The Child's World: Third Reader

The little gray man then gave the simpleton the second tablet. Upon it was written the second task:

"The key that opens the chamber in which the princesses are sleeping lies in the bottom of the lake. He who has performed the first task must find the key."

When the simpleton came to the lake, the ducks which he had saved were swimming upon it. At once they dived down into the depths below and brought up the key.

The simpleton showed the key to the little gray man, who then gave him the third tablet. On it was written the third task:

"The one who has gathered the pearls and found the key to the chamber may now marry the youngest and dearest princess. He must, however, first tell which is she. The princesses are exactly alike, but there is one difference. Before they went to sleep, the eldest ate sugar, the second ate syrup, and the youngest ate honey."

The simpleton laid down the tablet with a sigh. "How can I find out which princess ate the honey?" he asked himself.

However, he put the key he had found in the lock and opened the door. In the chamber the three princesses were lying. Ah, which was the youngest?

Just then the queen of the bees flew in through the window and tasted the lips of all three. When she came to the lips that had sipped the honey, she remained there. Then the young man knew that this was the youngest and dearest princess.

So the enchantment came to an end. The sleepers awoke, and those who had been turned to stone became alive again. The simpleton married the youngest and dearest princess, and was made king after her father's death. His two brothers, who were now sorry for what they had done, married the other two princesses, and lived happily ever after.

—GRIMM.

THE WORLD'S MUSIC

—GABRIEL SETOUN.

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY

I

Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who were very unhappy because they had no children. But at last a little daughter was born, and their sorrow was turned to joy. All the bells in the land were rung to tell the glad tidings.

The king gave a christening feast so grand that the like of it had never been known. He invited all the fairies he could find in the kingdom—there were seven of them—to come to the christening as godmothers. He hoped that each would give the princess a good gift.

When the christening was over, the feast came. Before each of the fairies was placed a plate with a spoon, a knife, and a fork—all pure gold. But alas! as the fairies were about to seat themselves at the table, there came into the hall a very old fairy who had not been invited. She had left the kingdom fifty years before and had not been seen or heard of until this day.

The king at once ordered that a plate should be brought for her, but he could not furnish a gold one such as the others had. This made the old fairy angry, and she sat there muttering to herself.

Her angry threats were overheard by a young fairy who sat near. This good godmother, fearing the old fairy might give the child an unlucky gift, hid herself behind a curtain. She did this because she wished to speak last and perhaps be able to change the old fairy's gift.

At the end of the feast, the youngest fairy stepped forward and said, "The princess shall be the most beautiful woman in the world."

The second said,

"She shall have a temper as sweet as an angel."

The third said,

"She shall have a wonderful grace in all she does or says."

The fourth said,

"She shall sing like a nightingale."

The fifth said,

"She shall dance like a flower in the wind."

The sixth said,

"She shall play such music as was never heard on earth."

Then the old fairy's turn came. Shaking her head spitefully, she said,

"When the princess is seventeen years old, she shall prick her finger with a spindle, and—she—shall—die!"

At this all the guests trembled, and many of them began to weep. The king and queen wept loudest of all.

Just then the wise young fairy came from behind the curtain and said: "Do not grieve, O King and Queen. Your daughter shall not die. I cannot undo what my elder sister has done; the princess shall indeed prick her finger with the spindle, but she shall not die. She shall fall into sleep that will last a hundred years. At the end of that time, a king's son will find her and awaken her."

Immediately all the fairies vanished.

II

The king, hoping to save his child even from this misfortune, commanded that all spindles should be burned. This was done, but it was all in vain.

One day when the princess was seventeen years of age, the king and queen left her alone in the castle. She wandered about the palace and at last came to a little room in the top of a tower. There an old woman—so old and deaf that she had never heard of the king's command—sat spinning.

"What are you doing, good old woman?" asked the princess.

"I am spinning, my pretty child."

"Ah," said the princess. "How do you do it? Let me see if I can spin also."

She had just taken the spindle in her hand when, in some way, it pricked her finger. The princess dropped down on the floor. The old woman called for help, and people came from all sides, but nothing could be done.

