ong ago in the far North, where it is very cold, there was only one fire. A hunter and his little son took care of this fire and kept it burning day and night. They knew that if the fire went out the people would freeze and the white bear would have the Northland all to himself. One day the hunter became ill, and his son had all the work to do.
For many days and nights he bravely took care of his father and kept the fire burning.
The white bear was always hiding near, watching the fire. He longed to put it out, but he did not dare, for he feared the hunter's arrows.
When he saw how tired and sleepy the little boy was, he came closer to the fire and laughed to himself.
One night the poor boy could endure the fatigue no longer and fell fast asleep.
The white bear ran as fast as he could and jumped upon the fire with his wet feet, and rolled upon it. At last he thought it was all out and went happily away to his cave.
A brown robin was flying near and saw what the white bear was doing.
She waited until the bear went away. Then she flew down and searched with her sharp little eyes until she found a tiny live coal. This she fanned patiently with her wings for a long time.
Her little breast was scorched red, but she did not stop until a fine red flame blazed up from the ashes.
Then she flew away to every hut in the Northland. Wherever she touched the ground, a fire began to burn. Soon, instead of one little fire, the whole North country was lighted up.
The white bear went farther back into his cave in the iceberg and growled terribly. He knew that there was now no hope that he would ever have the Northland all to himself.
This is the reason that the people in the North countries love the robin, and are never tired of telling their children how its breast became red.
ong ago, as you know, the Indians roved over the plains and through the forests of America. Their leaders were called chiefs. This story tells about an Indian chief and his son.
[4] This story is based upon a legend of the Algonquin Indians. John Greenleaf Whittier has a poem with a similar title, written upon the same theme.
The Indian chief was very strong and very brave. He could bear cold, hunger and pain without a word. He was a wonderful hunter and a fierce enemy. Nothing ever made him afraid.
He had one son, whom he loved with all his heart. He hoped that this son would grow up to be a warrior, greater than his father.
But the lad was slender and white-faced. He did not seem strong; long marches wearied him. When the Indian boys are about eighteen years of age, they like to show that they will make brave warriors. To do this they take certain tests. These are some of them. They go without food and water, five, seven, or even ten days. Again they go without sleep for ten days. They let their friends cut them with knives and never even cry out.
The time came when the son of the chief must take the test. He went away to the wigwam, or lodge, where the testing took place. His father hoped that he would act like a brave young man.
When some days had passed, the father went to see his son. Pale and weak, he lay on the ground. He had not eaten nor slept.
"Father," he whispered, "I cannot bear this. Let me go free."
"Ah no, my boy," said the chief. "They will call you woman, if you fail. It is but two days more. Then you shall have good meat and deep sleep. Think of the time when you will be a great chief, with a hundred scalps at your belt. Be strong."
But the lad only shook his head.
Two days later, the father rose with the sun. He heaped moose-meat and corn into a wooden bowl and set off to his son.
As he drew near the wigwam he called, "Here is food, my son."
There was no reply.
He entered, and there, on the ground before him, lay his boy, dead.
They dug his grave close by the lodge, and brought his bow, pipe, and knife to bury with him.
As they were placing the youth in his grave, they heard a strange, new song. They looked up and saw, on the top of the lodge, an unknown bird. It had a brown coat and a red breast. As they watched, it began to sing. Its song seemed to say:
"I was once the chief's son. But now I am a bird. I am happier than if I had lived to be a fierce warrior, with scalps at my belt. Now I shall make all glad with my song. I shall tell the little children when spring has come. Then they will search for pussy-willows and anemones. I am the robin, a little brother to man! Who so happy as I?"
Even the father's grief was comforted by the bright little messenger. "It is best after all," he said. "My son could not kill men nor beasts; he is happier as a singer, even as this little bird."
ong, long ago, there lived an old woman in a little cottage by the forest. She was not a poor old woman. She had plenty of wood to burn in winter, and plenty of meal to bake into bread all the year round. Her clothes were old-fashioned but warm. She always wore a grey dress and a little red cap.
[5] This story is told in verse in Phœbe Cary's A Legend of the Northland.
Late one summer afternoon, the cottage door was open. The old woman stood by her fire, baking cakes for her evening meal. How good they smelled!
A tall old man who was passing by the cottage stopped a moment. Then he pushed open the garden gate and walked up the path to the door.
The old woman was bending low over the cakes, but she saw his shadow and looked up.
"Will you give me one of your cakes?" said the man.
