It was the middle of winter and the ground was covered with snow. Along the high road came Mynheer Van Ash, the well-known merchant of Alost, driving to the town with two immense casks of the liquor known as Hollands, in which he traded. All unknown to the merchant, one of the casks had a hole in it, and as he drove along the liquor leaked out, and sank into the snow.
In a field close by the roadside were a flock of fifty rooks, who were eagerly turning up the snow and pecking at the ground beneath in search of food. Attracted by the strong and heady smell of the spilt liquor, they flew across to investigate, and having tasted some of the gin-sodden snow, liked it so well that they followed in the train of the cart, eating more and more of it, until at last they were so drunk that they could hardly stand on their feet. Away they went to the fields again, and very soon afterwards the whole flock of them was fast asleep.
Presently, Little Pol, a peasant who worked in the neighbourhood, happened to cross the field on his way homeward, and saw the crows lying stiff and silent on the snow.
“Ah!” said he to himself. “Here is a funny sight! Fifty crows frozen to death with the cold. I’ll take them home with me and pluck them. Rook-pie is excellent eating, and such a find is welcome these hard times!” So, taking a cord from his pocket, he set to work to gather up all the rooks, and tie them together by the legs. This done, he proceeded on his way, dragging the rooks behind him.
The roughness of the motion and the friction of the snow very soon aroused the rooks from their slumber. They all woke up, and finding their legs tied, began to flap their wings together with admirable precision. Unfortunately for Little Pol, he had taken the precaution of fastening the cord to the belt round his middle, so when the fifty rooks began to fly he could not get free, and found himself being lifted into the air.
Up went the fifty rooks cawing and crying, and up too went Little Pol, calling in vain for help. They reached the clouds; they penetrated the clouds; they disappeared from sight.
And since that day not a sign has ever been seen either of the fifty rooks or of Little Pol.
One day as Bruin the Bear and Isengrim the Wolf were taking a walk in the woods they came to a big elm-tree with a hollow trunk. Peering within in the hope of finding something to eat they espied a little nest supported by two notches in the bark. It was the tiniest and neatest little house one could wish to see, made of fresh green moss, with a small opening in the middle for a door, and was, in fact, the home of a little bird called the Golden-crested Wren. Now among the country people the golden-crested wren is often known by the name of the Kinglet, and being aware of this, Isengrim saw a chance of playing a joke upon his companion. “Look at this nest, Bruin,” said he. “What would you say if I told you it was a King’s palace?”
“That a King’s palace!” laughed Bruin scornfully. “A handful of moss in a hole! Why, with one tap of my paw I could smash it to fragments!”
“I should not advise you to do any such thing,” said Isengrim. “The King who lives in that palace is much more powerful than you think, and unless you are looking for trouble it would be best to leave his home alone.”
“What!” cried Bruin, in a rage. “Am I to be defied by a miserable little fowl in my own forest? That for your King!” And with one sweep of his paw, he reduced the nest to a shapeless heap of moss. “Now let him revenge himself if he can,” he roared. “I hereby declare war upon him and upon all his tribe. Fur against feather! The four-legged animals against those that go on wings. We will put this matter to the test!”
When the Kinglet came home and found his nest destroyed he danced and chattered with anger. Isengrim lost no time in letting him know who was responsible for the mischief, and took a spiteful joy in telling him of the Bear’s challenge.
“Very well,” said the little wren. “Kinglet is my name, and King shall be my nature. I will call all the winged creatures together and we will settle the matter by the test of arms.”
During the next two or three weeks there was a great coming and going in the forest as the two armies assembled. The air was full of the whirl and rustle of wings. From the nests under sunny banks came the wasps in thousands, each with his shining cuirass of black and yellow, and his deadly sting. The gadfly came too, and the tiny gnat, and the mosquito from the stagnant pools, with insects of every other sort and kind—more than one could count in a day. From his eyrie on the mountain crags the lordly eagle came swooping to take his place beside the nightingale and the sparrow. In that hour of need all rivalries were forgotten; the falcon and the hawk took their place in the ranks with the thrush and the robin.
