Eliza went on, but the King and the archbishop followed her. They saw her vanish into the churchyard through the wicket gate; and when they drew near, the lamias were sitting upon the gravestones as Eliza had seen them; and the King turned aside, for he fancied her among them, whose head had rested against his breast that very evening.

"The people must condemn her," said he.

And the people condemned her to suffer death by fire.

Out of the gorgeous regal halls she was led into a dark damp cell, where the wind whistled through the grated window; instead of velvet and silk they gave her the bundle of nettles which she had collected: on this she could lay her head; and the hard burning coats of mail which she had woven were to be her coverlet. But nothing could have been given her that she liked better. She resumed her work and prayed. Without, the street boys were singing jeering songs about her, and not a soul comforted her with a kind word.

But toward evening there came the whirring of swans' wings close by the grating—it was the youngest of her brothers. He had found his sister, and she sobbed aloud with joy, though she knew that the approaching night would probably be the last she had to live. But now the work was almost finished, and her brothers were here.

Now came the archbishop, to stay with her in her last hour, for he had promised the King to do so. And she shook her head, and with looks and gestures she begged him to depart, for in this night she must finish her work, or else all would be in vain, all her tears, her pain, and her sleepless nights. The archbishop withdrew, uttering evil words against her; but poor Eliza knew she was innocent, and diligently continued her work.

The little mice ran about the floor; they dragged the nettles to her feet, to help as well as they could; and a thrush sat outside the grating of the window, and sang to her the whole night long, as sweetly as possible, to keep up her courage.

It was still twilight; not till an hour afterward would the sun rise. And the eleven brothers stood at the castle gate, and demanded to be brought before the King. That could not be, they were told, for it was still almost night; the King was asleep, and might not be disturbed. They begged, they threatened, and the sentries came, yes, even the King himself came out, and asked what was the meaning of this. At that moment the sun rose and no more were the brothers to be seen, but eleven wild swans flew away over the castle.

All the people came flocking out at the town gate, for they wanted to see the witch burned. The old horse drew the cart on which she sat. They had put upon her a garment of coarse sackcloth. Her lovely hair hung loose about her beautiful head; her cheeks were as pale as death; and her lips moved silently, while her fingers were engaged with the green flax. Even on the way to death she did not interrupt the work she had begun; the ten shirts of mail lay at her feet, and she wrought at the eleventh. The mob derided her.

"Look at the red witch, how she mutters! She has no hymn-book in her hand; no, there she sits with her ugly sorcery—tear it in a thousand pieces!"

And they all pressed upon her, and wanted to tear up the shirts of mail. Then eleven wild swans came flying up, and sat round about her on the cart, and beat with their wings; and the mob gave way before them, terrified.

"That is a sign from heaven! She is certainly innocent!" whispered many. But they did not dare to say it aloud.

Now the executioner seized her by the hand; then she hastily threw the eleven shirts over the swans, and immediately eleven handsome Princes stood there. But the youngest had a swan's wing instead of an arm, for a sleeve was wanting to his shirt—she had not quite finished it.

"Now I may speak!" she said. "I am innocent!"

And the people who saw what happened bowed before her as before a saint; but she sank lifeless into her brother's arms, such an effect had suspense, anguish, and pain upon her.

"Indeed, she is innocent," said the eldest brother.

And now he told everything that had taken place; and while he spoke a fragrance arose as of millions of roses, for every piece of faggot in the pile had taken root and was sending forth shoots; and a fragrant hedge stood there, tall and great, covered with red roses, and at the top a flower, white and shining, gleaming like a star. This flower the King plucked and placed in Eliza's bosom; and she awoke with peace and happiness in her heart.

And all the church bells rang of themselves, and the birds came in great flocks. And back to the castle such a marriage procession was held as no King had ever seen.



TAPER TOM

In a certain kingdom there was a very beautiful Princess, but she was so sad that no one could make her laugh; she would not even smile, though all in the court were gay and happy.

For a long time her father tried hard to find something that would amuse her. But she would sit all day at her window, and, though the members of the court passed and repassed, and called out greetings to her, she would only sigh.

So at last her father the King caused it to be published abroad that whoever should make the Princess laugh should have her hand in marriage, and that half of the kingdom would be her dowry.

But, that none might attempt this difficult feat without fair assurance, the King added as a sort of postscript to his decree that whoever tried to make the Princess laugh and failed should have two broad red stripes cut in his back, and salt should be rubbed into the stripes!

Now, as you may imagine, soon there were a great many sore backs in the kingdom and in the kingdoms round about. For it was deemed but a slight matter to make a Princess laugh: did not women giggle at little and at nothing?

But, although many came, and there were strange things done, the Princess remained as sad as before.

Now, there was in the kingdom a farmer who had three sons, and they decided that each should have a trial at this task; for to win a dowry of half a kingdom was well worth trying.

The oldest of the farmer's sons was a soldier, and had served in the wars, where there was always much laughter. And he said that it would not be worth while for his two brothers to plan to journey to the court, because he intended to win the Princess that very first day.

So he dressed up in his uniform, and put his knapsack on his back, and strutted up and down the road in front of the window of the Princess like any pouter-pigeon. But, though the Princess looked at him, once, she did not even turn her eyes in his direction a second time, and the stripes which were cut in his back were deep and broad, and he went home feeling very sore.

His next brother was a schoolmaster, and had one long leg and one short leg, so that when he stood on the long leg he seemed a very tall man, and when he stood on the short leg he seemed but a dwarf, and he had always found that he could make folk laugh by quickly changing himself from a tall man to a mere dwarf. Moreover, he was a preacher, and he came out on the road in front of the Princess' window and preached like seven parsons and chanted like seven clerks; but it was all for naught, for after the first glance the Princess did not even look at him, though the King who stood near had to hold on to the pillars for laughing.

So the schoolmaster also went home with a very sore back; and when the third brother, whose name was Taper Tom, because he sat in the ashes and made tapers out of fir, said he now would go and make the Princess laugh, the two older brothers turned to him in scorn, for how could he do what neither of them, the soldier and the schoolmaster, had quite failed to do? The Princess would not even look at him, he might be sure.

But Taper Tom said that he would try.

But when he came to the court he did not go before the King to say that he had come to make the Princess laugh. Many there were who were trying that each day, and there was hardly a well back in all the kingdom by now, and Taper Tom had no mind to have his own back cut, for they were cutting the stripes broader and rubbing the salt in harder every day.

So Taper Tom went to the court and asked for work to do. They told him that there was no work to be done, but he said:

"What, no work—even in the kitchen? I am sure that the cook needs some one to fetch and carry for her."

"Well, now," said the lord high chamberlain, "that might perhaps be. You may go to the kitchen and see."

So Taper Tom went to the kitchen and the cook gave him work fetching and carrying. And every day Taper Tom saw the men who came and went away with their backs sore.

One morning he was sent to the stream to catch a fish, and he caught a nice, fat one. As he came back he met a woman leading a goose with golden feathers by a string tied around its neck.

The old woman wanted a fish, so she asked Taper Tom if he would trade the fish for the golden goose. "For," she said, "it is a very strange goose. If you lead it about and anyone lays hands on it, and you say, 'Hang on, if you care to come with us,' he will have to hang on and go with the goose wherever you lead."

"Then," said Taper Tom, "you may have my fish and I will take your goose."

So the old woman took the fish, and Taper Tom took the end of the string in his hand, and the goose followed after.

He had not gone far when he met a goody who looked longingly at the goose with the golden feathers, and at last she said to Taper Tom: "That is a very fine goose, and I would like to stroke it."

"All right," said Taper Tom.

So the goody laid her hand on the back of the goose, and Taper Tom said: "Hang on, if you care to go with us." And the old woman could not take her hands off the goose, no matter how hard she tried.

They went on down the road a way and came to a man who for a long time had hated the goody, and he laughed loudly to see her hanging on to the goose and trying so hard to let go; and thinking to make more difficulty for her he lifted up his foot and kicked at her.

As his foot touched her dress Taper Tom said: "Hang on, if you care to come with us." And the man's foot hung on to the dress of the goody, and, try as hard as he would, he could not let go. He had to follow, hopping on one foot all the while, and falling often and being dragged. He was very angry, and said a great many bad words.

As they passed the blacksmith shop the brawny smith stood at the door, and when he saw Taper Tom leading the goose, and the goody hanging on to its back, and the man following, hopping on one leg, he began to laugh very much, and ran up to the man and struck him with his bellows, which he held in his hand.

And as the bellows touched the man, Taper Tom said: "Hang on, if you care to come with us." And the smith had to follow after the man, for, try as he would, he could not let go of the bellows, nor would the bellows let go of the man.

Then Taper Tom turned in on the road that lay in front of the window of the Princess, and though he did not look up, he knew that the Princess was watching.

And when the Princess saw the boy leading the golden goose, and the goody hanging on to the back of the goose, and the man hopping on one leg behind the goody, and the smith hanging on to his bellows, she smiled inwardly, but she did not laugh.

