle; and how
gracefully the scarf hangs!" in short, no one would allow that he could not
see these much-admired clothes; because, in doing so, he would have declared
himself either a simpleton or unfit for his office. Certainly, none of the
Emperor's various suits, had ever made so great an impression, as these
invisible ones.

"But the Emperor has nothing at all on!" said a little child.

"Listen to the voice of innocence!" exclaimed his father; and what the child
had said was whispered from one to another.

"But he has nothing at all on!" at last cried out all the people. The Emperor
was vexed, for he knew that the people were right; but he thought the
procession must go on now! And the lords of the bedchamber took greater pains
than ever, to appear holding up a train, although, in reality, there was no
train to hold.


THE LITTLE BROTHER AND SISTER


There was once a little brother who took his Sister by the hand, and
said, "Since our own dear mother's death we have not had one happy hour;
our stepmother beats us every day, and, when we come near her, kicks us
away with her foot. Come, let us wander forth into the wide world." So
all day long they travelled over meadows, fields, and stony roads. By
the evening they came into a large forest, and laid themselves down in a
hollow tree, and went to sleep. When they awoke the next morning, the
sun had already risen high in the heavens, and its beams made the tree
so hot that the little boy said to his sister, "I am so very thirsty,
that if I knew where there was a brook, I would go and drink. Ah! I
think I hear one running;" and so saying, he got up, and taking his
Sister's hand they went to look for the brook.

The wicked stepmother, however, was a witch, and had witnessed the
departure of the two children: so, sneaking after them secretly, as is
the habit of witches, she had enchanted all the springs in the forest.

Presently they found a brook, which ran trippingly over the pebbles, and
the Brother would have drunk out of it, but the Sister heard how it said
as it ran along, "Who drinks of me will become a tiger!" So the Sister
exclaimed, "I pray you, Brother, drink not, or you will become a tiger,
and tear me to pieces!" So the Brother did not drink, although his
thirst was very great, and he said, "I will wait till the next brook."
As they came to the second, the Sister heard it say, "Who drinks of me
becomes a wolf!" The Sister ran up crying, "Brother, do not, pray do not
drink, or you will become a wolf and eat me up!" Then the Brother did
not drink, saying, "I will wait until we come to the next spring, but
then I must drink, you may say what you will; my thirst is much too
great." Just as they reached the third brook, the Sister heard the voice
saying, "Who drinks of me will become a fawn--who drinks of me will
become a fawn!" So the Sister said, "Oh, my Brother do not drink, or you
will be changed into a fawn, and run away from me!" But he had already
kneeled down, and he drank of the water, and, as the first drops passed
his lips, his shape took that of a fawn.

At first the Sister wept over her little, changed Brother, and he wept
too, and knelt by her, very sorrowful; but at last the maiden said, "Be
still, dear little fawn, and I will never forsake you!" and, taking off
her golden garter, she placed it around his neck, and, weaving rushes,
made a girdle to lead him with. This she tied to him, and taking the
other end in her hand, she led him away, and they travelled deeper and
deeper into the forest. After they had gone a long distance they came to
a little hut, and the maiden, peeping in, found it empty, and thought,
"Here we can stay and dwell." Then she looked for leaves and moss to
make a soft couch for the Fawn, and every morning she went out and
collected roots and berries and nuts for herself, and tender grass for
the Fawn. In the evening when the Sister was tired, and had said her
prayers, she laid her head upon the back of the Fawn, which served for a
pillow, on which she slept soundly. Had but the Brother regained his own
proper form, their lives would have been happy indeed.

Thus they dwelt in this wilderness, and some time had elapsed when it
happened that the King of the country had a great hunt in the forest;
and now sounded through the trees the blowing of horns, the barking of
dogs, and the lusty cry of the hunters, so that the little Fawn heard
them, and wanted very much to join in. "Ah!" said he to his Sister, "let
me go to the hunt, I cannot restrain myself any longer;" and he begged
so hard that at last she consented. "But," she told him, "return again
in the evening, for I shall shut my door against the wild huntsmen, and,
that I may know you, do you knock, and say, 'Sister, dear, let me in,'
and if you do not speak I shall not open the door."