When the good young fairy heard the news, she came quickly to the castle. She knew that the princess must sleep a hundred years and would be frightened if she found herself alone when she awoke. So the fairy touched with her magic wand all in the palace except the king and the queen. Ladies, gentlemen, pages, waiting maids, footmen, grooms in the stable, and even the horses—she touched them all. They all went to sleep just where they were when the wand touched them. Some of the gentlemen were bowing to the ladies, the ladies were embroidering, the grooms stood currying their horses, and the cook was slapping the kitchen boy.

The king and queen departed from the castle, giving orders that no one was to go near it. This command, however, was not needed. In a little while there sprang around the castle a wood so thick that neither man nor beast could pass through.

III

A great many changes take place in a hundred years. The king had no other child, and when he died, his throne passed to another royal family. Even the story of the sleeping princess was almost forgotten.

One day the son of the king who was then reigning was out hunting, and he saw towers rising above a thick wood. He asked what they were, but no one could answer him.

At last an old peasant was found who said, "Your highness, fifty years ago my father told me that there is a castle in the woods where a princess sleeps—the most beautiful princess that ever lived. It was said that she must sleep there a hundred years, when she would be awakened by a king's son."

At this the young prince determined to find out the truth for himself. He leaped from his horse and began to force his way through the wood. To his astonishment, the stiff branches gave way, then closed again, allowing none of his companions to follow.

A beautiful palace rose before him. In the courtyard the prince saw horses and men who looked as if they were dead. But he was not afraid and boldly entered the palace. There were guards motionless as stone, gentlemen and ladies, pages and footmen, some standing, some sitting, but all like statues.

At last the prince came to a chamber of gold, where he saw upon a bed the fairest sight one ever beheld—a princess of about seventeen years who looked as if she had just fallen asleep. Trembling, the prince knelt beside her, and awakened her with a kiss. And now the enchantment was broken.

The princess looked at him with wondering eyes and said: "Is it you, my prince? I have waited for you long."

So happy were the two that they talked hour after hour. In the meantime all in the palace awaked and each began to do what he was doing when he fell asleep. The gentlemen went on bowing to the ladies, the ladies went on with their embroidery. The grooms went on currying their horses, the cook went on slapping the kitchen boy, and the servants began to serve the supper. Then the chief lady in waiting, who was ready to die of hunger, told the princess aloud that supper was ready.

The prince gave the princess his hand, and they all went into the great hall for supper. That very evening the prince and princess were married. The next day the prince took his bride to his father's palace, and there they lived happily ever afterward.

—GRIMM.

THE UGLY DUCKLING

I

It was summer. The country was lovely just then. The cornfields were waving yellow, the wheat was golden, the oats were still green, and the hay was stacked in the meadows. Beyond the fields great forests and ponds of water might be seen.

In the sunniest spot of all stood an old farmhouse, with deep canals around it. At the water's edge grew great burdocks. It was just as wild there as in the deepest wood, and in this snug place sat a duck upon her nest. She was waiting for her brood to hatch.

At last one eggshell after another began to crack. From each little egg came "Cheep! cheep!" and then a little duckling's head.

"Quack! quack!" said the duck; and all the babies quacked too. Then they looked all around. The mother let them look as much as they liked, for green is good for the eyes.

"How big the world is!" said all the little ducklings.

"Do you think this is all the world?" asked the mother. "It stretches a long way on the other side of the garden and on to the parson's field, but I have never been so far as that. I hope you are all out. No, not all; that large egg is still unbroken. I am really tired of sitting so long." Then the duck sat down again.

"Well, how goes it?" asked an old duck who had come to pay her a visit.

"There is one large egg that is taking a long time to hatch," replied the mother. "But you must look at the ducklings. They are the finest I have ever seen; they are all just like their father."

"Let me look at the egg which will not hatch," said the old duck. "You may be sure that it is a turkey's egg. I was once cheated in that way. Oh, you will have a great deal of trouble, for a turkey will not go into the water. Yes, that's a turkey's egg. Leave it alone and teach the other children to swim."

"No, I will sit on it a little longer," said the mother duck.

"Just as you please," said the old duck, and she went away.

At last the large egg cracked. "Cheep! cheep!" said the young one, and tumbled out. How large it was! How ugly it was!

"I wonder if it can be a turkey chick," said the mother. "Well, we shall see when we go to the pond. It must go into the water, even if I have to push it in myself."

Next day the mother duck and all her little ones went down to the water. Splash! she jumped in, and all the ducklings went in, too. They swam about very easily, and the ugly duckling swam with them.