Taper Tom did not stop, but went on around to the kitchen; and when the cook came out to ask for her fish, with her pot and ladle in her hand, and she saw the golden goose, and the goody, and the man, and the smith, she began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh, so that all the court came out to see what had happened, and the Princess leaned from her window to know what it was all about.

And just then the cook's ladle touched the shoulder of the smith, and at that moment Taper Tom said: "Hang on, if you care to come with us."

And he turned and started back past the window of the Princess. And when the Princess saw the cook hanging on to the shoulder of the smith, with her ladle and her pot in her hand, and trying hard to get loose, and the smith hanging on with his bellows to the coat of the man, and the man hanging on with one foot to the goody, and the goody with her hands on the back of the golden goose, and the golden goose following Taper Tom, led by a string, she began to laugh and to laugh and to laugh.

Then the King proclaimed that Taper Tom should wed the Princess, and that half the kingdom would be her dowry.



THE BOY WHO WENT TO THE NORTH WIND

"Go you now to the safe and get some meal," said the mother of the Boy. "And mind that you carry it carefully, for there is but little left."

So the Boy went to the safe to get the meal, but as he came back with it the North Wind blew it away, and he went home empty-handed, and there was no meal in the house that day.

The next morning the mother sent the Boy to the safe again, and once more the North Wind came and took the meal.

On the third day it was as before. Then the Boy said: "I will go to the North Wind and demand that he give back my meal, for we have nothing to eat in the house."

So the boy started and went far, far to the country where the North Wind abode; and when he had come there the North Wind said:

"I give you greeting and thanks for your coming. What can I do for you?"

The Boy answered: "I give you back your greeting, and I am come for the meal which you have taken away from me, for we have none left in the house."

Then he told how for three days the North Wind had come and taken the meal as he returned with it from the safe, and now there was nothing to eat in the house.

"I have not got your meal," said the North Wind, "but I will give you a magic cloth which, whenever you say to it, 'Cloth, serve forth a dinner,' will provide you with all that you can eat and drink in a moment."

So the boy took the cloth and started for his home, but as he had a long way to go he stopped over night at an inn, and, being hungry, and wanting to test the cloth, he sat down at a table and unfolded it before him, saying: "Cloth, serve forth a dinner." Immediately there was served upon the cloth all sorts of good things to eat—such food as the Boy had never eaten before in his life.

"It is indeed a magic cloth," said the Boy, when, the dinner eaten, he folded the cloth carefully and put it under his pillow before he slept.

Now, the inn-keeper had been a witness to the thing which had happened, and had heard the words which the Boy said to the cloth, so he decided that he must possess so wonderful a thing as that, for it would save him much labor. Accordingly, after the Boy had gone to sleep, he stole quietly into the room and slipped the wallet from under the Boy's pillow and put into it a cloth of his own exactly like it.

When the Boy reached home the next day his mother asked him if he had been to the North Wind, and if he had brought back the meal.

The Boy said: "The North Wind was glad to see me, and thanked me for coming, but said he did not have the meal. Instead, he gave me a magic cloth, so that we need never be hungry again, for it will serve us a dinner at any time we bid it."

So he took the cloth from his wallet and unfolded it on the table, as he had done at the inn, and said: "Cloth, serve forth a dinner." But, as it was not a magic cloth, nothing happened.

Then the Boy said that he would go again to the North Wind and tell him that his cloth would not do as it was bidden. So he journeyed far to the home of the North Wind, and the North Wind said: "I give you greeting and thanks for your coming. What can I do for you?"

Then the boy told him how he had come before to ask him for the meal which the North Wind had taken, and the North Wind had given him a magic cloth which should serve forth a dinner when it was bidden; but that, though at the inn the cloth had served forth a dinner, when he reached his home it had not done so, and there was nothing to eat in the house.

Then said the North Wind: "I have no meal to give you, but I will give you a ram which, whenever you say to it, 'Ram, Ram, coin money,' will coin gold ducats before you."

So the Boy took the ram and started for home; but as it was a long way he stopped at the same inn on his way home, and being anxious to try the skill of the ram, and needing to pay his bill to the inn-keeper he said to it: "Ram, Ram, coin money." And the ram coined golden ducats until the Boy told it to stop.

"Now," thought the observing inn-keeper, "this is a famous ram indeed. I must have this ram, and I will not need to work at all."

So when the Boy had gone to bed, leaving the ram safely tied in his room, the inn-keeper slipped in quietly, leading another ram which could not coin ducats, which he left in place of the ram which the North Wind had given to the Boy.

And when the Boy reached home his mother asked him if he had brought back the meal this time. And the Boy answered: "The North Wind was glad to see me, and thanked me for coming, but he said that he did not have the meal. But he gave me a ram, which, when I bid it, 'Ram, Ram, coin money,' coins golden ducats, so that we will not be hungry any more, for we can buy what we need."

Then he led forth the ram into the room and said to it: "Ram, Ram, coin money." And the ram, not being a magic ram, did nothing but stand in the middle of the room and stare at him.

Now the Boy was angry, and he said: "I will go to the North Wind and tell him that his ram is worth nothing, and that I want my rights for the meal which he has taken."

So back he went to the North Wind, and when he had told his story the North Wind said: "I have nothing that I can give you but that old stick in the bag yonder. But when you say to it, 'Stick, come forth and lay on,' it lays on unceasingly until you say to it, 'Stick, stop.'"

So the Boy took the bag with the stick right willingly, for he had by this time a fair idea of the cause of his trouble; and he stopped that night at the inn as he had done before. Though he did not call forth his magic stick, the inn-keeper knew by the way in which he cared for his bag that he had some special treasure, and decided that the Boy was a simple fellow, and that he must have this too, whatever it was in the bag.

So when the Boy had gone to his room the man slipped in quietly and reached his hand under the Boy's pillow, where the bag lay. But the Boy had not gone to sleep this time, and when he felt the hand under his pillow he said, "Stick, come forth and lay on."

And the stick came forth and began to lay on about the inn-keeper's head, and so hard did it strike that the inn-keeper soon besought the Boy to bid it stop—for the stick would respond only to the owner. But the Boy would not bid the stick to stop until the inn-keeper had been roundly punished for his stealings, and had promised to return the magic cloth and the magic ram. When he had these again in his possession the Boy bade the stick return to the bag, and the next morning he went on to his home.

And when he had laid the cloth on the table and said to it, "Cloth, serve forth a dinner," and the cloth had served forth a dinner, and he and his mother had eaten; and he had said to the ram, "Ram, Ram, coin money," and the ram had coined golden ducats until he bade it to stop; and he had put the stick in a safe place where it could always do his bidding, he and his mother had plenty, and were well paid for the meal which the North Wind had taken.



THE WONDERFUL IRON POT

Once upon a time a little boy and his mother lived together in a small brown house at the foot of a hill. They were very poor, for the boy's father was dead, and the rich man who lived at the top of the hill had taken everything that they had, except one cow.

At last it came that there was nothing in the house to eat, and the mother said: "Now we will have to sell the cow."

So she told the little boy to take the cow to town and sell it, and the boy put a rope around the cow's neck and started off down the road.

He had not gone far before he met a man with a cloak over him and carrying something under it. He asked the little boy where he was going, and the boy told him that there was nothing to eat in the house and he was trying to sell the cow.

"Will you sell her to me?" asked the man.

"What will you give me for her?" asked the little boy.

"I will give you an iron pot," said the man.

Now, the little boy knew that he ought not to sell the cow for an iron pot, and he quickly said he would not, but as he spoke he heard a tiny voice under the man's cloak saying: "Buy me! Buy me!" So he told the stranger that he might have the cow.

The man took the rope in his hands, and gave the little boy the iron pot, and he took it and went home again.

"And what did you get for the cow?" asked his mother.

By this time the boy was very much ashamed of having sold the cow for an iron pot, and he hung his head when his mother asked him what he had gotten. They were about to throw the pot away, for, as the mother said, there was nothing to cook in it, when they heard a tiny voice say: "Put me over the fire and put in water."

So the mother put the little pot over the fire and put in water, which, indeed, was all that she had to put in. And soon the water in the pot began to bubble and to boil, and the little pot said: "I skip! I skip!"

"How far do you skip, little Pot?" asked the mother.

"I skip to the house of the rich man at the top of the hill," said the pot.

And the little pot began to skip, skip, first on one of its three legs and then on another, skippity skip, skippity skip, until it came to the house of the rich man at the top of the hill, and it skipped right into the kitchen of the rich man's house where his wife was making a pudding. All at once she looked up and saw the little iron pot on the table, where it had skipped in at the window, and right in front of her, and she said:

"Oh, where did you come from, little Pot? You are just what I want to put my pudding in."

So she put the pudding into the little iron pot, and as soon as the pudding was in and safely covered up, the little pot began to skip, skip, first on one of its three legs and then on another, skippity skip, skippity skip, down the hill, and though the farmer's wife ran after, she could not catch it, and away it went straight to the little brown house at the bottom of the hill.

So the little boy and his mother had pudding to eat for dinner.

The next morning the little pot begged to be put on the fire, and as soon as the water began to bubble and to boil, it called, "I skip! I skip!"

"How far do you skip, little Pot?" asked the mother.