As soon as she had said this, the little Fawn sprang off quite glad and
merry in the fresh breeze. The King and his huntsmen perceived the
beautiful animal, and pursued him; but they could not catch him, and
when they thought they certainly had him, he sprang away over the
bushes, and got out of sight. Just as it was getting dark, he ran up to
the hut, and, knocking, said, "Sister mine, let me in." Then she
unfastened the little door, and he went in, and rested all night long
upon his soft couch. The next morning the hunt was commenced again, and
as soon as the little Fawn heard the horns and the tally-ho of the
sportsmen he could not rest, and said, "Sister, dear, open the door; I
must be off." The Sister opened it, saying, "Return at evening, mind,
and say the words as before." When the King and his huntsmen saw him
again, the Fawn with the golden necklace, they followed him, close, but
he was too nimble and quick for them. The whole day long they kept up
with him, but towards evening the huntsmen made a circle around him, and
one wounded him slightly in the hinder foot, so that he could run but
slowly. Then one of them slipped after him to the little hut, and heard
him say, "Sister, dear, open the door," and saw that the door was opened
and immediately shut behind him. The huntsman, having observed all this,
went and told the King what he had seen and heard, and he said, "On the
morrow I will pursue him once again."

The Sister, however, was terribly afraid when she saw that her Fawn was
wounded, and, washing off the blood, she put herbs upon the foot, and
said, "Go and rest upon your bed, dear Fawn, that your wound may heal."
It was so slight, that the next morning he felt nothing of it, and when
he heard the hunting cries outside, he exclaimed, "I cannot stop away--I
must be there, and none shall catch me so easily again!" The Sister wept
very much and told him, "Soon will they kill you, and I shall be here
alone in this forest, forsaken by all the world: I cannot let you go."

"I shall die here in vexation," answered the Fawn, "if you do not, for
when I hear the horn, I think I shall jump out of my skin." The Sister,
finding she could not prevent him, opened the door, with a heavy heart,
and the Fawn jumped out, quite delighted, into the forest. As soon as
the King perceived him, he said to his huntsmen, "Follow him all day
long till the evening, but let no one do him any harm." Then when the
sun had set, the King asked his huntsman to show him the hut; and as
they came to it he knocked at the door and said, "Let me in, dear
Sister." Upon this the door opened, and, stepping in, the King saw a
maiden more beautiful than he had ever beheld before. She was frightened
when she saw not her Fawn, but a man enter, who had a golden crown upon
his head. But the King, looking at her with a kindly glance, held out to
her his hand, saying, "Will you go with me to my castle, and be my dear
wife?" "Oh, yes," replied the maiden; "but the Fawn must go too: him I
will never forsake." The King replied, "He shall remain with you as long
as you live, and shall never want."

The King took the beautiful maiden upon his horse, and rode to his
castle, where the wedding was celebrated with great splendor and she
became Queen, and they lived together a long time; while the Fawn was
taken care of and played about the castle garden.

The wicked stepmother, however, on whose account the children had
wandered forth into the world, had supposed that long ago the Sister had
been torn into pieces by the wild beasts, and the little Brother in his
Fawn's shape hunted to death by the hunters. As soon, therefore, as she
heard how happy they had become, and how everything prospered with them,
envy and jealousy were aroused in her wicked heart, and left her no
peace; and she was always thinking in what way she could bring
misfortune upon them.

Her own daughter, who was as ugly as night, and had but one eye, for
which she was continually reproached, said, "The luck of being a Queen
has never happened to me." "Be quiet, now," replied the old woman, "and
make yourself contented: when the time comes I will help and assist
you." As soon, then, as the time came when the Queen gave birth to a
beautiful little boy, which happened when the King was out hunting, the
old witch took the form of a chambermaid, and got into the room where
the Queen was lying, and said to her, "The bath is ready, which will
restore you and give you fresh strength; be quick before it gets cold."
Her daughter being at hand, they carried the weak Queen between them
into the room, and laid her in the bath, and then, shutting the door,
they ran off; but first they made up an immense fire in the stove, which
must soon suffocate the poor young Queen.

