And when a big person or a child had a little bit of this magic mirror in his eye, he saw only what was mean and ugly; and if the tiniest grain of the glass reached his heart, alas! alas! it froze all the kindness and gentleness and love that was there, and the heart became like a lump of ice.

This is what had happened to poor little Kay. One tiny bit of the magic mirror had flown into his eye; another had entered his heart.

"How horrid you look, Gerda. Why are you crying? And oh, see the worm in that rose. Roses are ugly, and so are window-boxes." And Kay kicked the window-box, and knocked two roses from the rose-bush.

"Kay dear, what is the matter?" asked Gerda.

The little boy did not answer, but broke off another rose, and then, without saying good-by, stepped in at his own window, leaving Gerda alone.

The next time the little girl brought out the picture-book, Kay tore the leaves, and when the grandmother told them a story, he interrupted her and made ugly faces. And he would tread on Gerda's toes and pull her hair, and make faces at her, too.

"How cruel little Kay grows," said his friends; for he mocked the old people and ill-treated those who were weak. And all through the blue summer and the yellow autumn Kay teased little Gerda, or left her that he might play with the bigger children in the town.

But it was when winter came, and the big white snowflakes once more fell from a gray sky, that Gerda felt loneliest, for Kay now drew on his thick gloves, slung his little sledge across his back, and marched off alone. "I am going to ride in the square," he shouted in her ear as he passed. But Gerda could not answer; she could only think of the winters that had gone, when she and Kay always sat side by side in that same little sledge. How happy they had been! Oh, why, why had he not taken her with him?

Kay walked briskly to the square, and there he watched the bolder of the boys tie their sledges to the farmers' carts. With what glee they felt themselves being drawn over the snow-covered ground! When they reached the town gates they would jump out, unfasten their sledges, and return to the square to begin the fun all over again.

Kay was thinking how much he would like to tie his little sledge behind a cart, when a big sledge, painted white, drove by. In it sat some one muffled in a white fur coat and cap. Twice the sledge drove round the square.

As it passed Kay the second time, he quickly fastened on his little sledge behind, and in a moment found himself flying through the streets. What fun! On and on through snowdrifts, bounding over ditches, rushing down hills, faster and faster they flew.

Little Kay grew frightened. Twice he tried to unfasten the string that tied his sledge to the other, but both times the white driver turned round and nodded to him to sit still. At last they had driven through the town gates. The snow fell so heavily that it blinded him. Now he could not see where they were going, and Kay grew more frightened still. He tried to say his prayers, but could only remember the multiplication table. Bigger and bigger grew the snowflakes, till they seemed like large white birds. Then, suddenly, the sledge stopped. The driver stood up. She was a tall lady, dazzlingly white. Her eyes shone like two stars. She was the Snow Queen.

"It is cold," said the white lady; "come into my sledge. Now, creep inside my furs."

Kay did as he was told, but he felt as if he had fallen into a snowdrift.

"You are still cold," said the Snow Queen, and she kissed his forehead. Her lips were like ice, and Kay shivered and felt the old pain at his heart. But only for a minute, for the Snow Queen kissed him again, and then he forgot the pain, and he forgot Gerda, and he forgot his grandmother and his old home, and had not a thought for anything or any one but the Snow Queen.

He had no fear of her now, no, not although they flew up and up on a dark cloud, away over woods and lakes, over rivers, islands, and seas. No, he was not afraid, although the cold wind whistled around them, and beneath the wild wolves howled. Kay did not care.

Above them the moon shone bright and clear. All night long the boy would gaze at it and the twinkling stars, but by day he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.

* * *

But what of little Gerda?

Poor child, she watched and she waited and she wondered, but Kay did not come, and nobody could tell her where he was. The boys had seen him drive out of the town gates behind a big sledge painted white. But no one had heard of him since.

Little Gerda cried bitterly. Perhaps Kay was drowned in the river. Oh, what a long, cold winter that was! But spring came at last, bright spring with its golden sunshine and its singing birds.

"Kay is dead," said Gerda.

"Kay dead? It is not true," said the sunshine.

"Kay dead? We do not believe it," twittered the swallows.

And neither did little Gerda believe it.

"I will put on my new red shoes," said the child one morning, "and go to the river and ask it about Kay." So she put on her little red shoes, and kissed her old grandmother who was still asleep, and wandered alone, out beyond the town gates, and down to the river-bank.

"Have you taken my little playfellow?" she asked. "I will give you these if you will bring him back to me," and she flung her little shoes into the river.

They fell close to the bank and the little waves tossed them back on to the dry pebbles at her feet. "We do not want you, we will keep Kay," they seemed to say.