The woman thought to herself, "Why did I leave the door open? The smell of these hot cakes will bring every beggar within miles to my house." Then she looked a second time at the man and saw that he was no beggar. He stood like a king in the doorway. His blue eyes were kind but very keen.
She looked at the six cakes that lay crisp and hot on the hearth. "Well, I will give him one," she thought, "but these are all too large."
She took a small handful of meal from the barrel and began to bake it into a cake. The man watched her from the door. As she turned the cake, it seemed to her too large to give away.
"I will bake a smaller one," she said to herself. She did not glance toward the stranger, but caught up a wee bit of meal and began to cook the second cake.
But that also looked too large to give away. She cooked a third cake that was no larger than a thimble. But when it was done, she shook her head, for it also was too large to give away. And still the old man waited patiently in the doorway, watching it all.
Then the old woman gathered up the cakes, large and small, and put them on a plate. The plate she set on the pantry shelf and then locked the door.
"I have no food for you," she said to the old man. "My cakes seem very small when I eat them, but they are far too large to give away. Ask bread at another door."
The old man's blue eyes flashed with fire as he drew himself up proudly.
"I have been round the world but never have I met a soul so small. You have shelter, food, and fire, but you will not share with another. This is your punishment. You shall seek your scanty food with pain. You shall bore, bore, bore in hard tree-trunks for your food."
The old man struck his staff on the floor. A strong gust of wind carried the old woman up the chimney. The flames scorched her grey clothes black; but her red cap was unharmed.
A woodpecker flew out of the chimney and away to the wood. Rap! rap! rap! you can hear her tapping her beak on the tree-trunks as she hunts for food. But always and everywhere, she wears a black coat and a little red cap. Watch for the woodpecker and see if it is not so.
oney," said Uncle Remus to the little boy, "why don' you git some flesh on yo' bones? If I wuz ole Brer Wolf en you wuz a young rabbit, I wouldn't git hongry 'nuff fer ter eat you, caze you's too bony."
[6] From Uncle Remus and his Friends.
"Did Brother Wolf want to eat the young rabbit, Uncle Remus?" inquired the little boy.
"Ain't I done tole you 'bout dat, honey? Des run over in yo' min' en see ef I ain't."
The youngster shook his head.
"Well," said Uncle Remus, "ole Brer Wolf want ter eat de little Rabs all de time, but dey wuz one time in 'tickeler dat dey make his mouf water, en dat wuz de time when him en Brer Fox wuz visitin' at Brer Rabbit's house. De times wuz hard, but de little Rabs wuz slick and fat, en des ez frisky ez kittens. Ole Brer Rabbit wuz off som'ers, en Brer Wolf en Brer Fox wuz waitin' fer 'im. De little Rabs wuz playin' 'roun', en dough dey wuz little dey kep' der years open. Brer Wolf look at um out'n de cornder uv his eyes, en lick his chops en wink at Brer Fox, en Brer Fox wunk back at 'im. Brer Wolf cross his legs, en den Brer Fox cross his'n. De little Rabs, dey frisk en dey frolic.
"Brer Wolf ho'd his head to'rds um en 'low, 'Dey er mighty fat.'
"Brer Fox grin, en say, 'Man, hush yo' mouf!'
"De little Rabs frisk en dey frolic, en play furder off, but dey keep der years primed.
"Brer Wolf look at um en 'low, 'Ain't dey slick en purty?'
"Brer Fox chuckle, en say, 'Oh, I wish you'd hush!'
"De little Rabs play off furder en furder, but dey keep der years open.
"Brer Wolf smack his mouf, en 'low, 'Dey er joosy en tender.'
"Brer Fox roll his eye en say, 'Man, ain't you gwine ter hush up, 'fo' you gi' me de fidgets?'
"Der little Rabs dey frisk en dey frolic, but dey hear ev'ything dat pass.
"Brer Wolf lick out his tongue quick, en 'low, 'Less us whirl in en eat um.'
"Brer Fox say, 'Man, you make me hongry! Please hush up!'
"De little Rabs play off furder en furder, but dey know 'zackly what gwine on. Dey frisk en dey frolic, but dey got der years wide open.
"Den Brer Wolf make a bargain wid Brer Fox dat when Brer Rabbit git home, one un um ud git 'im wropped up in a 'spute 'bout fust one thing en den anudder, whiles tudder one ud go out en ketch de little Rabs.
"Brer Fox 'low, 'You better do de talkin', Brer Wolf, en lemme coax de little Rabs off. I got mo' winning ways wid chilluns dan what you is.'