"I skip to the barn of the rich man at the top of the hill," said the little pot.

And the little pot began to skip, skip, first on one of its three legs and then on another, skippity skip, skippity skip, until it came to the barn of the rich man at the top of the hill. And in the barn the thrashers were thrashing the wheat, and the little pot skipped right out on the thrashing floor.

"Oh," said one of the men, "Where did you come from, little Pot? You are just the thing to hold some of this wheat."

So the man began pouring the wheat into the pot, and poured and poured until the little pot seemed quite full, but still there was room, so the man poured until all the wheat was in the pot.

Then the little pot began to skip, skip, first on one of its three legs and then on another, skippity skip, skippity skip, out of the barn and out on the road. And though all of the men ran after it they could not catch it, and it skipped down the hill to the little brown house.

So the little boy and his mother had plenty of white bread to eat.

The next morning the little pot begged to be put on the fire, and as soon as the water began to bubble and to boil it began to skip, skip, skippity skip, skippity skip, until it came to the bank of the rich man, and it skipped right into the window where the rich man sat with all his money spread out on his desk. And as he counted he looked up and saw the little iron pot standing in front of him, and he said, "Where did you come from, little Pot? You are just the thing for me to put my money into."

Then he began to pile his money into the iron pot, and though it was soon full there was yet more room, and he piled more and more, until at last all his money was in the iron pot. Then the little pot began to skip, skip, skippity skip, skippity skip, right out of the bank and down the street and straight on till it came to the little brown house at the bottom of the hill. And though the rich man ran after it he could not catch it, and so all the money that he had taken from the little boy and his mother was carried back to them in the little iron pot.

The next morning the little pot begged to be put on the fire again, and the mother said: "Why should you be put on the fire, little Pot? Have we not everything that we want?" But the little pot still wanted to be put on the fire; and at last, when the mother had put in the water and made the fire, and the water began to bubble and to boil, the little pot said: "I skip! I skip!"

And the mother said: "How far do you skip, little Pot?"

"I skip to the end of the world," said the little pot. And it began to skip, skip, first on one of its three legs and then on another, skippity skip, skippity skip, until it came to the top of the hill, and there was the rich man hunting for his money. And when he saw the little iron pot he cried out: "There is the pot that stole my money!" And he caught up with the pot and put his hand into it to take out his money, but his hand could not find the money; so he put his head in to look for it, and he could not see it; next he climbed into the pot, and then it began to skip, skip, far away up the hill and up the mountain, and away to the end of the world.



THE SHEEP AND PIG WHO SET UP HOUSEKEEPING

Once upon a time a Sheep stood in a pen to be fattened for the winter's feast. He lived well, for he was given the best of everything, and he soon became so fat that one day the maid who came to bring his food said: "Eat full to-day, little Sheep, for to-morrow will come the killing and we shall eat you." And she shut the gate and went away.

"Oh," said the Sheep, "I have heard that, Women's words are worth heeding, and that, There is a cure and a physic for everything except death. There being no cure for that, it is best to find a way out of it."

So he ate up all the food that the maid had left for him, and then he butted hard against the gate of the pen, and it flew open, and the Sheep went out of the pen and out on the big road.

He followed the road to a neighboring farm, and made his way to a pigsty where was fastened a Pig that he had known on the common.

"Good day, and thanks for our last merry meeting!" said the Sheep. "Do you know why you are fed so well while you stay in this sty?"

"No, that I do not," said the Pig. "But I am very glad to get the good food and plenty of it, which they have been bringing to me since I was shut up."

"Ho, there is reason for that," said the Sheep. "Many a flask empties the cask. They want to make you very fat, for their purpose is to eat you at the winter's feasting."

"May they not forget to say grace after meat," said the Pig. "I can do naught to hinder their eating."

"If you will do as I do we will go off together into the woods and build a house and set up housekeeping," said the Sheep. "A home is a home, be it ever so homely."

So the Sheep and the Pig together butted down the pigsty, and started off on the big road together. "Good company is good comfort," said the Pig, as they trotted along.

As they entered the big woods they met a Goose, who had come out on the common.

"Good day, and thanks for our last merry meeting," said the Goose, "where are you going so fast?"

"You must know that we were too well off at home, and so we have set off into the woods to build a house and set up housekeeping," said the Sheep, "for, Every man's house is his castle, if he build it but big and strong enough."

"As for that," said the Goose, "all places are alike to me, but I should like to build a house; so if you like I will go with you, for, It's but child's play when three share the day."

"With gossip and gabble is built neither house nor stable!" said the Pig. "What can you do to help build the house?"

"By cunning and skill a cripple can do what he will," said the Goose. "I can gather moss to put into the crevices and cracks, and so make the house warm and comfortable."

Now, Piggy wanted above everything else to be warm and comfortable, so he said that the Goose might come along.

As the three journeyed on they met a Hare.

"Good day, and thanks for our last merry meeting," said the Hare; "where are you hurrying to so fast?"

Then the Sheep explained how they were too well off at home, and were going into the woods to build a house and set up housekeeping, "For," he said, "You may travel the world around, but there is no place like home."

"Oh," said the Hare, "for the matter of that, I have a home in every bush. But I have always thought that some day I would build a house, and I will go with you if you like."

"We could use you to scare away the dogs," said the Pig, "but you would be no good for anything else."

"He who lives long enough will always find work to do," said the Hare. "I have sharp teeth to gnaw the boards, and paws to hammer them fast. I can set up at any time for a carpenter, for, Good tools make good work, as the man said."

So he got leave to go, and there was no more said about it.

As they went deeper into the woods they met a Cock, who gave them greeting and asked where they were going.

Then the Sheep explained how they were too well off at home, and were going into the woods to build a house and set up housekeeping, "For," said the Sheep, "He who out of doors shall bake, loses at last both coal and cake."

"Well," said the Cock, "that is just my case, for, It's far better to sit on one's own perch, for then one can never be left in the lurch; besides, All cocks crow loudest at home. If I may have your leave, I will come with you."

But the Pig protested. "Flapping and crowing sets tongues a-going!" he exclaimed, "but, A jaw on a stick never yet laid a brick. How can you help us or make yourself useful?"

"Oh," said the Cock, "That house will never have a clock where there is neither dog nor cock. I will wake you up every morning, and will cry the alarm when the dawn arises."

"Very good," said the Pig, who was very like to oversleep. "Sleep is a greedy thief, and thinks nothing of robbing you of half your life. You may come with us."

So they all set off together into the woods, and at last they came to a good place and built the house. The Pig hewed the timber, and the Sheep drew it home; the Hare was the carpenter, and the Goose gathered moss and filled all of the cracks and crevices, and the Cock wakened them every morning early.

At last the house was done, and it was snug, and warm, and comfortable. "'Tis good to travel east and west, but, after all, a home is best," said the Sheep.

And they lived together until cold weather came, when they put up a stove to keep warm, and they planned to enjoy the long winter.

Now, not far off from the house lived the Wolf and his family, and his brother and his brother's family.

And the Wolf and his brother saw the house which the Sheep and the Pig and the Goose and the Hare and the Cock had builded, and they talked together of how warm and comfortable it was, and the Wolf decided that they must get acquainted with their new neighbors.

So he made up an errand and went to the door and said he had come to ask for a light to his pipe; and while the door was held open he pushed himself inside.

Then all at once he found himself in a great confusion, for the Sheep butted him so hard that he fell against the stove; and the Pig gored and bit him; and the Goose nipped and pecked him; and the Hare ran about over the house, now on the floor and now aloft, so that the Wolf did not know who or what he was, and was scared out of his wits, and all the time the Cock perched on a top beam and flapped his wings and crowed and crowed.

By-and-by the Wolf managed to get near the door and to dash through it.

"Neighborhood makes for brotherhood," said the Wolf's brother. "You must have made good friends, since you remained so long. But what became of your errand, for you have neither pipe nor smoke?"

"Nice life makes pleasant company," said the Wolf. "Such manners I never saw. For no sooner was I inside than the shoemaker flew at me with his last, and two smiths blew bellows and made the sparks fly, and beat and punched me with red-hot pincers, and tore great pieces out of my body, the hunter kept running about trying to find his gun, and it is well for me that he did not, for I should never have come out alive; and all the while a butcher sat up on a beam and flapped his arms and sang out to the others: 'Put a hook into him! Put a hook into him and drag him thither!' so it was all I could do to get out alive!"

"Well," said his brother, "we can't choose in this wicked world, and an unbidden guest sometimes gets bad treatment. But I think that we will be very well advised to let these new neighbors alone."

So the Wolf, and the Wolf's family, and the Wolf's brother and his brother's family, let the Sheep and the Pig and the Goose and the Hare and the Cock alone, and they lived very happily in their house in the woods.







DOLL-IN-THE-GRASS

Once upon a time there was a King who had twelve sons. These sons did not like to do useful things—they only liked to ride and to hunt in the woods, and to do what pleased them.

One day the King said: "You shall each one go forth into the world to seek a bride. But you must choose a bride who can do useful things—and, to prove it, she must be able to gather the flax and spin and weave a shirt all in one day. If she cannot do this, I will not accept her as my daughter-in-law."