When this was done, the old woman took her daughter, and, putting a cap
upon her head, laid her in the bed in the Queen's place. She gave her,
too, the form and appearance of the real Queen, as far as she was able;
but she could not restore the lost eye, and, so that the King might not
notice it, she turned her upon that side where there was no eye.

When midnight came, and every one was asleep, the nurse, who sat by
herself, wide awake, near the cradle, in the nursery, saw the door open
and the true Queen come in. She took the child in her arms, and rocked
it a while, and then, shaking up its pillow, laid it down in its cradle,
and covered it over again. She did not forget the Fawn, either, but
going to the corner where he was, stroked his head, and then went
silently out of the door. The nurse asked in the morning of the guards
if any one had passed into the castle during the night; but they
answered, "No, we have not seen anybody." For many nights afterwards she
came constantly, but never spoke a word; and the nurse saw her always,
but she would not trust herself to speak about it to any one.

When some time had passed away, the Queen one night began to speak, and
said--

  "How fares my child! how fares my fawn?
  Twice more will I come, but never again."

The nurse made no reply; but, when she had disappeared, went to the
King, and told him. The King exclaimed, "Oh, mercy! what does this
mean?--the next night I will watch myself by the child." So in the
evening he went into the nursery, and about midnight the Queen appeared,
and said--

  "How fares my child! how fares my fawn?
  Once more will I come, but never again."

And she nursed the child, as she usually did, and then disappeared. The
King dared not speak; but he watched the following night, and this time
she said--

  "How fares my child! how fares my fawn?
  This time have I come, but never again."

At these words the King could hold back no longer, but, springing up,
cried, "You can be no other than my dear wife!" Then she answered, "Yes,
I am your dear wife;" and at that moment her life was restored by God's
mercy, and she was again as beautiful and charming as ever. She told the
King the fraud which the witch and her daughter had practised upon him,
and he had them both tried, and sentence was pronounced against them.
The little Fawn was disenchanted, and received once more his human form;
and the Brother and Sister lived happily together to the end of their
days.

GOOD LUCK IS BETTER THAN GOLD.


There was once upon a time a child who had Good Luck for his godfather.

"I am not Fortune," said Good Luck to the parents; "I have no gifts to
bestow, but whenever he needs help I will be at hand."

"Nothing could be better," said the old couple. They were delighted.
But what pleases the father often fails to satisfy the son: moreover,
every man thinks that he deserves just a little more than he has got,
and does not reckon it to the purpose if his father had less.

Many a one would be thankful to have as good reasons for contentment
as he who had Good Luck for his godfather.

If he fell, Good Luck popped something soft in the way to break his
fall; if he fought, Good Luck directed his blows, or tripped up his
adversary; if he got into a scrape, Good Luck helped him out of it;
and if ever Misfortune met him, Good Luck contrived to hustle her on
the pathway till his godson got safely by.

In games of hazard the godfather played over his shoulder. In matters
of choice he chose for him. And when the lad began to work on his
father's farm the farmer began to get rich. For no bird or field-mouse
touched a seed that his son had sown, and every plant he planted
throve when Good Luck smiled on it.

The boy was not fond of work, but when he did go into the fields, Good
Luck followed him.

"Your christening-day was a blessed day for us all," said the old
farmer.

"He has never given me so much as a lucky sixpence," muttered Good
Luck's godson.

"I am not Fortune--I make no presents," said the godfather.

When we are discontented it is oftener to please our neighbours than
ourselves. It was because the other boys had said--"Simon, the
shoemaker's son, has an alderman for his godfather. He gave him a
silver spoon with the Apostle Peter for the handle; but thy godfather
is more powerful than any alderman"--that Good Luck's godson
complained, "He has never given me so much as a bent sixpence."

By and by the old farmer died, and his son grew up, and had the
largest farm in the country. The other boys grew up also, and as they
looked over the farmer's boundary-wall, they would say:

"Good-morning, Neighbour. That is certainly a fine farm of yours. Your
cattle thrive without loss. Your crops grow in the rain and are reaped
with the sunshine. Mischance never comes your road. What you have
worked for you enjoy. Such success would turn the heads of poor folk
like us. At the same time one would think a man need hardly work for
his living at all who has Good Luck for his godfather."