"Brer Wolf say, 'You can't make gourd out'n punkin, Brer Fox. I ain't no talker. Yo' tongue lots slicker dan mine. I kin bite lots better'n I kin talk. Dem little Rabs don't want no coaxin'; dey wants ketchin'—dat what dey wants. You keep ole Brer Rabbit busy, en I'll ten' der de little Rabs.'
"Bofe un um know'd dat whichever cotch de little Rabs, de tudder one ain't gwine smell hide ner hair un um, en dey flew up en got ter 'sputin', en whiles dey wuz 'sputin', en gwine on dat way, de little Rabs put off down de road—blickety-blickety,—fer ter meet der daddy. Kase dey know'd ef dey stayed dar dey'd git in big trouble.
"Dey went off down de road, de little Rabs did, en dey ain't gone so mighty fur 'fo' dey meet der daddy comin' 'long home. He had his walkin' cane in one han' en a jug in de udder, en he look ez big ez life, en twice ez natchul.
"De little Rabs run to'rds 'im en holler, 'What you got, daddy? What you got, daddy?'
"Brer Rabbit say, 'Nothin' but er jug er 'lasses.'
"De little Rabs holler, 'Lemme tas'e, daddy! Lemme tas'e, daddy!'
"Den ole Brer Rabbit sot de jug down in de road en let um lick de stopper a time er two, en atter dey is done get der win' back, dey up'n tell 'im 'bout de 'greement dat Brer Wolf en Brer Fox done make, en 'bout de 'spute what dey had. Ole Brer Rabbit sorter laugh ter hisse'f en den he pick up his jug en jog on to'rds home. When he git mos' dar he stop en tell de little Rabs fer stay back dar out er sight, en wait twel he call um 'fo' dey come. Dey wuz mighty glad ter do des like dis, kaz dey done seed Brer Wolf tushes, en Brer Fox red tongue, en dey huddle up in de broom-sage ez still ez a mouse in de flour bar'l.
"Brer Rabbit went on home, en sho 'nuff, he fin' Brer Wolf en Brer Fox waitin' fer 'im. Dey'd done settle der 'spute, en dey wuz settin' dar des ez smilin' ez a basket er chips. Dey pass the time er day wid Brer Rabbit, en den dey ax 'im what he got in de jug. Brer Rabbit hummed en haw'd, en looked sorter sollum.
"Brer Wolf looked like he wuz bleedz ter fin' out what wuz in de jug, en he keep a-pesterin' Brer Rabbit 'bout it; but Brer Rabbit des shake his head en look sollum, en talk 'bout de wedder en de craps, en one thing en anudder. Bimeby Brer Fox make out he wuz gwine atter a drink er water, en he slip out, he did, fer to ketch de little Rabs. Time he git out de house, Brer Rabbit look all 'roun' ter see ef he lis'nen, en den he went ter de jug en pull out de stopper.
"He han' it ter Brer Wolf en say, 'Tas'e dat.'
"Brer Wolf tas'e de 'lasses, en smack his mouf. He 'low, 'What kinder truck dat? Hit sho is good.'
"Brer Rabbit git up close ter Brer Wolf en say, 'Don't tell nobody. Hit's Fox-blood.'
"Brer Wolf looked 'stonish'. He 'low, 'How you know?'
"Brer Rabbit say, 'I knows what I knows!'
"Brer Wolf say, 'Gimme some mo'!'
"Brer Rabbit say, 'You kin git some mo' fer yo'se'f easy 'nuff, en de fresher 'tis, de better.'
"Brer Wolf 'low, 'How you know?'
"Brer Rabbit say, 'I knows what I knows!'
"Wid dat Brer Wolf stepped out, en start to'rds Brer Fox. Brer Fox seed 'im comin', en he sorter back off. Brer Wolf got little closer, en bimeby he make a dash at Brer Fox. Brer Fox dodge, he did, en den he put out fer de woods wid Brer Wolf right at his heels.
"Den atter so long a time, atter Brer Rabbit got done laughin', he call up de little Rabs, gi' um some 'lasses fer supper, en spanked um en sont um ter bed.'"
"Well, what did he spank 'em for, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy.
"Ter make um grow, honey,—des ter make um grow!"
"Did Brother Wolf catch Brother Fox?"