So the sons set out on their errands, each riding a beautiful horse, and looking forward to having a great time out in the world while he hunted for his bride.

But the youngest son, Boots, was not popular with the others. So they said:

"Boots shall not go with us. We will not have him along—he will not do the things that we want to do."

So Boots drew rein on his horse, and the others rode out of sight.

Now, Boots was very unhappy when he was left alone in the woods, and he got off his horse and sat down on a log to think. For he did not know where to go to have the good times that his brothers had been talking about, and he did not know where to seek a bride.

As he sat thinking, he heard a strange sound near him—a sound like silver bells tinkling softly; or was it fairies laughing? Boots looked all about him, but could see nothing.

"Here I am!" exclaimed a sweet little voice. And Boots looked down at the grass at his feet, and there was the tiniest little creature smiling up at him, swaying with the stem of a flower which waved in the slight breeze.

"Why are you so sad?" asked this tiny maiden.

"Oh," said Boots, "my father has sent me and my brothers forth into the world to find brides, and my brothers have gone on and left me all alone in the woods."

The little creature laughed right merrily.

"And suppose they have!" she cried. "The wood is the most beautiful place in the world! And as for brides—you can find them there if you but seek for them."

By this time Boots was down in the soft grass beside her.

"But my bride must be able to gather the flax, and spin and weave a shirt, all in one day."

"Pauf!" exclaimed the little creature, "that is no great task."

Then she tapped a tiny wand twice on the flower stem, and a spinning-wheel stood before her—such a tiny little spinning wheel! She lifted the wand again, and the flax stem bent down, so that she gathered its flower, and in a minute the spinning-wheel was twirling merrily. A touch of the wand, and the loom was before her; then the thread was spun into white cloth as fine as cobweb. Boots watched, fascinated. The little creature next fashioned the cloth into a shirt—such a tiny shirt—and never was one so fine seen in all the world before.

"You shall come with me to the palace—you shall be my bride!" exclaimed Boots.

The little creature smiled at him, and said: "I will go with you to the palace, and I will be your bride, but I must go in my own way."

"You shall go in any way that you will!" said Boots.

So Doll-in-the-Grass touched the stem of the flower again, and her own silver carriage came to her, drawn by two tiny white mice. And Boots rode beside her, careful that his great horse should not crush the little carriage.

The little mice traveled very fast, and it was not long before they came to a stream. Now, the great horse could swim the stream without difficulty; but when the mice plunged into it little Doll-in-the-Grass and the silver carriage and all went under the water. Then Boots was disconsolate, but as he stood, mourning, a beautiful maiden came up out of the water, a maiden fairer than any in all the kingdom, and neither smaller nor larger than any of them. And she smiled at Boots and said: "You see how love can do great things."

And Boots caught her up on his horse before him and exclaimed: "Ah, love can indeed do great things."

And so they rode home together. And of all the wives whom his brothers won, none was so beautiful as Doll-in-the-Grass. And of all the shirts that the wives spun, none was so fine or so soft as the one which Doll-in-the-Grass gave to her father-in-law; and it had become a big shirt—large enough for a man to wear—and was as soft as silk and as fine as any cobweb could possibly be.

And the King loved her more than any of his other daughters-in-law, and Boots more than any of his other sons; so he said they should live with him in his palace, and by-and-by succeed him on the throne.



BOOTS AND HIS BROTHERS

Once upon a time there was a King who had seven sons. One day he said to the six older ones: "You must go forth into the world, each one, and seek a bride. But Boots is too young to go, so he shall stay at home. And when you have found brides for yourselves, each one, you shall seek the fairest Princess in all the seven kingdoms, and bring her home with you, and she shall be a bride for Boots."

So the six sons set out, and each found a bride, all so lovely that it was not possible to say which was the most beautiful. But the brothers were so interested, each one, in his own bride, that all forgot they were to seek a bride for Boots, and they started home again.

One night on the way they were forced by a storm to seek shelter in the castle of a Giant, and the next morning while they were standing in the front of the castle, with their retainers about them and their horses saddled ready to mount and depart, the Giant suddenly turned them all into stone where they stood—the brothers into large stone pillars, the brides into smaller pillars, the retainers into small stones, and the horses into stone horses. And there all stood in front of the castle, and the Giant went away laughing.

After a long time of waiting at home, one day the King said to his youngest son: "It must be that your brothers are dead. My heart is broken, and had I not you, my son, to console me in my old age, I should die of sorrow."

"But, my father," said Boots, "for long I have been thinking that I must go forth into the world and find my brothers."

"Do not say that," said the King, "for evil has certainly befallen them, and the same evil may befall you, and I shall be left alone."

"Nay," said Boots, "whatever evil has befallen them I must fare forth and find out; and I will come back to you and bring my brothers with me, that will I."

So at last the King yielded, and Boots set out. But there were no retainers to go with him, and his father had only an old, broken-down horse to give him, for the other brothers had taken all the fine horses from the stables, for their own riding, and to bring back their brides upon. But Boots set forth right merrily on the old horse, often stopping to let him rest, for he could not go fast, as could a younger steed.

As they journeyed through the woods a Raven fell almost at the horse's feet, and Boots pulled him back quickly, that the bird might not be stamped upon.

"I thank you, good master," said the Raven. "I am so hungry that I was faint, and fell from the tree. Will you give me something to eat, and I will serve you faithfully?"

"As for that," said Boots, "I see not how you can serve me, and I have but scant food. But if you are so hungry that you fell from a tree, you must need food badly, so I will give you a share of my own."

So Boots gave the Raven some food, and went on through the forest. At last he came to a stream, and saw a Salmon swimming feebly about near the shore. "Oh," cried the Salmon, as Boots stopped to give his horse a drink, "will you give me food? I am so hungry that I can scarce swim about in the stream."

"Well," said Boots, "everybody seems to be hungry to-day, and for the matter of that, so am I. And how can you serve me, I would like to know? Nevertheless, since you are so hungry I will give you food, for it is not pleasant to be hungry, as I well know."

So he gave the Salmon some of his food, and went on through the forest.

By-and-by he came to a Wolf, looking so gaunt and lean that he was almost afraid to pass by where the animal stood. But the Wolf stopped him and said: "Will you give me something to eat? I am so hungry that I can scarce follow a trail."

"Well, now," said Boots, "this is getting a little thick. First a Raven, and then a Salmon, and now a Wolf."

"That is so," said the Wolf, "but there is little food in the forest. Nevertheless, with but a morsel I could follow the trail, and find plenty, and I would serve you at any time that I could."

"Now have I many servants," laughed Boots—"a Raven, and a Salmon, and a Wolf. I will give you food, however, for you look as if you needed it sorely!"

So he gave the Wolf food, and when he had eaten, the Wolf said: "Do you follow the trail which I make, and I will lead you where you would go."

Boots laughed merrily, for since he did not know which way to go himself it hardly seemed as if the Wolf could lead him in that way. Nevertheless, since all ways were alike, he thought, he might as well follow the Wolf, so he turned his horse's head in that direction.

The Wolf trotted along before, and at last he turned and said: "This is the Giant's castle, and the pillars yonder are your brothers and their wives which the Giant has turned to stone. It is for you to go into the castle and find a way to set them free."

"That will I," said Boots, "but how will I prevent the Giant's making a stone pillar out of me?"

"Climb up on my back," said the Wolf, "and I will take you into the castle, but once there you must look out for yourself. But if you need me, whistle, and I will be beside you."

"That will I," said Boots, "and you, mind that you are not far, for I think I shall need you right speedily."

So the Wolf trotted out and left Boots standing in the hall of the castle. And Boots turned about and looked toward the inner room, and there he saw a Princess which he knew at once was the fairest Princess in all the seven kingdoms; and he said to himself: "When I have set my brothers free I shall not need to seek far for my own bride."

The Princess greeted him, and told him that it was true that the Giant had turned his brothers, and their brides, and their retainers into stone, and that he would turn them back again, one by one, when he wanted to eat them.

"And what will he do with me?" exclaimed Boots.

"Do you hide under the bed there," said the Princess, "and I will take care of you. For you must know that no matter how brave and strong you may be you cannot kill this Giant, for he does not keep his heart in his body. It is hidden away somewhere, for he is afraid that some one will kill him, so he keeps it no one knows where. But to-night I will ask him where it is, and do you listen, and it may be that we can find it and kill him, and you can set your brothers and their brides and me free."

"That will I," said Boots, looking at her with eyes that told what he would do when he had set them all free.

So at last the Giant came home, and after he had eaten and was feeling very good-natured, the Princess said to him: "I have always wondered where it is that you keep your heart, for it is evident that it is not in your body."

"Indeed, and it is not," said the Giant, "for if it were I should have been dead long ago. But I will tell you where it is—it is under the great doorstep at the entrance of the castle."

The next morning, after the Giant had gone out, Boots and the Princess dug and tugged, and tugged and dug, until at last they lifted the great doorstep at the entrance of the castle. But there was no heart under it. Then the Princess piled flowers about, that it might not show where she had been digging, and when the Giant came back he laughed loudly, and said: "What sort of nonsense is this? You thought my heart was there, you silly, and have piled flowers about it. But my heart is not there. It is in the back of the big cupboard in the deepest dungeon keep."