The Bear, on his side, was not idle. Swift-footed messengers were sent to every part of the land to summon the four-legged animals to arms. Slinking through the undergrowth came Isengrim’s kin, the grey wolves, with lean flanks and fierce eyes shining. Reynard brought his troop of foxes. Crashing through the trees came the mighty elephants, waving their trunks and trumpeting defiance to the foe. Out of the mud of river-beds, from the grassy plains, and the densest thickets of the forest, the animals came flocking—lions, tigers, camels, bulls, horses—if I were to name them all I should fill this book with their names. Never had so many animals been brought together since the days of Noah’s Ark.
When everything was ready, the Kinglet, who was a prudent leader, sent out a spy to try to gain information about the enemy’s plans. For this purpose he chose the mosquito, who, as you may imagine, was neither easily seen nor easily caught, particularly as the Kinglet warned him to be very careful not to buzz. Under cover of the darkness he flew to the Bear’s camp, and succeeded in discovering the headquarters of the general staff, where the leaders of the animal army were conferring. Just as the mosquito arrived, the Bear and the Fox were speaking together.
“So it is settled,” the Bear was saying. “Our great offensive will begin to-morrow. Each of you knows what to do, I think? We have discussed everything, and nothing remains to do, but to press forward to a glorious victory.”
“You are right, my lord,” said Reynard, “but there is just one thing you have forgotten. How are we to know when the victory is won? We must have a standard-bearer.”
“Of course,” answered the Bear, “we must have a standard-bearer. I was just going to say so. Who shall it be?”
“With all respect, my lord,” answered Reynard, “I propose that it should be I. My beautiful bushy tail will serve as a battle-flag. I will walk at the head of the army and hold my tail straight up in the air, as stiff as a poker. So long as I keep it like that, you will know that all is well; but if anything disastrous should happen, I will let it droop to the ground, so that our troops may have ample warning to take refuge in flight.”
“Excellent,” said Bruin. “You have heard what Reynard proposes. Take notice that I hereby appoint him standard-bearer to our armies.”
So it was agreed, and having learnt all that he wished to know, the mosquito flew back to the Kinglet with his news. The Kinglet said nothing, but sent for the wasp, and gave him certain orders.
At dawn the next morning the great offensive began, and from the very beginning things went rather badly for the armies of the winged animals. At two points of the line the Bear and the Tiger led dashing attacks against divisions commanded by the eagle and the hawk, and after long and fierce fighting, forced them to retire. High upon a knoll commanding the battlefield, in full view of the troops, stood the Fox, with his bushy tail held proudly in the air. As he watched the struggle his lips curled in a grin of triumph.
Suddenly there was a piercing yell that rang out clear above the noise of battle. It came from the Fox, who drooped his tail to the ground, and ran, howling with pain, to the rear.
“We are lost! We are lost!” cried the animals, seeing the standard lowered. “Traitors are amongst us! Fly for your lives!” From point to point of the swaying battle-line the panic spread, throwing the army into hopeless confusion. Before long the whole of the Bear’s troops were in retreat, and the victorious army of the winged-creatures swept on and over them.
Late that night Bruin the Bear and Isengrim the Wolf, both of them very bedraggled and wearied with much running, sat together gloomily in a distant part of the wood. Presently they saw Reynard the Fox limping towards them, and immediately they rose and began to heap reproaches upon him.
“Traitor!” said Bruin. “Why did you lower the standard? In another hour we should have won.”
The Fox looked at them sulkily. “Why did I lower the standard?” said he. “Because a wasp came and stung me right at the root of my tail!”
Once upon a time an old woman sat spinning in a room at the top of a high tower. Beneath her chair Chaton, her cat, lay peacefully sleeping. All of a sudden the spinning-wheel jarred and made a loud creaking sound. Startled out of his sleep, Chaton the Cat rushed out of the room and bolted down the stairs as though a thousand demons were at his heels.