"No, it is not a turkey," said the mother duck. "See how well he can use his legs. He is my own child! And he is not so very ugly either."

II

Then she took her family into the duck yard. As they went along, she told the ducklings how to act.

"Keep close to me, so that no one can step on you," she said. "Come; now, don't turn your toes in. A well-brought-up duck turns its toes out, just like father and mother. Bow your heads before that old duck yonder. She is the grandest duck here. One can tell that by the red rag around her leg. That's a great honor, the greatest honor a duck can have. It shows that the mistress doesn't want to lose her. Now bend your necks and say 'Quack!'"

They did so, but the other ducks did not seem glad to see them.

"Look!" they cried. "Here comes another brood, as if there were not enough of us already. And oh, dear, how ugly that large one is! We won't stand him."

Then one of the ducks flew at the ugly duckling and bit him in the neck.

"Let him alone," said the mother; "he is doing no harm."

"Perhaps not," said the duck who had bitten the poor duckling, "but he is too ugly to stay here. He must be driven out."

"Those are pretty children that the mother has," said the old duck with the rag around her leg. "They are all pretty but that one. What a pity!"

"Yes," replied the mother duck, "he is not handsome, but he is good-tempered, and he swims as well as any of the others. I think he will grow to be pretty. Perhaps he stayed too long in the egg."

"Well, make yourselves at home," said the old duck. "If you find an eel's head, you may bring it to me."

And they did make themselves at home—all but the poor ugly duckling. His life was made quite miserable. The ducks bit him, and the hens pecked him. So it went on the first day, and each day it grew worse.

The poor duckling was very unhappy. At last he could stand it no longer, and he ran away. As he flew over the fence, he frightened the little birds on the bushes.

"That is because I am so ugly," thought the duckling.

He flew on until he came to a moor where some wild ducks lived. They laughed at him and swam away from him.

Some wild geese came by, and they laughed at the duckling, too. Just then some guns went bang! bang! The hunters were all around. The hunting dogs came splash! into the swamp, and one dashed close to the duckling. The dog looked at him and went on.

"Well, I can be thankful for that," sighed he. "I am so ugly that even the dog will not bite me."

When all was quiet, the duckling started out again. A storm was raging, and he found shelter in a poor hut. Here lived an old woman with her cat and her hen. The old woman could not see well, and she thought he was a fat duck. She kept him three weeks, hoping that she would get some duck eggs, but the duckling did not lay.

After a while the fresh air and sunshine streamed in at the open door, and the duckling longed to be out on the water. The cat and the hen laughed when he told them of his wish.

"You must be crazy," said the hen. "I do not wish to swim. The cat does not; and I am sure our mistress does not."

"You do not understand me," said the duckling. "I will go out into the wide world."

"Yes, do go," said the hen.

And the duckling went away. He swam on the water and dived, but still all the animals passed him by because he was so ugly; and the poor duckling was lonesome.

III

Now the winter came, and soon it was very cold. Snow and sleet fell, and the ugly duckling had a very unhappy time.

One evening a whole flock of handsome white birds rose out of the bushes. They were swans. They gave a strange cry, and spreading their great wings, flew away to warmer lands and open lakes.

The ugly duckling felt quite strange, and he gave such a loud cry that he frightened himself. He could not forget those beautiful happy birds. He knew not where they had gone, but he wished he could have gone with them.

The winter grew cold—very cold. The duckling swam about in the water to keep from freezing, but every night the hole in which he swam became smaller and smaller. At last he was frozen fast in the ice.

Early the next morning a farmer found the duckling and took him to the farmhouse. There in a warm room the duckling came to himself again. The children wished to play with him, but he was afraid of them.

In his terror he fluttered into the milk pan and splashed the milk about the room. The woman clapped her hands at him, and that frightened him still more. He flew into the butter tub and then into the meal barrel.

How he did look then! The children laughed and screamed. The woman chased him with the fire tongs. The door stood open, and the duckling slipped out into the snow.

It was a cruel, hard winter, and he nearly froze. At last the warm sun began to shine, and the larks to sing. The duckling flapped his wings and found that they were strong. Away he flew over the meadows and fields.

Soon he found himself in a beautiful garden where the apple trees were in full bloom, and the long branches of the willow trees hung over the shores of the lake. Just in front of him he saw three beautiful white swans swimming lightly over the water.