"How I know, honey? Much ez I kin do ter foller de tale when it keeps in de big road, let 'lone ter keep up wid dem creeturs whiles dey gone sailin' thoo de woods. De tale ain't persoo on atter um no furder dan de place whar dey make der disappear'nce. I tell you now, when I goes in de woods, I got ter know whar I'm gwine."
ne evening Uncle Remus was telling the little boy a mighty tale of how Brer Rabbit got the better of ole Brer Lion. He ended in this way: "All de creeturs hear 'bout it, en dey go 'roun' en say dat Brer Rabbit sholy is got deze 'ere things up here." Uncle Remus tapped his forehead, and the little boy laughed.
[7] From Uncle Remus and his Friends.
"I don't think Brother Lion had much sense," remarked the little boy.
"Yes, he had some," said Uncle Remus. "He bleedz ter had some, but he ain't got much ez Brer Rabbit. Dem what got strenk ain't got so mighty much sense.
"After Brer Rabbit done make way wid ole Brer Lion, all de yuther creeturs say he sholy is a mighty man, en dey treat 'im good. Dis make 'im feel so proud dat he bleedz ter show it, en so he strut 'roun' like a boy when he git his fust pa'r er boots.
"'Bout dat time, Brer Wolf tuck a notion dat ef Brer Rabbit kin outdo ole Brer Lion, he can't outdo him. So he pick his chance one day whiles ole Miss Rabbit en de little Rabs is out pickin' sallid for dinner. He went in de house, he did, en wait fer Brer Rabbit ter come home. Brer Rabbit had his hours, en dis was one un um, en 't wan't long 'fo' here he come. He got a mighty quick eye, mon, en he tuck notice dat ev'ything mighty still. When he got a little nigher, he tuck notice dat de front door wuz on de crack, en dis make 'im feel funny, kaze he know dat when his ole 'oman en de chillun out, dey allers pulls de door shet en ketch de latch. So he went up a little nigher, en he step thin ez a batter-cake. He peep here, en he peep dar, yit he ain't see nothin'. He lissen in de chimbley cornder, en he lissen und' de winder, yit he ain't hear nothin'.
"Den he sorter wipe his mustach en study. He 'low ter hisse'f, 'De pot rack know what gwine up de chimbley, de rafters know who's in de loft, de bed-cord know who und' de bed. I ain't no pot-rack, I ain't no rafter, en I ain't no bed-cord, but, please gracious! I'm gwine ter fin' who's in dat house, en I ain't gwine in dar nudder. Dey mo' ways ter fin' out who fell in de mill-pond widout fallin' in yo'se'f.'
"Some folks," Uncle Remus went on, "would 'a' rushed in dar, en ef dey had, dey wouldn't 'a' rushed out no mo', kaze dey wouldn't 'a' been nothin' 'tall lef' un um but a little scrap er hide en a han'ful er ha'r.
"Brer Rabbit got better sense dan dat. All he ax anybody is ter des gi' 'im han'-roomance, en den what kin ketch 'im is mo' dan welly-come ter take 'im. Dat 'zackly de kinder man what Brer Rabbit is. He went off a little ways fum de house en clum a 'simmon stump en got up dar en 'gun ter holler.
"He 'low, 'Heyo, house!'
"De house ain't make no answer, en Brer Wolf, in dar behime de door, open his eyes wide. He ain't know what ter make er dat kinder doin's.
"Brer Rabbit holler, 'Heyo, house! Why n't you heyo?'
"House ain't make no answer, en Brer Wolf in dar behime de door sorter move roun' like he gittin' restless in de min'.
"Brer Rabbit out dar on de 'simmon stump holler mo' louder dan befo', 'Heyo, house! Heyo!'
"House stan' still, en Brer Wolf in dar behime de door 'gun ter feel col' chills streakin' up and down his back. In all his born days he ain't never hear no gwines on like dat. He peep thoo de crack er de door, but he can't see nothin'.
"Brer Rabbit holler louder, 'Heyo, house! Ain't you gwine ter heyo? Is you done los' what little manners you had?'
"Brer Wolf move 'bout wuss'n befo'. He feel like sum un done hit 'im on de funny-bone.
"Brer Rabbit holler hard ez he kin, but still he ain't git no answer, en den he 'low, 'Sholy sump'n nudder is de matter wid dat house, kaze all de times befo' dis, it been holler'n back at me, "Heyo, yo'se'f!"'
"Den Brer Rabbit wait little bit, en bimeby he holler one mo' time, 'Heyo, house!'
"Ole Brer Wolf try ter talk like he speck a house 'ud talk, en he holler back, 'Heyo, yo'se'f!'