The next day after the Giant had gone Boots and the Princess went down to the deepest dungeon keep, and they dug and tugged, and tugged and dug, until at last they had moved the cupboard from the wall; but there was no heart there. So the Princess piled flowers about, as she had done before. That night when the Giant came home he went down into the dungeon and saw the flowers, and said: "You did, indeed, wish to pay honor to my heart, you foolish child, but it is not there."

Then tears stood in the beautiful eyes of the Princess, and she said: "Oh, then, tell me where it is, that I may place flowers about the place."

"That is not possible," said the Giant, "for it is too far away from here, and you could not get to it. On a great hill in the forest stands a church, and in the church is a well, and in the well there is a duck, swimming backward and forward on the water; and in the duck is an egg, and in the egg is my heart; so you had best give up your foolish notion."

Boots, under the bed, heard every word; and the next morning, after the Giant had set out, he, too, started, whistling to the Wolf, who came at once. Boots told him that he wished to go to the church that stood on the high hill in the forest; and the Wolf said: "I know just where the place is. Jump on my back, and we will be there in no time."

So Boots jumped upon the Wolf's back, and they set off through the forest, and soon came to the church on the high hill. But the great doors were locked, and it was not possible for Boots to break them down, though he tried hard enough.

"Now," said the Wolf, "we must call the Raven."

So they called the Raven, and he came and flew up over the top of the church, and into the belfry, and down into the porter's room, and caught up the keys of the church, and in a moment he was back with them. Then Boots opened the doors and he and the Wolf and the Raven entered; and in the church they found a well, as the Giant had said, and on the water in the well there was a duck swimming backward and forward. Then Boots caught up the duck in his hands, and thought that now he had the Giant's heart, when suddenly the duck let the egg drop into the water.

"Now," said the Wolf, "we must call the Salmon."

So they called the Salmon, and he swam down into the water and brought up the egg in his mouth, and Boots caught up the egg in his hand and squeezed it hard, and at once the Giant far off in the forest cried out.

"Squeeze it harder," cried the Salmon, "and I shall be free."

But the Giant far off in the woods begged hard for his life, and the Wolf said: "Tell him that if he would have you spare his life he must at once set free your brothers and their brides and their retainers," said the Wolf.

So Boots cried aloud this message to the Giant, squeezing the heart which he held in his hand as he did so; and the Giant called to him from far off in the forest that he had already done this, even as Boots had asked him, and now would he please let his heart sink back into the water.

"No," said the Raven, "squeeze it but a little harder, and I shall be free!"

So Boots squeezed the heart harder and harder, until at last it was squeezed quite in two, and what was his surprise to see standing beside him two young Princes, fair, almost, as the fair Princess in the Giant's castle, who Boots knew was the most beautiful in all the seven kingdoms.

"Let us hasten back to the castle, now," said the Wolf, "that we may tell the Princes and their brides and the Princess in the castle that the Giant is dead, and they have nothing more to fear."

Then the Wolf lifted up his voice and howled, and at once two other wolves stood beside them. "Climb up, each one of you," said the first Wolf, "and we will be back at the castle in no time."

So Boots and the two Princes climbed up each on the back of a wolf, and they were soon back at the castle; and Boots found his brothers, and their fair brides, and the Princess waiting for them. Then they all set out for the kingdom of their father, who was very glad to see them, to be sure. And Boots said: "I have brought back your sons to you, but I have brought back the fairest Princess in the seven kingdoms to be my own bride."

Although the brides of the other Princes were very fair, yet all agreed that the bride of Boots was the most beautiful of all.



VIGGO AND BEATE[L]

Translated by Mrs. Gudrun Thorne-Thompson

THE DOLL UNDER THE BRIER ROSEBUSH

There was once a girl, and her name was Beate. On her birthday her father had given her a beautiful straw hat. Her mother had given her a pair of yellow shoes and the daintiest white dress. But her old aunt had given her the very best present of all; it was a doll, with a sweet face and dark brown curls.

Oh, how Beate grew to love that doll, almost more than she loved Marie and Louise, and they were her best friends.

One day Beate was walking in the yard with her doll in her arms. It had a name now, and they had become fast friends. She had called her Beate, her own name, and the name of her old aunt who had given her the present.

It was in the early Spring. There was a green spot in one corner of the yard around the old well. There stood a big willow tree with a low trunk, and it was covered with the little yellow blossoms that children call "goslings."

They look like goslings, too, for each little tassel has soft yellow down, and they can swim in the water.

Now, Big Beate and Little Beate soon agreed that they would pick goslings from the tree and throw them into the well, so that these might have just as good a time as the big geese and goslings that were swimming about in the pond. It was really Big Beate who thought of this first, but Little Beate agreed immediately; you can't imagine how good she always was.

Now, Big Beate climbed up into the willow and picked many pretty yellow goslings into her little white apron, and when she counted them she said that now they had enough, and Little Beate thought so too.

Both of them ran over to the well, and Big Beate helped her little friend to get her legs firmly fixed between the logs that were around the well, so that she might sit in comfort and watch the little goslings swim about on the water. Then gosling after gosling was dropped down, and as soon as each one reached the water it seemed to become alive and it moved about. Oh, what fun!

But after awhile the little goslings would not swim any longer, but lay quite still. That was no fun at all, so Big Beate asked her namesake if she didn't think she might lean a little over the edge of the well and blow on them, for then she thought they might come to life again. Little Beate didn't answer, but she raised her left eye-brow, saying, "Please don't do that, dear Big Beate! Don't you remember, Mother has told us how dark it is down there in the well? Think, if you should fall in!"

"Oh, nonsense; just see how easy it is," said Big Beate. She leaned out over the wall and blew on the nearest ones. Yes, it helped—the goslings began to swim again. But those that were farthest away didn't move at all.

"What stupid little things!" said Beate; and she leaned far, far out over the edge of the well. Then her little hands slipped on the smooth log—splash! Down she fell into the water. It was so cold, so icy cold, and it closed over her head, and took the straw hat, which she had got on her birthday, off her hair! She hadn't time to hear whether Little Beate screamed, but I'm sure she did.

When Beate's head came up over the water again she grasped the round log with both her hands, but the hands were too small, and the log too wide and slippery, she couldn't hold on. Then she saw her dear friend, Little Beate, standing stiff and dumb with fright, staring at her and with her right arm stretched out to her. Big Beate hurriedly caught hold of her and Little Beate made herself as stiff as she could, and stiffer still, and stood there between the logs holding her dear friend out of the water.

Now Beate screamed so loudly that her father and mother heard her and came running as fast as they could, pale and frightened, and pulled her out. She was dripping wet, and so scared and cold that her teeth chattered.

Now they put Beate to bed, and Little Beate had to sleep with her. When she had said her prayers she hugged her little friend and said: "Never, never can I thank you enough, because you saved me from that horrible deep well, dear Little Beate. You shall be my very best friend, always, and when I grow up you shall be the godmother to my first daughter, and I shall call her Little Beate for you."

THE FLOATING ISLAND

Beate was now a year older. During that year she had lost Little Beate, but she had never forgotten her.

Big Beate had many dolls given to her, but not one was like Little Beate. No one was so sweet and good-natured, no one so pretty and graceful.

It was a Saturday, and the next day, Sunday, she expected her friends, Marie and Louise, on a visit, for it was her birthday; therefore she wanted to decorate her doll-house as prettily as she could.

Beate knew what to do. On the hillside by the Black Pond she remembered that she had seen the prettiest little snail shells anyone might wish for—round and fluted, with yellow and brown markings. They would be just the thing for her bureau. She ran off to search for them, slipping in and out through the hazel bushes, and picking empty shells by the dozen.

But all of a sudden she heard a bird utter such a weird cry from the lake. She peeped out between the green branches and saw a big bird swimming about. It had a long blue neck and a white breast, but its back was shining black. It swam fast, and then suddenly dived and was gone.

Beate stood there and stared at the water, hoping to see the bird come up again, but she waited and waited in vain. She was frightened, thinking it was drowned, when she saw it shoot up again far away, almost in the middle of the lake. Then it began to swim slowly toward a tiny green island which lay there, and crept into the high weeds and grasses that hung over the water.

Beate could not get tired of looking at the pretty little island. Willow bushes grew out of the grass in some places, and in one end grew a little white-barked birch tree. Beate thought she had never seen anything half so lovely. It seemed just like a strange little land, all by itself.

At last Beate remembered that she must hurry home. Again she peeped through the leaves and branches to say good-night to the island, when—think of it!—the little green island was gone.

She thought of goblins and fairies, and ran up the path to the top of the hill as fast as she could. But when she got there she had to look again. And she became more astonished than ever, for now she saw the little green island again, but far from the place where she first saw it. It was sailing slowly toward the southern end of the lake, and the silver birch was its sail.

As soon as Beate reached home she found Anne, the nurse, and told her what she had seen.

