Another and a louder cry of surprise came from all the Satyrs, but the Father cried out loudest of all, and seemed very indignant. “Come,” he said, advancing to the peasant and taking him by the collar. “Out you go! There is no place in my house for a man who can blow hot and cold with the same breath. That smells too much of sorcery or magic. Out you go, I say, and practise your spells in the forest.”
So the poor peasant had to go supperless and spend the night in the woods, with no shelter but the trees, and the snow for coverlet.
And, if you wish to know when all this happened, all I can tell you is that it was a very long time ago, in the days when fishes flew, and cats had wings.
THE TWO FRIENDS AND THE BARREL OF GREASE
A dog and a wolf who were very great friends set up house together, and agreed to share equally any food they might obtain. One day they managed to steal a barrel of grease from the house of a countryman who lived close by, and having no immediate need of it, they decided to put it away until the winter, when they might be glad of anything they could get to appease their hunger. So the barrel of grease was carefully hidden away in the cellar.
All went well for some time, and then the wolf began to think longingly of the hidden store. Every time he thought of the grease he imagined himself licking it up, and at last he could withstand the temptation no longer, so he went to the dog and said: “I shall be out all day to-morrow. A cousin of mine has just had a little son, and he has sent for me to go and be godfather at the christening.”
“Very well, my friend,” answered the dog. “Go by all means. They have paid you a great honour by asking you, and of course you cannot refuse.”
The wolf departed, but he went no farther than the cellar, where he spent the whole of the day by the barrel of grease, eating and eating until he could hold no more. Late at night he returned, licking his chops, and the dog said: “Well, my friend, did everything go off well?”
“Splendidly, thank you!” answered the wolf.
“Good! And what name did they give the child?”
“Oh,” said the wolf, thinking of the barrel of grease, “they called him Begun.”
“What a strange name!” cried the dog, “I never heard the like of it in my life. However, every one to his taste!”
A day or two later the wolf once again began to think of the delicious food in the cellar, so he told the dog that he had just received another summons from a different cousin, who also had a baby to which she wished him to stand godfather. “I wish to goodness they would leave me alone!” he said, pretending to be very much annoyed. “Anybody would think that I had nothing else to do but to stand godfather to other people’s brats!”
“You shouldn’t be so good-natured,” laughed the dog. “It is clear that you make a very good godfather, or you would not be so much in demand.”
Away went the wolf and spent a second satisfying day with the barrel of grease. When he returned the dog asked him the name of the child.
“Half-Done,” said the wolf.
“Bah!” cried the dog, “that is an even sillier name than the other. I can’t think what parents are coming to—in my time plain Jean or Jacques was good enough for anybody.”
The wolf made no reply, being in fact fast asleep, for he had dined very well, and was drowsy. A day or two afterwards however, he played the same trick again, and devoured the last of the fat in the barrel. This time, when asked the name of the child to whom he had stood godfather, he answered: “All-done.”
The dog had no suspicion of the way he had been deceived, and all went well until the winter came and food became difficult to procure. Then one day the dog said: “It seems to me that the time has come to tap our barrel of grease. What do you say, friend? Weren’t we wise to put it away for a time like this!”
“I believe you,” answered the wolf.
“Come then, let us go to the cellar and enjoy the fruits of our prudence.”
So off they went to the cellar, where they found the barrel in the very place they had left it, but with nothing inside it. The dog looked at the wolf, and the wolf looked at the dog, and of the two the wolf seemed the more surprised.
“What’s this?” cried the dog. “Where has our grease gone?” Then, looking at the wolf suspiciously: “This is some of your work, my friend!”
“Oh, indeed!” said the wolf, “and since when has it been proved that dogs do not like grease?”
“You mean to accuse me of stealing it?” cried the dog angrily.
“One of the two of us must have taken it, for nobody else knew it was here!”
“It was certainly not I.”
“Well,” said the wolf, “it is no use squabbling over the matter. Fortunately there is a way of discovering which of us is the culprit. Obviously the one who has eaten all that grease must be absolutely full of fat. Let us both go to sleep in the sunshine. At the end of an hour or two the heat will melt the grease which will soak through and show on the body of the one who is the thief.”
Feeling quite secure in his innocence, the dog willingly agreed to this plan, and the two went out and lay down in a sheltered place, where the heat of the sun was strong. After a time the dog began to yawn, and in less than half an hour he was sound asleep, but the wolf had a good reason for not following his example, and although he closed his eyes to deceive his friend, he remained wide awake.