"I will fly to those beautiful birds," he said. "They will kill me because I am so ugly; but it is all the same. It is better to be killed by them than to be bitten by the ducks and pecked by the hens."

So he flew into the water and swam towards the beautiful birds. They saw the duckling and came sailing down toward him. He bowed his head saying, "Kill me, oh, kill me."

But what was this he saw in the clear water? It was his own image, and lo! he was no longer a clumsy dark-gray bird, but a—swan, a beautiful white swan. It matters not if one was born in a duck yard, if one has only lain in a swan's egg. The other swans swam around him to welcome him.

Some little children came into the garden with corn and other grains which they threw into the water. The smallest one cried, "Oh, see! there is a new swan, and it is more beautiful than any of the others."

The ugly duckling was shy and at first hid his head under his wing. Then he felt so happy that he raised his neck and said, "I never dreamed of so much happiness when I was an ugly duckling."

—HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

THE WHITE BLACKBIRD

I

I was born a blackbird in a bushy thicket near a meadow. My father took good care of his family and would peck about all day for insects. These he brought home to my mother, holding them by the tail so as not to mash them. He had a sweet voice, too, and every evening sang beautiful songs.

I should have been happy, but I was not. I ate little and was weak; and from the first, I was different from my brothers and sisters. They had glossy, black feathers, while mine were dirty gray. These made my father angry whenever he looked at them.

When I moulted for the first time, he watched me closely. While the feathers were falling out and while I was naked, he was kind; but my new feathers drove him wild with anger. I did not wonder. I was no longer even gray; I had become snow white. I was a white blackbird! Did such a thing ever happen in a blackbird family before?

It made me very sad to see my father so vexed over me. But it is hard to stay sad forever, and one sunshiny spring day I opened my bill and began to sing. At the first note my father flew up into the air like a sky-rocket.

"What do I hear?" he cried. "Is that the way a blackbird whistles? Do I whistle that way?"

"I whistle the best I can," I replied.

"That is not the way we whistle in my family," my father said. "We have whistled for many, many years and know how to do it. It is not enough for you to be white; you must make that horrible noise. The truth is you are not a blackbird."

"I will leave home," I answered with a sob. "I will go far away where I can pick up a living on earthworms and spiders."

"Do as you please," my father said. "You are not a blackbird."

II

I flew away early the next morning, and was lucky enough to find shelter under an old gutter. It rained hard that night. I was just about to go to bed, when a very wet bird came in and sat down beside me. His feathers were grayish like mine, but he was much larger than myself.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I don't know," I replied. "I pass for a blackbird but I am white."

"I am the finest bird in the world," he said. "I am a carrier pigeon and carry messages."

Then I saw that a traveling bag hung from his neck.

"Maybe I am a pigeon," I said, "since I am not a blackbird."

"No," he answered, "a runt like you could not be a pigeon."

The next morning the pigeon sprang from the gutter and flew away as fast as the wind. As I was lonely, I followed him. He flew faster and faster, but I kept up for a good while. At last my strength gave out and I fell down into a meadow.

I was stunned by the fall. When I came to my senses, two birds stood near by looking at me. One was a dainty little magpie; the other a soft-eyed turtle dove. The magpie kindly offered me some berries she had gathered.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"A blackbird or a pigeon," I said sadly. "I don't know which."

"Are you joking?" she cried. "You are a magpie."

"But magpies are not white," I said.

"Russian magpies are," she answered; "perhaps you belong to that family."

My joy was great for a moment at finding out what I was. Still I was not sure that I was a magpie and thought I might settle the matter by singing. I burst into song and warbled and whistled, and whistled and warbled.

The magpie looked at me in surprise. Then her face grew sad and she backed off from me. At last she flew away without another word. Whatever I might be, I was not a magpie—not even a Russian magpie.

I made up my mind not to rest until I found out what bird I was. So I flew off to a place where birds of all kinds met to talk and enjoy themselves. There were robins and sparrows and crows and wrens and martins and every sort of bird. But I was not like any of them and whenever I began to sing, they all laughed.

"You are not one of us," they said; "you are a white blackbird. That is what you are."

III

I had now seen all the birds, but none of them were as fine as the blackbirds. I did not want to be like any of these birds; I longed to be a blackbird, a real blackbird. That was not possible. So I made up my mind to be content with my lot, as I had the heart of a blackbird even if I were not black.