Anne knew all about the floating island: it had been on the lake for many years, she said. But there were many strange things about it. One thing she would tell, and that was, that if anyone stood on the floating island and took a loon's egg out of the nest and wished for something, that wish would come true, if the egg was put safely back into the nest again. If you wished to become a Princess of England, your wish would indeed be fulfilled, said old Anne. But there was one more thing to notice: you must not talk about it to a living soul.

"Not even to Father and Mother?" asked Beate.

"No," said Anne, "not to a living soul."

Beate could think of nothing but the island all that evening, and when she had closed her eyes she could dream of nothing else all night.

Just as soon as Beate got up in the morning she begged her father to row her and Marie and Louise out to the floating island, when they came to visit her in the afternoon, and that he promised.

But he also asked how she had happened to think of that, and what she wanted there. Beate thought first that she would tell him everything, but then she remembered Anne's words, and said only that she wished to go out there because the little green island was so pretty.

"Yes, indeed, it is pretty, and you shall see a loon's nest too," said the father.

Then Beate's face grew red, and the tears came to her eyes, for she knew well enough about the loon's nest and about the eggs.

In the afternoon the father took the three little girls down to the lake. Beate's friends thought this was the loveliest place they had ever seen, and they begged the father to stop and get some of the pretty water-lilies for them. But Beate was longing for the floating island.

The father rowed close up to the island and around it, and when he came to the other side the loon plunged out of the reeds into the water and was gone.

"There is the loon's nest," said the father.

What joy! The loon's nest was on the very edge of the little tiny island, hidden among the grasses, and in the nest were two big grayish-brown eggs, with black spots, larger than any goose eggs.

Marie and Louise shouted and laughed, but Beate felt strangely frightened and was very quiet. She begged her father to let her stand on the island, only a minute, and would he let her take one of the eggs in her hand?

The father told her she must be very careful just lift the egg gently between her two fingers, for if the bird noticed that the egg had been touched she would not hatch it.

And now Beate stood on the green floating island. She was excited when she bent down to pick up the grayish-brown egg, but lifted it carefully between two fingers. Now she might wish for anything in the wide, wide world.

And what do you think she wished for? To become a Princess of England? Oh, no, she knew something far better than that. Then her lips moved softly, and she whispered to herself: "I wish that Little Beate was with me once more, and would never, never leave me." Carefully she put the egg back into the nest.

What was the pink something her eye now caught sight of among the tall reeds close to the nest? It was her doll! Beate gave one shriek of joy. "Little Beate, my own Little Beate," she sobbed, when she had her own dearest friend in her arms again. She covered her with tears and kisses, and held her tight in her arms as if she would never in the world let her go.

Her father, Marie, and Louise stood by without saying a word. At last the father kissed his little girl, and lifted her on to the raft again.

Such a birthday party as Beate had now! What did it matter that a year's rains and snows had faded Little Beate's cheeks and bleached her brown curls? She was the guest of honor, and sat on the prettiest chair. She had all the cookies and chocolate that she wanted. She was petted and loved; and at night, tired and happy, Big Beate slept with her little friend in her arms.

HANS, THE OLD SOLDIER

Viggo was Beate's brother. He was 10 years old. Hans was Viggo's dearest friend. The servants on the farm called the old Grenadier "Hans the Watchdog," for they said when he talked to anyone it sounded like a dog barking, and he looked as if he were ready to bite. But Viggo had once said that the Grenadier's voice sounded like the rattle of a drum, and the old soldier thought that was well said. It was from that time on that Viggo and Hans were such good friends.

Hans the Grenadier was six feet two, and a little more. He was straight as a stick. His hair was long and snowy white, and it hung in a braid down his red soldier's coat.

When he came walking up to the farm from his little cottage he always carried the ax on the left shoulder, like a gun, and marched stiff and straight, and kept step as if the sergeant were marching right at his heels, commanding "Left, right! Left, right!"

Viggo knew that sometimes Old Hans was willing to tell about the time he served in the army. He told of the battles, and first and last about the "Prince of 'Gustenberg."

"That was a man!" said Hans. "When he looked at you it was as if he would eat you in one bite. And such a nose between the eyes! The Prince of 'Gustenberg had a nose that shouted 'Get out of my way!' And therefore they did get put of his way, too, wherever he showed himself.

"Do you know what the Prince of 'Gustenberg said when he spoke in front of the troops? 'One thing is a shame,' said he, 'and that is to turn your back before retreat is called.' And now you know what is a shame, my boy!"

Viggo sat silent a little while.

"Have you never known a little boy to become a general?" he asked at last.

"No, I haven't, but I have known a drummer boy to become a sergeant. He was not much bigger than you. He could do everything you can think of. There was one thing, though, that was very hard for him to do, and that was to beat 'Retreat.' 'Forward March' he knew how to drum; he never forgot that, and sometimes he beat that instead of 'Retreat,' and the captain got angry. Usually he wasn't punished either, because he had once saved the captain's life with a snowball."

"With a snowball?" said Viggo.

"Yes, I said snowball; he did not use greater means. We were rushing up a hill with the enemy in front of us. It was in Winter. The captain and the drummer boy led the march; but as soon as they came to the top of the hill there stood the enemy in line. 'Aim!' commanded the enemy's officer, and all the guns pointed right at the captain. Quick as lightning the drummer boy grabbed a handful of snow and made a snowball, and, just as the officer opened his mouth to say 'Fire!' the drummer boy threw the snowball straight into the open mouth. He stood there, mouth wide open. Well, then the rest of us arrived and we had a hot fight."

"Then was he made a sergeant?" asked Viggo.

"Yes, when the Prince had heard of it. He was given the rank of a sergeant, and something better even than that. The Prince called him 'my son.'"

"It was too bad that they didn't make him a general," said Viggo. He added half aloud: "Do you think I might become a general, Hans?"

"Well, well, listen to the spring chicken!" said Hans. "So it is general you want to be? Never mind, don't blush for that; it wasn't a bad question. But it is very difficult, for you must learn much, oh, very much."

"Mathematics, you mean?" said Viggo. "I have learned some of that already, and languages too."

"Yes, that is well enough, but you must learn much more; you must learn to drill so that you don't make a mistake in a single movement."

"Then do you think I might become a general?" continued Viggo.

"Who knows? But it is difficult. The eyes are not bad, you have the right expression. But the nose—no it has not the correct shape. But, of course, it may grow and curve in time," said Old Hans.

After that Viggo learned to drill and march from his old friend; but he often looked in the mirror and wished with all his heart that the nose would curve a little more.

ALLARM, THE DOG

One afternoon Viggo was walking home from school with a bag of books on his back. He marched straight as a stick, with a soldiery step. Old Hans was standing outside the cottage waiting for him, and when Viggo halted and saluted, the old man asked if he could guess what present there was for him at the house.

"How does it look?" asked Viggo.

"It is brown," said Hans. "Now guess."

"Oh, I suppose it is nothing but a lump of brown sugar from Aunt Beate," said Viggo.

"Try again!" said Hans, and grinned. "It is dark brown, it walks on four feet and laps milk."

"Is it the puppy the Captain has promised me? Is it?" cried Viggo, and forgot all about standing straight and stiff before the Grenadier.

"Right about! Of course that's what it is," said Hans the Grenadier.

But Viggo turned a somersault instead of "Right about" and ran to the house. On a piece of carpet close by the fireplace lay the little puppy, and he was beautiful. The body was dark brown, but the nose and paws were light brown, and he had a light brown spot over each eye. When Viggo sat down on the floor beside him and stroked the soft fur, he licked Viggo's hand. Soon they had become acquainted, and from that time on Viggo watched, to see if the puppy grew, almost as carefully as he watched his own nose to see if it had the proper curve so that he might become a general.

In the night, Allarm lay by Viggo's bed, and in the daytime sat beside him when he was studying his lessons. The puppy was not allowed to go along to school, but he met Viggo every afternoon, and barked with joy and wagged his tail.

One winter morning Hans the Grenadier and some of the farm hands were going to the woods to haul timber with seven horses. Viggo had a holiday that day, so he was allowed to go along. He put his rubber boots on, and whistled for Allarm. The puppy jumped and barked when he noticed that they were off for the woods. But Viggo's father said it would be best to leave Allarm at home, for there were packs of wolves in the woods. Viggo did not like to leave Allarm behind, but when his father said so of course he must do it. He took the strap and tied Allarm to the leg of the sofa. Then he put his old coat on the floor beside the dog, so that he might be comfortable. But you can't imagine how Allarm whined and howled when he understood that he was to be left tied up.

Viggo told his father that he could not stand it to have Allarm so sad, happen what would, and he begged that he might take him along.

The father smiled, and said if Viggo wanted to risk it he must take good care of the dog, and not let him out of his sight. Then they untied him, and you may imagine Allarm's joy. He jumped and barked so that the mother had to put her fingers in her ears.

The seven horses went in a line, one after the other, and Hans the Grenadier and Viggo and Allarm walked behind the last one. The forest was so still you could not hear the least sound except the horses' hoofs crunching in the snow. Here and there Viggo saw the foot-prints of a wolf beside the road. Then he always told Allarm to keep close by him, and that he did.