"Brer Rabbit wunk at hisse'f. He 'low, 'Heyo, house! why n't you talk hoarse like you got a bad col'?'
"Den Brer Wolf holler back, hoarse ez he kin, 'Heyo, yo'se'f!'
"Dis make Brer Rabbit laugh twel a little mo' en he'd a drapt off'n dat ar 'simmon stump en hurt hisse'f.
"He 'low, 'Eh-eh, Brer Wolf! dat ain't nigh gwine ter do. You'll hatter stan' out in de rain a mighty long time 'fo' you kin talk hoarse ez dat house!'
"I let you know," continued Uncle Remus, laying his hand gently on the little boy's shoulder, "I let you know, Brer Wolf come a-slinkin' out, en made a break fer home. Atter dat, Brer Rabbit live a long time wid'out any er de yuther creeturs a-pesterin' un 'im!"
nce upon a time there lived in a village in some country (I do not know where, but certainly nowhere near here), an old man and an old woman who were very poor indeed. They had never been able to save a single penny. They had no farm, not even a garden. They had nothing but a little Duck that walked around on her two feet every day singing the song of famine. "Quack! quack! Who will give me a piece of bread? Quack! quack! Who will give me a piece of bread?" This little duck was so small that she was named Teenchy Duck.
[8] Translated from the French by Joel Chandler Harris.
It so happened one day that Teenchy Duck was paddling in the water near the river's edge when she saw a fine purse filled with gold. At once she began to flap her wings and cry: "Quack! quack! Who has lost his beautiful money? Quack! quack! Who has lost his beautiful money?"
Just at that moment the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows passed along the road. He was richer than all the kings and emperors, but he was mean and miserly. He walked along with a stick in his hand, and as he walked he counted in his mind the millions that he had stored away in his strong-box.
"Quack! quack! Who lost his beautiful money? Quack! quack! Who lost his beautiful money?" cried Teenchy Duck.
"I have lost it," cried the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows, and then he seized the purse full of money that Teenchy Duck held in her bill, and went on his way.
The poor Puddle Duck was so astonished at this that she could scarcely stand on her feet.
"Well, well!" she exclaimed, "that rich lord has kept all for himself and given me nothing. May he be destroyed by a pestilence!"
Teenchy Duck at once ran to her master, and told him what had happened. When her master learned the value of what Teenchy Duck had found, and the trick that had been played on her by the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows, he went into a rage.
"Why, you big simpleton!" he exclaimed, "you find money and you do not bring it to us! You give it to a big lord, who did not lose it, when we poor people need it so much! Go out of this house instantly, and don't dare to come back until you have brought me the purse of gold!"
Poor Teenchy Duck trembled in all her limbs, and made herself small and humble; but she found her voice to say:
"You are right, my master! I go at once to find the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows."
But once out of doors the poor Puddle Duck thought to herself sorrowfully: "How and where can I find the Prince who was so mean as to steal the beautiful money?"
Teenchy Duck was so bewildered that she began to strike her head against the rocks in despair. Suddenly an idea came into her mind. She would follow his tracks and the marks that his walking-stick made in the ground until she came to the castle of the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows.
No sooner thought than done. Teenchy Duck went waddling down the road in the direction taken by the miserly Prince, crying with all her might:
"Quack! quack! Give me back my beautiful money! Quack! quack! Give me back my beautiful money!"
Brother Fox, who was taking his ease a little way from the road, heard Teenchy Duck's cries, and knew her voice. He went to her and said:
"What in the world is the matter with you, my poor Teenchy Duck? You look sad and broken-hearted."
"I have good reason to be," said Teenchy Duck. "This morning, while paddling in the river, I found a purse full of gold, and gave it to the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows, thinking it was his. But now, here comes my master and asks me for it, and says he will kill me if I do not bring it to him soon."
"Well, where are you going in this style?" asked Brother Fox.
"I am going straight to the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows," said Teenchy Duck.
"Shall I go with you?" asked Brother Fox.
"I'd be only too glad if you would," exclaimed Teenchy Duck.
"But how can I go?" said Brother Fox.
"Get into my satchel," said Teenchy Duck, "and I'll try to carry you."
"It isn't big enough," said Brother Fox.
"It will stretch," said Teenchy Duck. So Brother Fox got into the satchel, and Teenchy Duck went waddling along the road, crying: "Quack! quack! Give me back my beautiful money!"
She had not gone far when she met Brother Wolf, who was passing that way.
"What are you crying so for?" he inquired. "One would think you were going to die on the journey."