In the yard he passed the house-dog who was sitting in front of his kennel. “Hallo, Chaton!” cried the dog. “Where are you going to in such a hurry?”
“I am fleeing the country,” answered Chaton. “I have just heard the sounding of the last trump! The end of the world is at hand!”
“If that is so,” said the dog, “I would like to run away too. May I come with you?”
“Certainly,” answered Chaton. “Seat yourself on my beautiful curly tail.” So the dog perched himself on the cat’s tail, and off they went together.
A little farther on they came to the farm-gate, and there, perched on the topmost rail, was the cock.
“Whither away, Chaton?” asked the cock. “You seem to be in haste.”
“Yes,” said Chaton. “I have heard the last trump, which proves that the world is coming to an end, and I want to get safely away before that happens.”
“Take me with you, Chaton dear,” said the cock.
“By all means,” answered the cat. “Jump on to my beautiful curly tail beside the dog.” So the cock perched himself on Chaton’s tail, and now there were two passengers.
Away went the cat even faster than before, so as to make up for lost time, and presently they passed a rabbit who was nibbling the grass in a field.
“Chaton, Chaton,” cried the rabbit, “why are you running so quickly?”
“Don’t stop me!” answered the cat. “I’ve heard the last trump! The end of the world is coming!”
“Oh, dear me!” cried the rabbit. “What an unfortunate thing! Don’t leave me here, Chaton, for I am afraid to face the end of the world.”
“Very well,” said Chaton. “Jump on to my beautiful curly tail with the dog and the cock, and I’ll take you with me.” So the rabbit also perched himself on the cat’s tail, and now there were three of them riding there.
Off went the cat again, but not so quickly this time, because of the weight on his tail, and before very long he came to a pond by the side of which a goose was standing.
“Now then, now then, what’s the hurry?” asked the goose. “If you run so fast you’ll overheat your blood and die of a fever.”
“It’s all very well to scoff,” answered the cat, “but you must know that the end of the world is coming. I have heard the last trump sound!”
“My goodness!” said the goose. “This is dreadful! Take me with you, Chaton, and I’ll be grateful for ever.”
“Very well,” said the cat. “Jump on to my beautiful curly tail with the dog and the fox and the rabbit.” So the goose also perched herself on the cat’s tail, so now there were four passengers, and that made five altogether who were running away to escape the end of the world.
All that day the cat kept on running, and towards dusk they came to a forest.
“This seems a good place to rest,” said Chaton. “Now then, master cock, fly to the top of a tree and see if you can espy a house in which we can take shelter.”
The cock flew to the top of a high tree and from there he saw a number of lights twinkling in the distance. The five fugitives thereupon set off in the direction from which the lights shone, and before long they came to a little village. All the people of the village had left their houses and were gathered together in the square, round a man dressed all in red, with a big red feather in his cap, who was addressing them.
Chaton and his companions pressed close to the edge of the crowd and were just in time to hear these words: “Whoever finds the ring,” said the man with the red feather, “and places it on the table in my palace to-morrow before dawn, shall have the five bags of gold which hang on my saddle bow.” Having said this, the man in red mounted his horse and rode away.
Chaton went up to a little peasant who was standing in the crowd. “Tell me, gossip,” said he, “who is the man with the red feather, and what’s all this about a ring and five bags of gold?”
“Why,” said the peasant, “the man in red is the King of this country. He had a valuable ring which was kept in a tiny wooden case on the table by his bed. This afternoon a magpie flew in through the window, snatched up the case, and bore it away to its nest in the topmost boughs of the walnut tree on the village green. The King wants his ring back again, and will give the five bags of gold to anybody who will recover it for him.”
“I see,” said Chaton; “and why don’t you climb the walnut-tree and get the ring?”
“Because I have too much respect for my neck,” answered the peasant, “and so has everybody else here. The boughs at the top of the tree where the nest is are so thin and slender that they would not bear the weight of a child, let alone a grown man. Gold is good, but whole limbs are better, that’s what I say!”
“And I!” “And I!” echoed other villagers who had been listening to this conversation.