But after awhile they left the road and turned into the thick forest. Hans the Grenadier waded in front, and the snow reached to his knees; then came the horses and the boys, one after the other, and at last Viggo.

After a while they came to the logs and began to hitch them to the horses. Then suddenly Viggo remembered Allarm; he had forgotten all about the dog since they turned away from the road. He looked around him, and just then he heard Allarm whine and howl somewhere in the depths of the forest.

As quick as lightning he grabbed an ax which Old Hans had driven into a stump, and rushed in through the trees in the direction from which the howling came. It was not easy; the snow reached far above his knees, but he noticed nothing: he only feared he would be too late. Once he had to stop a little to draw breath, then again he heard the pitiful wail of the dog, but now it sounded fainter. Off Viggo rushed again, and at last he espied something between the trees. He did not see his dog, but three wolves stood in a circle, heads turned toward the center; the fourth one lay inside the ring and bit something in the snow.

Viggo shouted so that it thundered in the forest, and rushed against the wolves with lifted ax. When he came within seven or eight feet of them, the three grey-legs took fright and sneaked, tails between legs, far into the forest; but the fourth, who lay on top of Allarm, hated to give up his prey. It was a large yellow wolf, and it looked up at Viggo and showed sharp, bloody teeth.

"Let go of Allarm! Let go of my dog, or I'll teach you!" he cried, and swung the ax high above his head. Then grey-legs sneaked slowly away after the others. He turned once and howled, and showed his teeth, and then disappeared among the bushes.

Far down in a hole in the snow lay Allarm. He was so bitten that he could not jump to his feet; and, when Viggo lifted him, the blood dripped down on the snow. His whole body shivered, but he licked Viggo's hand.

Just then Old Hans the Grenadier stood by Viggo's side. When he had gained his breath after his hurried run, the old man cried very angrily: "If I did what you deserve I should have to whip you. Do you think it fit for a youngster like you to rush against a pack of wolves? If they had eaten you up alive before you had a chance to make a sound, what would you have said then?"

"Then I would have said: 'One thing is a shame, and that is to turn your back before "retreat" is called,'" said Viggo, and looked sharply at the Grenadier.

"Well said, my boy! The nose has not quite the right curve yet, but the eyes are there, and I do believe the heart, too," said Old Hans. He took the dog from Viggo, and went home with both of them.

THE BLACK POND

"Hurrah, the Black Pond is frozen! The ice is more than an inch thick, and there's a crowd of boys down there!" shouted one of Viggo's classmates one morning, as he thrust his frost-covered head through the door and swung his skates. It didn't take Viggo long before he got his skates down from the nail, and ran off with his friend. And he was so anxious to get down to the lake that he forgot to whistle for Allarm.

But Allarm had a fine nose. Just as soon as he had swallowed his breakfast he understood that Viggo was gone. Then he ran out hunting through the yard for Viggo's trail, and when he noticed that it didn't lead to the school he knew he might follow. Then he rushed madly after him over the fields, and had caught up with him long before Viggo had reached the cottage of Hans the Grenadier, which lay close by the lake.

One thing Viggo had promised his father before he got permission to go, and that was that he would be very careful and not skate far out from the shore. Near the middle of the lake there was an air hole through which warm air rose to the surface, and there the ice was never thick.

And Viggo meant honestly to do what his father had told him, but now you shall hear what happened.

When he came to the lake there was a crowd of boys there. There must have been twenty or more. Most of them had skates on, but some only slid on the ice. They shouted and laughed so that you could not hear yourself think.

As soon as Viggo had put on his skates he began to look around. Most of the boys he knew, for he had raced with them before, and he felt that he could beat every one of them. But there was one boy who skated by himself, and seemed not to care about the others. He was much bigger than Viggo, and Viggo saw immediately that it would not be easy to beat him in a race. The boys called him Peter Lightfoot, and the name fitted him. He could do the corkscrew, skate backward as easily as forward, and lie so low and near the ice that he might have kissed it. But all this Viggo could do, too.

"Can you write your initials?" asked Viggo. Yes; Peter Lightfoot stood on one leg and wrote "P. L." in the ice, but the letters hung together. Then Viggo started. He ran, turned himself around backward and wrote "P. L.," and between the "P." and the "L." he made a short jump so that the letters stood apart.

"Hurrah for Viggo! He wrote Peter Lightfoot backward!" shouted the boys, and threw up their caps. Then the big boy blushed crimson, but he said nothing.

Now they began to play "Fox and Geese," and everybody wanted Viggo to be the fox. Peter wanted to play, too, for he was sure that Viggo could not catch him. The race-course was scratched in the ice, and Viggo called, "Out, out, my geese," and off they ran. But Viggo didn't care to run after the little goslings, it was the big gander, Peter Lightfoot, he wished to catch. And that was a game!

Off they went, Peter in front and Viggo after him, back and forth in corners and circles, and all the other boys stopped and looked on. Every time Viggo was right at his heels, Peter jumped and was far ahead of the fox again. At last Viggo had him cornered, but just as he would have caught the goose, Peter stretched out his left leg and meant to trip Viggo, but his skate caught in a frozen twig and—thump! there lay Peter Lightfoot, the ice cracking all around him.

"A good thing he wasn't made of glass," laughed the boys and crowded around Peter. He got up and looked angrily around the circle of boys.

"Now stand in a row, we'll jump," said he, and the boys did. They piled hats and caps on top of each other first only three high. The whole row jumped that, then four, then five, then six, but each time fewer got over and those who pushed the top cap off with their skates had to stop playing and must stand aside and look on. At last there were eight hats and caps on top of each other, and now only Peter and Viggo were left to jump.

"Put your cap on top!" said Peter, and Viggo did. But all the boys shouted that no one could ever make that jump.

Now, Peter came so fast that the air whistled about him, jumped—and whiff! he was over! He touched Viggo's cap the least little bit, but it did not fall off the pile.

"Hurrah for Peter! That was a masterly jump!" shouted the boys. "Viggo can never do that, he is too small," said one.

Viggo knew this was the test, and his heart beat fast. He ran with all his might. Viggo flew over like a bird, and there was at least four inches between his skates and the topmost cap. Then the boys crowded around him and shouted that Viggo was the champion. But Peter Lightfoot looked at him with a sly and evil eye, and you could see he was planning to play a trick on him. And, indeed, that's what he did.

After a little while Peter took an apple out of his pocket and rolled it over the ice toward the airhole. "The one who dares to go for the apple may keep it!" he called. And many dared to try that, for the apple had not rolled far and the ice was strong enough. Now Peter threw an apple farther out, someone got that too. But at last he rolled one that stopped right on the edge of the open water. One boy after the other ran out toward it, but when the ice began to crack they slowly turned around again.

"Don't do it, it is dangerous!" shouted Viggo.

"Oh, yes, Viggo is great when things are easy, but if there is danger he turns pale as a ghost," said Peter, and laughed aloud.

This was more than Viggo could bear. He thought of what the Prince of Augustenburg had said before the front, and he thought he must fetch the apple, come what might. But he forgot that "retreat" had been called, for his father had forbidden him to go near the hole. Allarm looked at him with grave eyes and wagged his tail slowly; he did not dare to whine. But that did not help. Viggo ran so that the wind whistled about his ears. The ice bent under his feet and cracked, but he glided on and on, and the ice did not break. Now he was close by the apple; he bent down to pick it up—crash! The ice broke, and Viggo, head first, fell in.

In a minute his head appeared above the hole. He swam for the ice and seized the edge, but a piece broke off every time he tried to climb up.

At first the boys stood there dumb with fright. Then they all called to him that he must try to hold on, but no one dared to help him, and no one thought of running for help. Peter Lightfoot had sneaked away when Viggo fell in.

The best one of them all was Allarm. First he ran yelping around the hole, but when he saw Viggo appear again he snatched his wet cap between his teeth and as fast as an arrow he ran toward home. When he reached the cottage of Hans the Grenadier the old soldier was just standing in the open doorway. The dog put Viggo's stiff frozen cap at his feet, whined and cried, jumped up on the old man, held on to his coat and dragged him toward the ice. Hans understood right away what was the matter, snatched a rope and ran toward the lake, and in no time he stood by the hole. He threw the rope to Viggo, who had begun to grow stiff from the icy bath, and pulled him out.

Viggo ran as fast as he could to the cottage of Hans, and when he reached the door he had an armor of shining ice over his whole body. When the Grenadier pulled off the boy's trousers they could stand by themselves on the floor; they were frozen stiff.

Viggo, of course, had to change from top to toe, and what should he put on? Hans went to his old chest and came back with his uniform. Viggo looked rather queer; the yellow knee-trousers reached to his ankles, and the red coat with yellow cuffs and lapels hung on him like a bag.

But he was wearing a real uniform! Hans looked at him.

"Well," he said, "I won't say much about the fit of the clothes, but who knows you may wear a better looking uniform some day. The heart is of the right kind, and the nose—well it is doing better."

[L] From "The Bird and the Star," translated by Mrs. Gudrun Thorne-Thompson; used by special arrangement with the publishers, Row, Peterson & Co.