"That is very true," thought the farmer. "Many a man is prosperous,
and reaps what he sows, who had no more than the clerk and the sexton
for gossips at his christening."

"What is the matter, Godson?" asked Good Luck, who was with him in the
field.

"I want to be rich," said the farmer.

"You will not have to wait long," replied the godfather. "In every
field you sow, in every flock you rear there is increase without
abatement. Your wealth is already tenfold greater than your father's."

"Aye, aye," replied the farmer. "Good wages for good work. But many a
young man has gold at his command who need never turn a sod, and none
of the Good People came to _his_ christening. Fortunatus's Purse now,
or even a sack or two of gold--"

"Peace!" cried the godfather; "I have said that I give no gifts."

Though he had not Fortunatus's Purse, the farmer had now money and to
spare, and when the harvest was gathered in, he bought a fine suit of
clothes, and took his best horse and went to the royal city to see the
sights.

The pomp and splendour, the festivities and fine clothes dazzled him.

"This is a gay life which these young courtiers lead," said he. "A man
has nothing to do but to enjoy himself."

"If he has plenty of gold in his pocket," said a bystander.

By and by the Princess passed in her carriage. She was the King's only
daughter. She had hair made of sunshine, and her eyes were stars.

"What an exquisite creature!" cried the farmer. "What would not one
give to possess her?"

"She has as many suitors as hairs on her head," replied the bystander.
"She wants to marry the Prince of Moonshine, but he only dresses in
silver, and the King thinks he might find a richer son-in-law. The
Princess will go to the highest bidder."

"And I have Good Luck for my godfather, and am not even at court!"
cried the farmer; and he put spurs to his horse, and rode home.

Good Luck was taking care of the farm.

"Listen, Godfather!" cried the young man. "I am in love with the
King's daughter, and want her to wife."

"It is not an easy matter," replied Good Luck, "but I will do what I
can for you. Say that by good luck you saved the Princess's life, or
perhaps better the King's--for they say he is selfish--"

"Tush!" cried the farmer. "The King is covetous, and wants a rich
son-in-law."

"A wise man may bring wealth to a kingdom with his head, if not with
his hands," said Good Luck, "and I can show you a district where the
earth only wants mining to be flooded with wealth. Besides, there are
a thousand opportunities that can be turned to account and influence.
By wits and work, and with Good Luck to help him, many a poorer man
than you has risen to greatness."

"Wits and work!" cried the indignant godson. "You speak well--truly! A
hillman would have made a better godfather. Give me as much gold as
will fill three meal-bins, and you may keep the rest of your help for
those who want it."

Now at this moment by Good Luck stood Dame Fortune. She likes handsome
young men, and there was some little jealousy between her and the
godfather so she smiled at the quarrel.

"You would rather have had me for your gossip?" said she.

"If you would give me three wishes, I would," replied the farmer
boldly, "and I would trouble you no more."

"Will you make him over to me?" said Dame Fortune to the godfather.

"If he wishes it," replied Good Luck. "But if he accepts your gifts he
has no further claim on me."

"Nor on me either," said the Dame. "Hark ye, young man, you mortals
are apt to make a hobble of your three wishes, and you may end with a
sausage at your nose, like your betters."

"I have thought of it too often," replied the farmer, "and I know what
I want. For my first wish I desire imperishable beauty."

"It is yours," said Dame Fortune, smiling as she looked at him.

"The face of a prince and the manners of a clown are poor partners,"
said the farmer. "My second wish is for suitable learning and courtly
manners, which cannot be gained at the plough-tail."

"You have them in perfection," said the Dame, as the young man thanked
her by a graceful bow.

"Thirdly," said he, "I demand a store of gold that I can never
exhaust."

"I will lead you to it," said Dame Fortune; and the young man was so
eager to follow her that he did not even look back to bid farewell to
his godfather.

He was soon at court. He lived in the utmost pomp. He had a suit of
armour made for himself out of beaten gold. No metal less precious
might come near his person, except for the blade of his sword. This
was obliged to be made of steel, for gold is not always strong enough
to defend one's life or his honour. But the Princess still loved the
Prince of Moonshine.

"Stuff and nonsense!" said the King. "I shall give you to the Prince
of Gold."