“In my belief you are quite right,” said Chaton seriously. “Let the King risk his own life if he is so anxious to recover his ring.” But afterwards, when he had withdrawn with his companions to the shelter of the wood, he sang a different tune.
“My friends,” said he, “our fortunes are made! As soon as all is quiet I will climb the tree and get the ring; then you shall sit on my tail again and we’ll all go off together to the King’s palace and get the bags of gold!” He danced for joy, and the dog and the cock and the goose and the rabbit danced with him.
An hour afterwards the cat climbed the tree and came down safely with the little wooden box. The rabbit gnawed it open with his teeth, and sure enough there was the ring inside it.
“Now,” said Chaton, “we will all go to the King’s palace, but I am very tired with running all day. I propose that the dog takes a turn at carrying us.” This was agreed. The other four got on to the dog’s back and clung there while he ambled off as fast as he could along the road towards the palace.
Just before dawn they came to a wide river. Now it was the turn of the goose to work for the common good. She was quite used to the water, and one by one she took the other animals across on her back. Shortly afterwards they arrived at the King’s palace, and the cock flew up through the open window of the King’s room with the ring in his beak, and placed it on the table by the bed. Then he awoke the King with a loud crow and claimed the reward, which was willingly given.
In great glee at their good fortune the animals went on their way, each with his bag of gold, and every one of them had by this time quite forgotten his fear about the coming of the end of the world. They went on and on until they came to a place where five ways met. Then Chaton said: “Here we are at the parting of the ways. Let us each choose a road, and part good friends.”
At this moment there came along a pig with a knife and fork stuck in his back. In his right ear was salt; in his left ear pepper, and mustard was on his tail, so that everybody who was hungry had only to cut themselves a slice of meat and sit down to feast.
Our friends gladly availed themselves of this good chance, and I who tell you this story would willingly have done the same, but as soon as I went up to the pig, he ran at me with his head down and sent me flying through the air, and through the window of my house, where I fell into the chair in which I am now sitting, finishing this story of the wonderful adventures of Chaton, the Dog, the Cock, the Rabbit, and the Goose.
In days of old, when there were dragons in the land, a youthful knight was riding along the high road. It was a beautiful summer day, and the sun shone so warmly that the rider presently began to feel thirsty, so coming to a clear stream of water, he swung himself from the saddle and went to drink. As he parted the bushes to get to the water he heard a strange rumbling and roaring sound, and looking quickly in the direction from which it came he saw to his horror an immense dragon lying by the water-side pinned down by a huge mass of rock which had rolled down upon the creature as it came to drink.
The knight’s first impulse was to flee, for it is better not to meddle with dragons, even when accident has rendered them helpless, but before he could regain his horse the creature saw him, and cried, “Good knight, come and help me, I pray you, to escape from my miserable position. This rock upon my back is slowly crushing me to death.”
The knight hesitated, and was in two minds what to do between his fear of the dragon and his pity for its unfortunate plight. Seeing this, the creature called out again, saying, “If you will only set me free I will repay you richly, for I will give you The Reward of the World.”
“The Reward of the World,” thought the knight, “that will indeed be worth having!” for he had often heard that dragons were the guardians of immense treasures. So, overcoming his fright, he went up to the creature, and at the cost of great exertion managed to roll away the stone that was pressing on its back.
“Poof! That’s better,” said the dragon, blowing a cloud of smoke out of its nostrils. “I had begun to think I was doomed to stay in that place for ever!” He rubbed his sore back reflectively with one scaly paw, and looked at the knight, who stood waiting.
“Well?” said he.
“You promised me The Reward of the World!” said the knight.
“Did I so?” asked the dragon, still tenderly stroking his back. “Well, you shall have it!” And suddenly he launched himself upon the knight, winding his horrible coils around his body, and almost crushing him to death. The unfortunate young man struggled feebly, but he was powerless in the grip of the monster.
“Your promise!” he gasped. “Is this my reward for having saved your life?”
“Certainly,” replied the dragon. “This is The Reward of the World. I am keeping my word!”