A great flock of blackbirds lived on the edge of a cornfield. I went to them and asked them to let me be their helper.

"I am only a white blackbird," I said, "but I have the heart of a true blackbird."

They let me stay. I waited on them early and late, bringing straw to make nests and tender little worms for the baby blackbirds. The old birds were kind to me, and I began to be happy.

Hard work did me good. I soon grew strong, and when the crows tried to drive us away, I led the blackbirds to victory. My sight was keen, and I was the first to find out that the scarecrow was not a man. I caught more worms, too, than any of the blackbirds.

By and by a strange thing happened. I saw one day that my white feathers were speckled with brown dots. They grew larger and larger until the dots covered me all over; I was no longer white but brown. And now, little by little, my brown coat turned darker and darker until one morning it was black—a rich, glossy black! I was a blackbird at last.

Then the other blackbirds hopped around me with joy, crying, "He is the largest and bravest of the blackbirds. Let him be king! Long live the king of the blackbirds!"

—ALFRED DE MUSSET (Adapted).

THE BROWN THRUSH

—LUCY LARCOM.

THE KING AND THE GOOSEHERD

ACT I

(King in plain clothes had gone out for a walk in the park. He sat under a tree to read a book and fell asleep. When he waked up he walked on, forgetting his book. He sees a lad looking after a flock of geese and calls him.)

KING: Boy, I left a book lying under a tree in the park. Will you please get it for me? If you do, I will give you a gold piece.

BOY: Give me a gold piece to go to the park, indeed! You must have a pocketful of gold pieces. Or you must think me more stupid than I am.

KING: Stupid! Who thinks you stupid?

BOY: Why, who would be so foolish as to give me a gold piece just for running half a mile for a book? No, no, you are joking. You couldn't make me believe that.

KING: Well, you know "seeing is believing." Look! here is the gold piece for you.

BOY: But it is in your hand. If I saw it in my own hand, that would be a different matter.

KING (laughing): You are certainly not stupid, my boy; but you may have it in your own hand. Here it is.

(Boy stands still, looking worried,)

KING: Well, why don't you go?

BOY: I only wish I could. But what would become of the geese while I am away? If they strayed into the meadow over yonder, I should have to pay trespass-money—more than the gold piece—and lose my place besides.

KING: I'll tell you what we'll do. You go for the book, and I'll herd the geese.

BOY (laughing): You herd the geese—a pretty gooseherd you would make! You are too fat and too old.

KING (to himself, shaking with laughter): Well, Well, "fat and old." What next, I wonder!

BOY: Why, you couldn't mind the geese. Just look at the "court gander" there—the one with the black head and wings. He is the ringleader whenever there is any mischief. He would lead you a pretty dance.

KING: Never mind the geese. I'll answer for them, and I promise to pay all damages if they get away.

BOY (handing the king his whip): Well, then, be careful. Watch the "court gander."

(Boy walks on a few feet, then hurries back.)

KING: What's the matter now?

BOY: Crack the whip!

(King tries but fails.)

BOY: Just as I thought. Here, this way! Can't you see? You are stupid!

KING: Just let me try once more.

(King tries.)

BOY: Well, that did pretty well.

(Moves off muttering.)

He is as big a goose as any in the flock.

ACT II

KING (lying on the ground and laughing so that the tears run down his cheeks): Oh, but this is fine! First I was fat and old. Now I am as big a goose as any in the flock. What would my courtiers say?

(Springing up suddenly.)

Look at that "court gander"! There he goes with the whole flock.

(He dashes wildly after the geese and tries to crack the whip, but cannot.)

Now they are in the meadow; what will the boy say?

(Boy returns and sees the geese in the meadow; the king looks ashamed.)

BOY: Just as I expected. I have found the book, but you have lost the geese. What a time I shall have trying to find them!

KING: Never mind; I will help you get them together again.

BOY: Humph! Much help you'll be. But go there by that stump and don't let the geese pass you. Wave your arms at them and shout at them. Surely you can do that!

KING: I'll try.

ACT III

Boy: Well, they are back again! Thanks to goodness, but none to you. What can you do?

KING: Pray excuse me for not doing any better, but you see, I am not used to work. I am the king.

BOY: I was a simpleton to trust you with the geese; but I am not such a simpleton as to believe that you are the king.