"It is only too true," said Teenchy Duck, and then she told Brother Wolf about finding the money-purse, just as she had told Brother Fox.
"Perhaps I can be of some service to you," said Brother Wolf. "Shall I go with you?"
"I am willing," said Teenchy Duck.
"But how can I go so far?" Brother Wolf asked.
"Get into my satchel," said Teenchy Duck, "and I'll carry you as best I can."
"It is too small," said Brother Wolf.
"It will stretch mightily," said Teenchy Duck.
So Brother Wolf also got into the satchel with Brother Fox.
Teenchy went on her way again. She didn't walk very fast, for her satchel was heavy; but she never ceased crying: "Quack! quack! Give me back my beautiful money!"
Now it happened, as she was going along, she came up with a Ladder, which said, without asking after her health:
"My poor Teenchy Duck! You do not seem to be very happy."
"I should think not!" exclaimed Teenchy Duck.
"What can the matter be?" the Ladder asked.
Teenchy Duck then told her story over again.
"I am not doing anything at present," said the Ladder, "shall I go with you?"
"Yes," said Teenchy Duck.
"But how can I go, I who never walk?" inquired the Ladder.
"Why, get into my satchel," said Teenchy Duck, "and I'll carry you the best I know how."
The Ladder was soon in the satchel with Brother Fox and Brother Wolf, and Teenchy Duck went on her way, following the tracks of the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows, and always crying:
"Quack! quack! Give me back my beautiful money!"
Going along and crying thus, Teenchy Duck came to her best and oldest friend, the River.
"What are you doing here?" said the River, in astonishment, "and why are you crying so? When I saw you this morning you seemed very happy."
"Ah!" said Teenchy Duck, "would you believe it? I have not eaten since yesterday."
"And why not?" asked the sympathetic River.
"You saw me find the purse of gold," said Teenchy Duck, "and you saw the Prince seize it. Ah, well! my master will kill me if I do not get it and return it to him."
"Sometimes," the River replied, "a little help does a great deal of good. Shall I go with you?"
"I should be very happy," said Teenchy Duck.
"But how can I follow you—I that have no limbs?" said the River.
"Get into my satchel," said Teenchy Duck. "I'll carry you as best I can."
Then the River got into the satchel by the side of the other friends of Teenchy Duck.
She went on her journey, keeping her eyes on the ground, so as not to lose sight of the tracks of the thief, but still crying for her beautiful money. On her way she came to a Bee-Hive, which had a mind to laugh because Teenchy Duck was carrying such a burden.
"Hey, my poor Teenchy Duck! What a big fat satchel you have there," said the Bee-Hive.
"I'm not in the humour for joking, my dear," said Teenchy Duck.
"Why are you so sad?"
"I have been very unfortunate, good little people," said Teenchy Duck, addressing herself to the Bees, and then she told her story.
"Shall we go with you?" asked the Bees.
"Yes, yes!" exclaimed Teenchy Duck. "In these days of sorrow I stand in need of friends."
"How shall we follow you?" asked the Bees.
"Get into my satchel," said Teenchy Duck. "I'll carry you the best I know how."
Then the Bees shook their wings for joy and swarmed into the satchel along with the other friends of Teenchy Duck.
She went on her way always crying for the return of her beautiful money. She walked and walked without stopping to rest a moment, until her legs almost refused to carry her. At last, just as night was coming on, Teenchy Duck saw with joy that the tracks of the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows stopped at the iron gate that barred the way to a splendid castle.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, "I have arrived at my journey's end, and I have no need to knock on the gate. I will creep under."
Teenchy Duck entered the grounds and cried out: "Quack! quack! Give me back my beautiful money!"
The Prince heard her and laughed scornfully. How could a poor Teenchy Duck compel a great lord to return the purse of gold?
Teenchy Duck continued to cry:
"Quack! quack! Give me back my beautiful money!"
It was night, and the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows ordered one of his servants to take Teenchy Duck and shut her up in the henhouse with the turkeys, the geese, and the chickens, thinking that these fowls would kill the stranger, and that her disagreeable song would for ever be at an end.
This order was immediately carried out by the servant, but no sooner had Teenchy Duck entered the henhouse than she exclaimed:
"Brother Fox, if you do not come to my aid, I am lost."
Brother Fox came out of the satchel promptly, and worked so well at his trade that of all the fowls he found there, not one remained alive.