“I don’t believe you,” said the knight. “It is a trick to excuse your treachery. What a fool I was to trust a dragon’s word!”
“It is just as I say,” the dragon replied. “But I confess I owe you something, and I should hate to eat you feeling that you had a grievance. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll submit this question to the first three people we meet along the road, and if they decide in my favour you must accept the verdict. Is it agreed?”
“Agreed,” said the knight, who was glad of any chance to escape from the dragon’s coils, so the creature released him, and the two set off together down the road.
They had not gone far before they met the dog.
“Stay a moment, master dog,” said the knight. “What do you understand by The Reward of the World?”
The dog replied, “When I was young I was a splendid watch-dog, and guarded my master’s house against all comers. In those days everybody made a fuss of me. I had plenty of good food to eat, and my own particular place before the fire. Now, alas! I am old. My sight is so weak and my powers so feeble that I can no longer work for my living, and in consequence everybody kicks me out of their way. I eat what I can get, which is not much. Even the children throw stones at me, knowing that my teeth are not sharp enough to bite, and wherever I go people say, ‘There is that beastly hound again! Chase him away with a stick!’ That is The Reward of the World.”
There was little comfort for the knight in this, nevertheless he did not give up hope, but accosted the next creature they met, which happened to be a horse.
“What is The Reward of the World?” the knight asked him.
“Listen,” said the horse bitterly, “and I will tell you. All my life I have laboured diligently for one master. Day in and day out I dragged his cart to market, working myself to skin and bone in his service. Now I am grown old and my strength begins to fail, so that I can no longer earn my keep. To-day I heard him say that he was going to send me to the knackers’ yard and sell my poor old carcass for a couple of crowns. That is The Reward of the World, young master, and may heaven preserve you from it!”
“You see!” said the dragon, as the two went on, “my words are already justified. Come, be sensible and let me eat you without further ado!”
“No,” said the knight, “we have still one person to ask. Here comes a fox. Let us see what he has to say about the matter. Reynard, what do you understand by The Reward of the World?”
“How do you mean?” asked the fox. “What is the case in point?”
“Well, you see,” explained the knight, “I found this dragon in a position of uncommon peril, and he promised, if I would rescue him, to give me The Reward of the World. The question now arises as to what The Reward of the World is.”
“I see,” said Reynard thoughtfully. “His life was in danger, you say? How was that?”
“A huge stone had fallen on to his back, pinning him down so that he could not move. I rolled the stone away, and set him free.”
The fox scratched his head and pondered. “If you don’t mind,” said he, “I’d rather like to have this matter made a little clearer. Where did all this happen?”
“A little farther back along the road, by the side of the stream.”
“I’ll come and look at the place!”
So the knight led Reynard to the banks of the stream, where he stood gazing for a time at the big stone.
“I want to be quite sure I understand all the circumstances,” said he at last. “Does the dragon mind getting under the stone again for a moment, so that I can see exactly how he lay?”
“Not at all,” said the dragon politely, and he lay down on the bank, while the knight and the fox together rolled the stone on top of him.
“Splendid!” said Reynard, when the dragon was safely pinned down. “Now everything is as it was before!” Then turning to the knight, he added, “If you, knowing what you know now, care to release him again, you are at liberty to do so, but....” And he winked slyly. There was no need to say more.
“I am really very much obliged to you,” said the knight, as he walked off down the road with Reynard, leaving the dragon still under the stone. “That was a capital idea of yours, and it certainly saved my life. I would like to show my gratitude in some way, and I shall be honoured if you will accept my hospitality for a few days.”
Reynard needed no pressing, but went home with the young man there and then, and thoroughly enjoyed the good fare with which he was provided. Since, however, a fox is always a fox, no matter what company he is in, Master Reynard could not forbear from stealing, and every night he crept into the hen-house and killed one or two chickens. When the knight discovered this he was very angry, and picking up a big stick he gave the fox a good thrashing and drove him forth.