Presently, having made sure that the dog was slumbering peacefully, he arose and tiptoed softly down to the cellar. There he collected with his long tongue, every bit of the grease that still remained sticking to the sides and bottom of the barrel, and returning to the sleeper, carefully smeared the grease over his jaws, back, and thighs. Several times he did this, until the dog was covered with a thin greasy film. Then he lay down again and once more pretended to sleep.
A little while afterwards the dog woke up, and found the grease all over his body. He could not make out how it got there, and while he was still regarding himself with a look of blank surprise, the wolf cried: “Ah, now we know who was the thief! The grease has betrayed you, my friend!”
The poor dog looked very sheepish, and had not a word to say for himself. He puzzled over the matter until his head ached, and at last he came to the conclusion that he must have been sleep-walking and have stolen the grease without knowing it—a conclusion with which the wolf entirely agreed.
WHY THE BEAR HAS A STUMPY TAIL
One very cold winter, when the ground was covered with snow and the ponds and rivers were frozen hard, Reynard the Fox and all the other animals went out to enjoy themselves by sliding and skating on the ice. After a time Reynard began to feel hungry, so he wandered off by himself in search of something to eat. He nosed about here, and he nosed about there; he lay in wait behind bushes in the hope of being able to catch a bird; he lurked by the walls of farmhouses ready to spring out upon any unsuspecting chicken that might show itself, but all in vain. The birds were wary, and the fowls were all safe in the hen-houses.
Disappointed with his lack of success Reynard betook himself to the river, now covered with a glistening sheet of ice, and there, under the shelter of a bank, he found a hole in the ice which had not been frozen over. He sat down to watch the hole, and presently a little fish popped up its head for a breath of air. Reynard’s paw darted, and the next moment the unfortunate creature lay gasping on the ice. Fish after fish the fox caught in this way, and when he had quite satisfied his hunger he strung the remainder on a stick and took his departure, not forgetting first of all to offer up a prayer for the repose of his victims.
He had not gone far before he met Mrs. Bruin, who had also come out in search of something to eat. When she saw Reynard with his fine catch of fish, she opened her eyes, I can tell you, and said: “Wherever did you get all those fine fishes from, cousin? They make my mouth water! I am so hungry that I could bite the head off an iron nail!”
“Ah,” said Reynard slyly, “wouldn’t you just like to know!”
“It is what I’m asking you,” said Mrs. Bruin. “You would surely not be so mean as to keep the good news to yourself!”
“I don’t know so much about that,” answered Reynard, “but I have a certain fondness for you, cousin, so come along with me and I will show you the place where I caught the fish.”
Nothing loath, the bear followed, and presently they came to the hole in the ice.
“Do you see that hole, cousin?” said Reynard. “That is where the fish come up to breathe. All you have to do is to sit on the ice and let your tail hang down into the water. After a time the fish will come to bite at it, but don’t you move. Sit quite still until the evening; then you will find a score of fishes on your tail and you can pull them out all together.”
Mrs. Bruin was delighted with the plan and immediately sat down and dipped her tail into the water.
“That’s the way,” said Reynard. “Now I’ll just be walking home to see to my dinner, but I’ll be back presently. Be careful to keep quite still, or you’ll spoil everything!”
So for the next three hours Mrs. Bruin sat on the ice with her tail in the water, and very cold it was, but she consoled herself with the thought of the delicious meal she would have when the fish were landed.
Late in the afternoon Reynard returned. “Well, cousin,” said he, “how do you feel?”
“Very cold,” said Mrs. Bruin, with her teeth chattering. “My tail is so numb that I hardly know I’ve got one!”
“Does it feel heavy?” asked Reynard anxiously.
“Very heavy,” said Mrs. Bruin.
“There must be hundreds of fish on it!” said Reynard. He left the bank and walked round the bear, observing that the water in the hole had frozen over, and that Mrs. Bruin’s tail was held firmly in the ice.
“I think you may safely pull up now,” he went on, “but you must be careful to land all the fish together. There is only one way to do that: you must give a strong, sharp, sudden pull and take them by surprise. Now then, are you ready? One, two, three...!”
At the word three Mrs. Bruin rose on her hind legs and gave a mighty jerk, but her tail was so firmly embedded in the ice that it would not come out.
“My word,” cried Reynard, “you have caught the whole river-full. Persevere, cousin—now then, a long pull and a strong pull!”