At break of day the servant-girl, whose business it was to attend to the poultry-yard, opened the door of the henhouse, and was astounded to see Teenchy Duck come out, singing the same old song:
"Quack! quack! Give me back my beautiful money!"
The astonished girl immediately told her master, the Prince, what had happened, and the wife of the Prince, who had at that moment learned all, said to her husband:
"This Duck is a witch. Give her the money, or it will bring us bad luck."
The Prince of the Seven Golden Cows refused to listen. He believed that the fox had only happened to enter his henhouse by accident.
Teenchy Duck made herself heard all day, and at night the Prince said to his servants:
"Take this squaller and throw her into the stable under the feet of the mules and horses. We will see in the morning what she will say."
The servants obeyed, and Teenchy Duck immediately cried:
"Brother Wolf, if you do not come quickly to my aid I shall be killed."
Brother Wolf made no delay, and it was not long before he had destroyed the horses and the mules. Next morning, before day, the servants went to get the animals to put them to the ploughs and waggons; but when they saw them lying dead their astonishment was great. In the stable Teenchy Duck stood alone, singing in her most beautiful voice:
"Quack! quack! Give me back my beautiful money!"
When the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows heard the sad news, he became white with rage, and in his fury he wanted to give his servants a thousand lashes for not having taken better care of the animals. But his wife calmed him little by little, then: "My husband, give back to Teenchy Duck this purse you have taken, or else we shall be ruined," she said.
"No," cried the Prince, "she shall never have it!"
All this time Teenchy Duck was walking up and down, to the right and to the left, singing at the top of her voice:
"Quack! quack! Give me back my beautiful money!"
"Heavens!" said the Prince, stopping his ears, "I am tired of hearing this ugly fowl squall and squawk. Quick! throw her into the well or the furnace, so that we may be rid of her."
"What shall we do first?" the servants asked.
"It matters not," said the Prince, "so long as we are rid of her."
The servants took Teenchy Duck and threw her into the well, thinking this the easier, and the quickest way to be rid of her.
As Teenchy Duck was falling, she cried: "Come to my assistance, good Ladder, or I am undone."
The Ladder immediately came out of the satchel, and leaned against the walls of the well. Teenchy Duck came up the rounds, singing:
"Quack! quack! Give me back my beautiful money!"
Everybody was astonished, and the Prince's wife kept saying: "Give the witch her money."
"They would say that I am afraid of a Teenchy Duck," said the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows. "I will never give it up." Then, speaking to his servants, he said: "Heat the oven, heat it to a white heat, and throw this witch in."
The servants had to obey, but they were so frightened that none dared touch her. At last, one bolder than the rest seized her by the end of the wing and threw her into the red-hot oven. Everyone thought that this was the end of Teenchy Duck, but she had had time to cry out:
"Oh! my dear friend River, come to my assistance, or I shall be roasted."
The River rushed out and quenched the fire and cooled the oven.
When the Prince went to see what was left of Teenchy Duck, she met him and began to repeat her familiar song:
"Quack! quack! Give me back my beautiful money!"
The Prince of the Seven Golden Cows was furious.
"You are all blockheads!" he cried to his servants. "You never knew how to do anything. Get out of here! I will drive you off the place. Hereafter I will take charge of this witch myself."
That night, before retiring, the Prince and his wife went and got Teenchy Duck, and prepared to give her such a beating as they had no doubt would cause her death.
Fortunately, Teenchy Duck saw the danger and cried out:
"Friend Bees! come out and help me."
A buzzing sound was heard, and then the Bees swarmed on the Prince and his wife, and stung them so badly that they became frightful to behold.
"Return the money to this ugly witch," groaned the unfortunate wife. "Run, or we are done for."
The Prince did not wait to be told twice. He ran and got the purse full of gold, and returned it to Teenchy Duck.
"Here," said he, "I am conquered. But get out of my grounds quickly."
Full of joy, Teenchy Duck went out into the road singing: "Quack! quack! I have got my beautiful money! Quack! quack! Here is my beautiful money!"
On her way home she returned the friends that had aided her to the places where she had found them, thanking them kindly for their help in time of need.
At break of day Teenchy Duck found herself at her master's door. She aroused him by her loud cries. After that, the family was rich and Teenchy Duck was well taken care of. If she went to the village pond it was only to tell her comrades of her remarkable way of gaining the beautiful money.
nce upon a time there lived a great giant. He had mighty arms and legs and could carry tons upon his back. His name was Offero.