“That is The Reward of the World,” he said to himself, as he watched Reynard disappearing into the distance. But whether he was referring to the way the fox had treated him, or to his own treatment of the fox, I cannot say.
Tybert the Cat and Courtoys the Dog were very great friends—that is to say they were as friendly as their natures would let them be. Both of them were exceedingly greedy and selfish. The Cat was spiteful and the Dog was sullen. Master Tyb was always willing to give up to the dog what he did not need himself, and on his part, Courtoys never stole the cat’s food while the cat was looking. Neither was loath to play a mean trick upon the other if he could do so without injury to himself, but except for these little matters they were quite in accord, and very friendly, as I said before, and on the whole they got on very well together.
There came a time when, in spite of Tybert’s shyness and Courtoys’ strength, they could by no means find anything to eat. For two days not a morsel of food had passed the lips of either; and this made them very bad tempered.
“I wish I’d never seen you,” said Courtoys to Tyb. “A fine partner you are, upon my word, when you can’t find food for us. Where are those wonderful wits of yours, of which you are always boasting.”
“In my head,” answered Tyb spitefully. “And such as they are, they have to do duty for two. If you’d talk less, and think more, and use your eyes, we would be better off. Here is a cart coming along the road; perhaps we shall find our dinner inside it!”
Sure enough, a heavy wagon was rumbling along the road towards them, driven by a peasant with a round and rather stupid face. As it came nearer, Tyb and Courtoys sniffed the air, and the water ran out of the corners of their mouths.
“Fish,” said Tybert ravenously.
“Fish!” echoed Courtoys. “Here’s a chance to exercise those wits of yours. How can we get it?”
“I have a plan,” answered the Cat. “Come quickly and hide yourself with me in the ditch until the wagon has passed, and I will tell you all about it!”
So it was done. The wagon rumbled by, the scent of the fish with which it was laden filling the air, and the driver went on calmly smoking his pipe, little dreaming that four hungry eyes were gazing at him through the bushes that bordered the side of the road.
“Now then,” cried Tybert, “our time has come. Follow the wagon and don’t let it out of your sight for a moment, but take care that the driver does not see you. I shall go on in front and stretch myself out on the road, pretending to be dead. It’s odds but what the driver, seeing me lying there, will covet my skin, and will pick me up and throw me into the cart. Once there, I’ll throw the fish out to you, and you will know what to do with it.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll know what to do with it,” said Courtoys to himself, with a grin, and, keeping well out of sight of the driver, he followed the wagon.
Tybert’s plan worked to perfection. He ran on for about a quarter of a mile, keeping to the fields bordering the road, and then stretched himself out at full length, with his mouth open as though he were dead.
“Oho!” said the peasant, as he drove up. “What’s this? A dead cat! I’ll take him with me, and sell his skin for a few sous. This time next week some fine lady will be wearing him round her neck, thinking he’s sable.” And with that he dismounted, picked up the cat and slung him carelessly into the wagon on top of the heap of fish.
Hardly was he back in his place, than Tybert arose and began to pick out the biggest and fattest fish and throw them into the road. He had to be very careful in doing this, because now and again the peasant turned his head. Once when a very big fish was tumbled out, the noise of its fall aroused the peasant, who swung round sharply, and Tybert was only just in time to avert discovery by laying himself out and pretending to be dead as before.
When he had thrown out what he considered was a sufficient quantity, Tybert rested awhile, so that the dog could collect the spoils, and then jumped from the wagon to go and claim his share. When he came up to Courtoys, however, he found to his dismay that nothing was left of the fish but a heap of bones.
“That was a splendid plan of yours, brother,” said Courtoys, licking his lips. “The fish were delicious, and I hardly feel hungry at all now! Do make haste and take your share!” And he waved his paw invitingly towards the heap of bones. Tybert gave him one look, and then grinned as though in enjoyment of an excellent joke. Not by word or action did he give any sign of the anger which was consuming him, but he determined to have his revenge.