“Ouf!” grunted Mrs. Bruin, “ouf, ouf ... ah!” And then she suddenly tumbled head over heels on the ice, as with one mighty jerk, she snapped her beautiful bushy tail clean off close to the roots.
When she had gathered her scattered wits together well enough to understand what had happened, she went to look for Reynard, but he had suddenly remembered an important engagement elsewhere, and was not to be found. And from that time down to this every bear has been born with a little stumpy tail.
THE WITCH’S CAT
Once upon a time there was a wicked old witch who lived all alone in the topmost chamber of a tall and gloomy tower. There she sat day after day with her ugly head resting on her hands, peering out through a slit in the wall upon the countryside. Her only companion was a big black tom-cat, who sat by her side in the darkened chamber, his eyes shining like green fire in the gloom.
One day as the witch sat there, she saw a little girl gathering berries in the wood. The sight made her show her toothless gums in a malicious grin and she muttered to herself: “Wait there, wait there, my ducky, my darling, till I come to you, for your flesh will be very sweet.” Then she put on a long cloak and took a walking-staff in her hand and went down the stairs.
Now the little girl, whose name was Margot, had strayed very far from home in her eagerness to gather the ripe berries, and she was in a part of the country which was quite strange to her. Had she happened to meet anybody on her way they would have warned her not to go near the witch’s tower, but she had not met a soul all day, and so she had no idea of the dreadful danger that was threatening her. She went on gathering her berries, light-heartedly humming a tune, until her basket was nearly full, and then she sat down at the foot of a tree to rest.
Presently she saw an old woman coming towards her. It was the witch, who had muffled herself up in her cloak, so that her face could not easily be seen.
“Good-day, my dear,” said the witch. “Will you give me a few of those ripe berries?”
“Of course I will,” answered Margot. “Take as many as you like, I can easily gather some more.” So the witch took a handful of berries, and sat down by Margot’s side to eat them. And all the time she was eating she was gazing greedily at the little girl’s white neck and rosy cheeks, but Margot could not see the hateful look in the witch’s eyes because the cloak hid her face.
“Where do you live, little girl?” asked the witch after a while.
Margot told her, and the witch said: “You must be very tired with walking all that way. If you will come to my house I will give you a bowl of milk and a slice of currant cake, and you shall see all the wonderful things that I keep in my cupboards.”
So Margot went with the witch into the gloomy tower, not so much because she wanted the milk or the cake, but to see the pretty things in the cupboards, and no sooner was she within than the witch fell upon her, and bound her fast with a cord, and carried her up to the topmost room, where the cat was sitting blinking its green eyes. Then the old witch opened the door of a dark cupboard, and pushed poor Margot inside, for she meant to keep her there until she had grown bigger and fatter, so that she would make a more satisfying meal. To this end the witch brought her plenty of rich food every day, and from time to time she would feel Margot’s arm to see whether she was plump enough to go into the pot. Poor child, how frightened she was, and how miserable at being kept in that dark cupboard all alone. She cried nearly all day long, but there was nobody to hear her except the witch’s big black cat, and he was a silent animal who did not show his feelings. Margot was almost as sorry for him as she was for herself, for the witch often beat him unmercifully, and the girl tried to comfort him by giving him pieces from her dinner, which she pushed out through the crack under the door.
One day when the old witch had gone out as usual, leaving Margot a prisoner, the girl was surprised to hear a voice speaking to her from the room beyond. “Margot, Margot,” said the voice, “don’t cry any more, but listen to me.”
“Who are you?” asked the little girl.
“I am the witch’s cat,” the voice went on. “I am going to push the key of the cupboard underneath the door. Take it and let yourself out, but make haste, for you have no time to waste!”
“Thank you, thank you,” said Margot, when she found herself free. “But how is it that you are able to talk? I did not know that cats could speak.”
“They can’t, as a rule,” said the witch’s cat, “but never mind that now. The witch may return at any moment, and we must get you safely out of her reach.”
“Yes, yes,” said Margot, “I must go at once. I will run like the wind!”
“That is no use,” said the cat. “Before you had got half-way home the witch would overtake you.”
“Then what must I do? Is there anywhere I can hide?”
“When she returns and finds you gone she will ransack every corner of the tower. Not even a mouse could escape her keen eyes.”
“Oh dear! oh dear!” said Margot, beginning to cry again. “Do help me to escape, kind cat, and I will be grateful to you all my life.”