Offero had one wish. He wished to serve the greatest king on earth. He was told that the emperor was the most powerful. So he went to him and said, "Lord Emperor, will you have me for your servant?"
The emperor was delighted with him. "Promise to serve me for ever, my good fellow," he said.
"Ah no," said Offero. "I dare not promise that. But of this be sure, as long as I am your servant, no harm shall come to you."
So they journeyed on together. The emperor was delighted with his new servant. All his soldiers were poor and weak compared to Offero.
In the evening when the soldiers rested, the emperor loved to listen to music. He had with him a harper who would play upon his harp and sing sweetly.
Once the harper sang a song in which the name of Satan was heard. At this name the emperor trembled and made the sign of the cross.
"Why do you tremble, Lord Emperor?" asked the giant.
"Hush!" said the emperor.
"Tell me, or I will leave you," said Offero.
"I tremble because I fear Satan," answered the emperor. "I made the sign of the cross so that he cannot harm me. He is as wicked as he is strong."
"Farewell," said the giant. "I seek Satan now. If he is stronger than you, I must serve him."
So he journeyed through the land and soon found Satan at the head of a large army.
"Where do you go? Whom do you seek?" asked Satan.
"I seek Satan," said Offero. "I would have him for my master, for he is the mightiest king on earth."
"I am he," answered Satan. "Come with me and you shall have happy and easy days."
Offero served Satan for months and was well pleased with his master. At last, as they were marching through the land one day, they came upon a place where four roads met. Just here stood a cross.
When Satan saw the cross, he turned his army and marched quickly away. "What does this mean?" asked the giant. "Are you afraid of that cross, my master?"
Satan was silent.
"Answer me," said Offero, "or I leave you at once."
Then Satan said, "Yes, it is true that I fear the cross. Upon it hung the Son of Mary."
"Then I leave you straightway," said Offero. "I seek the Son of Mary. He shall be my king, since he is stronger than you."
Many days he searched, but alas! few could tell him anything of his new king, the Son of Mary. At last he found an old hermit and asked him the question he had asked so many others.
"How can I serve the Son of Mary?"
"You must fast," said the hermit.
"Ah, no!" said Offero. "If I fasted I should lose my great strength."
"Then you must pray," said the hermit.
"How can I pray?" asked Offero, "I know no prayers."
"Then," said the gentle old man, "I think the Son of Mary would be pleased to have you use your strength in some good work. Why not carry travellers across the stream in the name of the Son of Mary?"
"That is just to my mind," cried Offero, overjoyed. So straightway he built a hut by the swift stream, and cut a stout staff to steady his steps when the river roared high.
Travellers were glad to be helped on their way by this rough yet kindly giant. Sometimes they offered him money, but he always shook his great head. "I do this for the love of the Son of Mary," he said.
Many years went by. Offero's hair was now white as snow and his back was a little bent. But his strength was still great. One night, as he lay asleep, he was awakened by a voice, such a gentle, pleading little voice—"Dear, good, kind Offero, carry me across!"
He sprang to his feet, caught up his staff, and crossed to the farther shore. No one was there.
"I must have been dreaming," thought Offero as he laid himself down in his bed once more.
Again he fell asleep and again the same voice awoke him. How sweet, yet sad it sounded! "Dear, good, kind Offero, carry me across!"
He patiently crossed the deep, swift river, but again no one was to be seen. Once more he lay down in his bed and fell asleep. And once more came the pleading little voice, "Dear, good, kind Offero, carry me across!"
And now, for the third time, the old giant seized his palm-tree staff and pressed through the cold river. There on the shore stood "a tender, fair little boy with golden hair. He looked at the giant with eyes full of trust and love."
Offero tossed him on his shoulder and then turned to the river. Dark and surging it rose to his waist. The child grew heavier and heavier. The giant bent under his burden. Now and then he felt he should surely sink into the river and be swept away.
At last he struggled up the bank and set down the child. "My little Master," he gasped, "do not pass this way again; I have come near losing my life."
But the fair child said to Offero, "Fear not, but rejoice. All thy sins are forgiven thee. Know that thou hast carried the Son of Mary. That thou mayest be sure of this, fix thy staff in the earth."
Offero obeyed, and lo! out of the bare palm-staff sprang leaves and dates. Then Offero knew that it was Christ whom he had borne, and he fell at His feet.
A little hand rested in blessing upon the giant's bowed head. "Henceforth," said the Son of Mary, "thy name shall be, not Offero but Christoffero."
Thus it was that Christopher came by his name. Because he was true to his name we always call him St Christopher.