A day or two later his chance came. Lurking in his usual stealthy way in a farmyard, he saw the farmer go into the house with a fine big ham, which he hung by a cord on a nail in the kitchen wall. Away he ran to Courtoys and told him what he had seen.
“Well,” said Courtoys surlily, “and what about it?”
“Why,” answered Tybert. “There is no reason why we should not feast on that ham, you and I. It will be the easiest thing in the world to steal it. The latch of the kitchen window is broken, and it cannot be locked. All you have to do is to go there to-night, creep through the window, pull down the ham, and throw it out to me.”
“Why can’t you get it yourself?” asked Courtoys suspiciously.
“Ah,” said the cat, “I am not strong enough to pull it down.”
“And what about the farmer’s dogs? I seem to remember hearing they are savage brutes!”
“Well, of course, if you’re afraid ...” answered the cat disdainfully.
“Afraid yourself!” cried Courtoys. “You leave this to me.”
So that very night, when the moon had set, the two crept into the farmyard, and the dog managed to get through the window into the kitchen unobserved. The next moment he had pulled down the ham and had thrown it out of the window to Tybert, who was waiting below. Tybert seized it in his mouth and ran off, but as soon as he reached the gate he gave a series of such blood-curdling miaows, that he roused every dog on the farm. Out they came, hair bristling, and teeth flashing, just in time to catch our friend Courtoys as he jumped down from the window.
Then occurred a ferocious fight. With his back to the wall Courtoys put up a sturdy resistance, but he was very badly mangled indeed before he managed to escape. With one ear torn off and one eye closed, bleeding from many wounds and panting with his exertions, he limped painfully up to where the cat awaited him.
“My poor friend,” cried Tybert. “Are you badly hurt? Never mind, the ham was worth it—it simply melted in the mouth. I have already eaten my share, and I willingly give you yours!” So saying, he pointed to the greasy string by which the ham had been suspended, and which was now all that remained. Courtoys gazed at it blankly.
“You see,” explained Tybert calmly, as he prepared to take his departure, “a cord is worth a good many fishbones!”
One cold winter’s day a peasant set out on a journey which led him through the depths of a forest into which he had not hitherto been. The result was that he lost his way, and after wandering about for many hours in the hope of finding it again, he found himself, just as dusk was coming on, in a little clearing where he was overjoyed to see a small house with a cheerful light in the window. “Here is a chance of supper and a bed,” thought the peasant, and he made haste to go up to the cottage door.
Now this house in the clearing was not inhabited by men, but by some strange forest folk who were called satyrs. If you want to know what they were like, you must look at the pictures. Certainly the peasant had never seen anything like them before, although he had often heard of them, and when he nearly tumbled over the little satyr children who were playing in the snow outside the house door, he was the most surprised man in all those parts. It was too late to draw back however, so he went boldly up to the door and gave a loud knock.
“Come in!” cried a gruff voice, and the peasant accordingly went in and found himself facing the Father of all the Satyrs, who had a long beard and a pair of horns jutting from his forehead. The poor fellow’s knees trembled underneath him for fright, especially when he saw all the other satyrs, the mother and the uncles and the aunts, glowering at him.
“Please forgive me for my intrusion,” said he, “but I have lost my way in the woods, and I am half dead with hunger and cold. It would be an act of great kindness if you would give me some food and allow me to take shelter for the night.” So saying, to give point to his remarks, he set to work to blow upon his chilled fingers, which indeed were blue with the cold.
“Why are you blowing your fingers?” asked the Father of all the Satyrs curiously.
“Why, to warm them,” answered the peasant, and he blew harder than before.
“Well, sit down,” said the Satyr. “As it happens we are just about to have supper, and you are welcome to share it with us.”
So the peasant sat down to supper, and all the Satyr family sat down too, and watched him with big unblinking eyes, so that he felt very uncomfortable. A big basin of soup was set before him, and finding it very hot, he began to blow upon it.
At this all the Satyr family cried out in surprise, and the Father Satyr said, “Why are you blowing your soup?”
“To cool it,” answered the peasant. “It is too hot, and I am afraid it may scald my mouth.”