“Of course I will help you,” answered the cat, “that is why I let you out of the cupboard. Take this piece of carpet, and when the witch has almost overtaken you, throw it on to the ground and it will turn into a wide river. That will delay her for some time, because she cannot swim, but if she manages to get across, and overtakes you again, throw down this comb, which will immediately change into a dense forest. You may plunge into it without fear, for a way will open before you between the trees, but the witch will have to cut a way through, foot by foot, with her knife; and long before she has done that you will be safely home.”
Margot thanked the cat, and having taken the carpet and the comb, she fled swiftly down the stairs.
A short time afterwards the witch came home, and when she discovered that her prisoner had escaped she howled with rage. Mounting to the very roof of the tower, she gazed out upon the countryside, and soon descried the figure of the little girl, running as fast as she could in the direction of her home.
“I’ll have you yet,” muttered the witch, and away she went after her.
Margot saw her coming, and redoubled her speed, but all to no avail, for the witch gained upon her rapidly. Soon she heard her hissing breath, and looking fearfully over her shoulder, saw the baleful look of triumph in her eyes.
Quickly then, Margot took out the strip of carpet and laid it upon the ground. Immediately it turned into a wide and swiftly flowing river. The witch gave a cry of rage, and tried to wade after her, but the flood mounted swiftly, first to her knees, and then to her waist. Another moment and she would have been swept away, but taking a nutshell from her pocket she set it afloat upon the waters, muttering a charm as she did so. Then the nutshell turned into a little boat, into which the old crone pulled herself, and, paddling with her broom, made shift to cross the river.
The delay had given Margot a good start, but the witch wore enchanted boots which enabled her to cover the ground at a wonderful rate. Ten minutes more and she was once again at Margot’s heels.
Then the little girl drew out the comb and flung it behind her. Immediately a dense forest sprang up, and Margot fled into it, through an alley that opened itself before her. Spluttering with anger, the witch drew her knife to hack her way through the wood, but long before she had cut a dozen yards Margot was safely home and in her mother’s arms.
The old witch made her way back to the tower, and the things she said were so terrible that the very air was poisoned, and the grass by the roadside withered and turned black. No sooner had she set foot within her doorway, however, than she crumbled to dust, and a wind arose and blew the dust to all quarters of the heavens.
So that was the end of the old witch, for her power ceased as soon as one of her victims managed to escape. As for the black cat, nobody ever saw him again, but it was whispered that he was really a Prince whom the wicked old crone had captured years before, and given the shape of a cat by enchantment. By helping Margot to escape he had released himself from the spell that bound him, and was enabled to return to his father’s kingdom.
ARTHUR RACKHAM’S
ILLUSTRATIONS
| THE SPRINGTIDE OF LIFE: POEMS OF CHILDHOOD | |
| By Algernon Charles Swinburne | 10s. 6d. net |
| THE ALLIES’ FAIRY BOOK | 6s. net |
| A CHRISTMAS CAROL. By Charles Dickens | 6s. net |
| MOTHER GOOSE, THE OLD NURSERY RHYMES | 6s. net |
| ARTHUR RACKHAM’S BOOK OF PICTURES | 15s. net |
| ÆSOP’S FABLES | 6s. net |
| THE RING OF THE NIBLUNG | |
| By Richard Wagner. Translated by Margaret Armour | |
| I. THE RHINEGOLD AND THE VALKYRIE | |
| II. SIEGFRIED AND THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS | 15s. net each |
| UNDINE | |
| By De La Motte Fouqué | 7s. 6d. net |
| A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM | |
| By William Shakespeare | 15s. net |
| ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND | |
| By Lewis Carroll | 6s. net |
| RIP VAN WINKLE (Complete Edition) | |
| By Washington Irving | 15s. net |
| THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS OF MIRTH AND MARVEL. By Thomas Ingoldsby, Esq. | 15s. net |
| Also a cheaper edition with 24 selected plates, 6s. net | |
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
PRINTED AT THE COMPLETE PRESS
WEST NORWOOD
LONDON
Some illustrations were moved slightly for reader convenience. The captions of the colored illustrations were originally on a previous page and were moved to directly underneath.
A few errors in punctuation were corrected. Otherwise the original was preserved.
Additional: “Krekelput” on page 76 was translated in the footnote with “Snail’s Well”, a better translation would be “Cricket’s Well”. Also, the chapter headers were left aligned in the original, this has not been changed.