KING: Just as you will. You are a good lad. Here is another gold coin as a peace offering. Good-day.

BOY (as king walks away): He is a kind gentleman, whoever he may be; but take my word for it, he will never make a gooseherd.

—OLD TALE.

DONAL AND CONAL

I

There was once in old Ireland a very fine lad by the name of Donal. He was not only a very fine lad, but a very gay lad. He would go for miles to a party or a wedding; and he was always welcome, for Donal knew where to wear his smile. He wore it on his face instead of keeping it in his pocket.

The dearest wish of Donal's heart no one knew but himself. His soul was full of music, and he longed to have a violin.

One night Donal was going home through a dark forest when a storm came up. He found an old hollow tree and got inside of it to keep dry. Soon he fell asleep.

After a while Donal was awakened by a strange noise. He peeped out, and he saw a queer sight. The storm had passed, and the moon was shining. Many elves were dancing to strange music played by an old, old elf.

Such queer dancing it was! Donal crept out of the tree and drew nearer and nearer. Suddenly he laughed out loud and said, "Well, that's the worst dancing I have ever seen!"

The fairies were astonished and angry, and they all began to talk at the same time.

"We have a man among us!" cried one.

"Let us hang him!" cried another.

"Cut his head off!" cried a third.

But the queen stepped out among them and said, "Leave him to me."

Then she called Donal to her. Now Donal was a wee bit frightened, but he knew where to wear his smile, you remember. So he went up to the queen, smiling and bowing.

"You say our dancing is the worst you have ever seen," she said. "Now, show us that you can do better."

Donal smiled again and bowed low. Then he began to dance. Such dancing the elves had never seen! They clapped their hands and made him dance again and again. Finally, Donal was exhausted, and after making a low bow to the queen, sat down on the ground.

The fairies crowded around him.

"Give him our silver!" cried one.

"Make it gold!" cried another.

"Diamonds!" cried a third.

But the queen said, "Leave it to me."

She went up to the old, old elf who had been playing for the dance. Taking his violin from him, she gave it to Donal. You see, the queen knew the dearest wish of his heart.

Then Donal was a happy lad, indeed! He thanked the queen and went home playing on his new violin.

II

There lived near Donal's home a lad named Conal. He was not such a fine lad as Donal, nor such a gay one. He was a greedy lad, and the dearest wish of his heart was to be rich. And he did not know where to wear his smile. If he had one, he kept it in his pocket.

When Conal heard what had happened to Donal, he wished to know all about it. So he went to him and said, "Donal, man, how did you get that beautiful violin?"

Donal told the story backward and forward, and forward and backward, from beginning to end, until Conal knew it by heart.

Then Conal said to himself, "I will go to the hollow tree and dance for the elves; but I shall not be so foolish as Donal. I will take their gold and silver, and their diamonds, too."

That night Conal went to the hollow tree and waited until the elves appeared. Then he crept out and watched them dance. And he said, just as Donal had, "Well, that's the worst dancing I have ever seen!"

The fairies were astonished and angry again, and again they all began to talk at once.

"Another man among us!" cried one.

"Let us hang him!" cried another.

"Cut off his head!" cried a third.

But the queen said, "Leave it to me."

Then she called Conal to her. Now Conal did not know where to wear his smile, you remember; he always kept it in his pocket. So he went up to the queen with a very sour face.

The queen said to him, as she had to Donal, "You say our dancing is the worst you have ever seen. Now, show us that you can do better."

Conal began to dance, and he could dance well. The elves were delighted. They clapped their hands and asked him to dance again, but he said roughly, "No, that is enough. Do you expect me to dance all night?"

The elves were silent then, and the queen's face was stern. But she was a just queen, and she said, "You have danced well. Will you have some of our silver?"

"Yes," said Conal, without a word of thanks; and he filled his coat pockets.

"Will you have gold?" asked the queen.

"Yes," said Conal greedily, as he filled the pockets in his trousers.

"Will you have some of our diamonds?" the queen asked, and her face was dark with anger.

"Yes, yes," cried Conal.

"You shall not have them, you greedy lad!" cried the queen; "you shall have nothing."

Just then a cloud passed across the moon, and the elves vanished.

"Oh, well," said Conal, "I have the gold and silver."

He plunged his hands into his pockets and lo! the gold and silver had turned to stones. Then Conal went home a sadder and a wiser lad.

—IRISH TALE.