THE FOUR WHITE SWANS

In the days of long ago there lived in the Green Isle of Erin a race of brave men and fair women—the race of the Dedannans. North, south, east, and west did this noble people dwell, doing homage to many chiefs.

But one blue morning after a great battle the Dedannans met on a wide plain to choose a king. "Let us," they said, "have one king over all. Let us no longer have many rulers."

Forth from among the princes rose five well fitted to wield a scepter and to wear a crown, yet most royal stood Bove Derg and Lir. And forth did the five chiefs wander, that the Dedannan folk might freely say to whom they would most gladly do homage as king.

Not far did they roam, for soon there arose a great cry, "Bove Derg is King! Bove Derg is King!" And all were glad, save Lir.

But Lir was angry, and he left the plain where the Dedannan people were, taking leave of none, and doing Bove Derg no reverence. For jealousy filled the heart of Lir.

Then were the Dedannans wroth, and a hundred swords were unsheathed and flashed in the sunlight on the plain. "We go to slay Lir who doeth not homage to our King and regardeth not the choice of the people."

But wise and generous was Bove Derg, and he bade the warriors do no hurt to the offended prince.

For long years did Lir live in discontent, yielding obedience to none. But at length a great sorrow fell upon him, for his wife, who was dear unto him, died, and she had been ill but three days. Loudly did he lament her death, and heavy was his heart with sorrow.

When tidings of Lir's grief reached Bove Derg, he was surrounded by his mightiest chiefs. "Go forth," he said, "in fifty chariots go forth. Tell Lir I am his friend as ever, and ask that he come with you hither. Three fair foster-children are mine, and one may he yet have to wife, will he but bow to the will of the people, who have chosen me their King."

When these words were told to Lir, his heart was glad. Speedily he called around him his train, and in fifty chariots set forth. Nor did they slacken speed until they reached the palace of Bove Derg by the Great Lake. And there at the still close of day, as the setting rays of the sun fell athwart the silver waters, did Lir do homage to Bove Derg. And Bove Derg kissed Lir and vowed to be his friend forever.

And when it was known throughout the Dedannan host that peace reigned between these mighty chiefs, brave men and fair women and little children rejoiced, and nowhere were there happier hearts than in the Green Isle of Erin.

Time passed, and Lir still dwelt with Bove Derg in his palace by the Great Lake. One morning the King said: "Full well thou knowest my three fair foster-daughters, nor have I forgotten my promise that one thou shouldst have to wife. Choose her whom thou wilt."

Then Lir answered: "All are indeed fair, and choice is hard. But give unto me the eldest, if it be that she be willing to wed."

And Eve, the eldest of the fair maidens, was glad, and that day was she married to Lir, and after two weeks she left the palace by the Great Lake and drove with her husband to her new home.

Happily dwelt Lir's household and merrily sped the months. Then were born unto Lir twin babes. The girl they called Finola, and her brother did they name Aed.

Yet another year passed and again twins were born, but before the infant boys knew their mother, she died. So sorely did Lir grieve for his beautiful wife that he would have died of sorrow, but for the great love he bore his motherless children.

When news of Eve's death reached the palace of Bove Derg by the Great Lake all mourned aloud, for love of Eve and sore pity for Lir and his four babes. And Bove Derg said to his mighty chiefs: "Great, indeed is our grief, but in this dark hour shall Lir know our friendship. Ride forth, make known to him that Eva, my second fair foster-child, shall in time become his wedded wife and shall cherish his lone babies."

So messengers rode forth to carry these tidings to Lir, and in time Lir came again to the palace of Bove Derg by the Great Lake, and he married the beautiful Eva and took her back with him to his little daughter, Finola, and to her three brothers, Aed and Fiacra and Conn.

Four lovely and gentle children they were, and with tenderness did Eva care for the little ones who were their father's joy and the pride of the Dedannans.

As for Lir, so great was the love he bore them, that at early dawn he would rise, and, pulling aside the deerskin that separated his sleeping-room from theirs, would fondle and frolic with the children until morning broke.

And Bove Derg loved them well-nigh as did Lir himself. Ofttimes would he come to see them and ofttimes were they brought to his palace by the Great Lake.

And through all the Green Isle, where dwelt the Dedannan people, there also was spread the fame of the beauty of the children of Lir.

Time crept on, and Finola was a maid of twelve summers. Then did a wicked jealousy find root in Eva's heart, and so did it grow that it strangled the love which she had borne her sister's children. In bitterness she cried: "Lir careth not for me; to Finola and her brothers hath he given all his love."

And for weeks and months Eva lay in bed planning how she might do hurt to the children of Lir.

At length, one midsummer morn, she ordered forth her chariot, that with the four children she might come to the palace of Bove Derg.

When Finola heard it, her fair face grew pale, for in a dream had it been revealed unto her that Eva, her stepmother, should that day do a dark deed among those of her own household. Therefore was Finola sore afraid, but only her large eyes and pale cheeks spake her woe, as she and her brothers drove along with Eva and her train.

On they drove, the boys laughing merrily, heedless alike of the black shadow resting on their stepmother's brow, and of the pale, trembling lips of their sister. As they reached a gloomy pass, Eva whispered to her attendants: "Kill, I pray you, these children of Lir, for their father careth not for me, because of his great love for them. Kill them, and great wealth shall be yours."

But the attendants answered in horror: "We will not kill them. Fearful, O Eva, were the deed, and great is the evil that will befall thee, for having it in thine heart to do this thing."

Then Eva, filled with rage, drew forth her sword to slay them with her own hand, but too weak for the monstrous deed, she sank back in the chariot.

Onward they drove, out of the gloomy pass into the bright sunlight of the white road. Daisies with wide-open eyes looked up into the blue sky overhead. Golden glistened the buttercups among the shamrock. From the ditches peeped forget-me-not. Honeysuckle scented the hedgerows. Around, above, and afar, caroled the linnet, the lark, and the thrush. All was color and sunshine, scent and song, as the children of Lir drove onward to their doom.

Not until they reached a still lake were the horses unyoked for rest. There Eva bade the children undress and go bathe in the waters. And when the children of Lir reached the water's edge, Eva was there behind them, holding in her hand a fairy wand. And with the wand she touched the shoulder of each. And, lo! as she touched Finola, the maiden was changed into a snow-white swan, and behold! as she touched Aed, Fiacra, and Conn, the three brothers were as the maid. Four snow-white swans floated on the blue lake, and to them the wicked Eva chanted a song of doom.

As she finished, the swans turned toward her, and Finola spake:

"Evil is the deed thy magic wand hath wrought, O Eva, on us the children of Lir, but greater evil shall befall thee, because of the hardness and jealousy of thine heart." And Finola's white swan-breast heaved as she sang of their pitiless doom.

The song ended, again spake the swan-maiden: "Tell us, O Eva, when death shall set us free."

And Eva made answer: "Three hundred years shall your home be on the smooth waters of this lone lake. Three hundred years shall ye pass on the stormy waters of the sea betwixt Erin and Alba, and three hundred years shall ye be tempest-tossed on the wild Western Sea. Until Decca be the Queen of Largnen, and the good saint come to Erin, and ye hear the chime of the Christ-bell, neither your plaints nor prayers, neither the love of your father Lir, nor the might of your King, Bove Derg, shall have power to deliver you from your doom. But lone white swans though ye be, ye shall keep forever your own sweet Gaelic speech, and ye shall sing, with plaintive voices, songs so haunting that your music will bring peace to the souls of those who hear. And still beneath your snowy plumage shall beat the hearts of Finola, Aed, Fiacra and Conn, and still forever shall ye be the children of Lir."



Then did Eva order the horses to be yoked to the chariot, and away westward did she drive.

And swimming on the lone lake were four white swans.

When Eva reached the palace of Bove Derg alone, greatly was he troubled lest evil had befallen the children of Lir.

But the attendants, because of their great fear of Eva, dared not to tell the King of the magic spell she had wrought by the way. Therefore Bove Derg asked, "Wherefore, O Eva, come not Finola and her brothers to the palace this day?"

And Eva answered: "Because, O King, Lir no longer trusteth thee, therefore would he not let the children come hither."

But Bove Derg believed not his foster-daughter, and that night he secretly sent messengers across the hills to the dwelling of Lir.

When the messengers came there, and told their errand, great was the grief of the father. And in the morning with a heavy heart he summoned a company of the Dedannans, and together they set out for the palace of Bove Derg. And it was not until sunset as they reached the lone shore of Lake Darvra, that they slackened speed.

Lir alighted from his chariot and stood spellbound. What was that plaintive sound? The Gaelic words, his dear daughter's voice more enchanting even than of old, and yet, before and around, only the lone blue lake. The haunting music rang clearer, and as the last words died away, four snow-white swans glided from behind the sedges, and with a wild flap of wings flew toward the eastern shore. There, stricken with wonder, stood Lir.

"Know, O Lir," said Finola, "that we are thy children, changed by the wicked magic of our stepmother into four white swans." When Lir and the Dedannan people heard these words, they wept aloud.