"I wish I had the good luck to please her," muttered the young Prince.
But he had not, for all his beauty and his wealth. However, she was to
marry him, and that was something.

The preparations for the wedding were magnificent.

"It is a great expense," sighed the King, "but then I get the Prince
of Gold for a son-in-law."

The Prince and his bride drove round the city in a triumphal
procession. Her hair fell over her like sunshine, but the starlight of
her eyes was cold.

In the train rode the Prince of Moonshine, dressed in silver, and
with no colour in his face.

As the bridal chariot approached one of the city gates, two black
ravens hovered over it, and then flew away, and settled on a tree.

Good Luck was sitting under the tree to see his godson's triumph, and
he heard the birds talking above him.

"Has the Prince of Gold no friend who can tell him that there is a
loose stone above the archway that is tottering to fall?" said they.
And Good Luck covered his face with his mantle as the Prince drove
through.

Just as they were passing out of the gateway the stone fell on to the
Prince's head. He wore a casque of pure gold, but his neck was broken.


    "We can't have all this expense for nothing," said the King:
    so he married his daughter to the Prince of Moonshine. If one
    can't get gold one must be content with silver.


"Will you come to the funeral?" asked Dame Fortune of the godfather.

"Not I," replied Good Luck. "I had no hand in _this_ matter."

The rain came down in torrents. The black feathers on the ravens'
backs looked as if they had been oiled.

"Caw! caw!" said they. "It was an unlucky end."

However, the funeral was a very magnificent one, for there was no
stint of gold.


THE HILLMAN AND THE HOUSEWIFE.


It is well known that the Good People cannot abide meanness. They like
to be liberally dealt with when they beg or borrow of the human race;
and, on the other hand, to those who come to them in need, they are
invariably generous.

Now there once lived a certain Housewife who had a sharp eye to her
own interests in temporal matters, and gave alms of what she had no
use for, for the good of her soul. One day a Hillman knocked at her
door.

"Can you lend us a saucepan, good Mother?" said he. "There's a wedding
in the hill, and all the pots are in use."

"Is he to have one?" asked the servant lass who had opened the door.

"Aye, to be sure," answered the Housewife. "One must be neighbourly."

But when the maid was taking a saucepan from the shelf, she pinched
her arm, and whispered sharply--"Not that, you slut! Get the old one
out of the cupboard. It leaks, and the Hillmen are so neat, and such
nimble workers, that they are sure to mend it before they send it
home. So one obliges the Good People, and saves sixpence in tinkering.
But you'll never learn to be notable whilst your head is on your
shoulders."

Thus reproached, the maid fetched the saucepan, which had been laid by
till the tinker's next visit, and gave it to the dwarf, who thanked
her, and went away.

In due time the saucepan was returned, and, as the Housewife had
foreseen, it was neatly mended and ready for use.

At supper-time the maid filled the pan with milk, and set it on the
fire for the children's supper. But in a few minutes the milk was so
burnt and smoked that no one could touch it, and even the pigs refused
the wash into which it was thrown.

"Ah, good-for-nothing hussy!" cried the Housewife, as she refilled the
pan herself, "you would ruin the richest with your carelessness.
There's a whole quart of good milk wasted at once!"

"_And that's twopence_," cried a voice which seemed to come from the
chimney, in a whining tone, like some nattering, discontented old body
going over her grievances.

The Housewife had not left the saucepan for two minutes, when the
milk boiled over, and it was all burnt and smoked as before.

"The pan must be dirty," muttered the good woman, in great vexation;
"and there are two full quarts of milk as good as thrown to the dogs."

"_And that's fourpence_," added the voice in the chimney.

After a thorough cleaning, the saucepan was once more filled and set
on the fire, but with no better success. The milk was hopelessly
spoilt, and the housewife shed tears of vexation at the waste, crying,
"Never before did such a thing befall me since I kept house! Three
quarts of new milk burnt for one meal!"

"_And that's sixpence_," cried the voice from the chimney. "_You
didn't save the tinkering after all Mother_!"

With which the Hillman himself came tumbling down the chimney, and
went off laughing through the door.

But thenceforward the saucepan was as good as any other.