"Perhaps I did not throw them far enough," thought Gerda; and, stepping into a boat that lay among the rushes, she flung the red shoes with all her might into the middle of the river.

But the boat was not fastened and it glided out from among the rushes. Soon it was drifting faster and faster down the river. The little shoes floated behind.

"Perhaps I am going to little Kay," thought Gerda, as she was carried farther and farther down the river. How pretty it was! Trees waved and flowers nodded on its banks. Sheep grazed and cattle browsed, but not one soul, big or little, was to be seen.

After a long time Gerda came to a cherry-garden which stretched down to the river-bank. At the end of this garden stood a tiny cottage with a thatched roof, and with red, blue, and yellow glass windows.

On either side of the door stood a wooden soldier. Gerda thought the soldiers were alive, and shouted to them.

The wooden soldiers, of course, did not hear, but an old, old woman, who lived in the tiny house, wondered who it could be that called. She hobbled out, leaning on her hooked stick. On her head she wore a big sun-hat, and on it were painted beautiful flowers.

"You poor child," said the old, old woman, walking straight into the river, and catching hold of the boat with her hooked stick; "you poor dear!" And she pulled the boat ashore and lifted out little Gerda on to the green grass.

Gerda was delighted to be on dry land again, but she was a little bit afraid of the old, old woman, who now asked her who she was and where she came from.

"I am looking for Kay, little Kay. Have you seen him?" began Gerda, and she went on to tell the old, old woman the whole story of her playmate and his strange disappearance. When she had finished, she asked again, "Have you seen him?"

"No," said the old, old woman, "but I expect him. Come in," and she took little Gerda by the hand. "Come to my house and taste my cherries." And when they had gone into the cottage, the old, old woman locked the door. Then she gave Gerda a plate of the most delicious cherries, and while the little girl ate them, the old, old woman combed her hair with a golden comb.

Now this old, old woman was a witch, and the comb was a magic comb, for as soon as it touched her hair, Gerda forgot all about Kay. And this was just what the witch wished, for she was a lonely old woman, and would have liked Gerda to become her own little girl and stay with her always.

Gerda did enjoy the red cherries, and, while she was still eating them, the old, old woman stole out to the garden and waved her hooked stick over the rose-bushes and they quickly sank beneath the brown earth. For Gerda had told her how fond Kay had once been of their little rose-bushes in the balcony, and the witch was afraid the sight of roses would remind the little girl of her lost playmate. But now that the roses had vanished, Gerda might come into the garden.

How the child danced for joy past the lilies and bluebells, how she suddenly fell on her knees to smell the pinks and mignonette, and then danced off again, in and out among the sunflowers and hollyhocks!

Gerda was perfectly happy now, and played among the flowers until the sun sank behind the cherry-trees. Then the old, old woman again took her by the hand, and led her to the little house. And she undressed her and put her into a little bed of white violets, and there the little girl dreamed sweet dreams.

The next day and the next again and for many more Gerda played among the flowers in the garden.

One morning, as the old woman sat near, Gerda looked at her hat with the wonderful painted flowers. Prettiest of all was a rose.

"A rose! Why, surely I have seen none in the garden," thought Gerda, and she danced off in search.

But she could find none, and in her disappointment hot tears fell. And they fell on the very spot where the roses had grown, and as soon as the warm drops moistened the earth, the rose-bushes sprang up.

"You are beautiful, beautiful," she said; but in a moment the tears fell again, for she thought of the rose-bushes in the balcony, and she remembered Kay.

"Oh Kay, dear, dear Kay, is he dead?" she asked the roses.

"No, he is not dead," they answered, "for we have been beneath the brown earth, and he is not there."

"Then where, oh, where is he?" and she went from flower to flower whispering, "Have you seen little Kay?"

But the flowers stood in the sunshine, dreaming their own dreams, and these they told the little maiden gladly, but of Kay they could not tell her, for they knew nothing.

Then the little girl ran down the garden path until she came to the garden gate. She pressed the rusty latch. The gate flew open, and Gerda ran out on her little bare feet into the green fields. And she ran, and she ran, until she could run no longer. Then she sat down on a big stone to rest.

"Why, it must be autumn," she said sorrowfully, as she looked around. And little Gerda felt sorry that she had stayed so long in the magic garden, where it was always summer.

"Why have I not been seeking little Kay?" she asked herself, and she jumped up and trudged along, on and on, out into the great wide world.

* * *

At last the cold white winter came again, and still little Gerda was wandering alone through the wide world, for she had not found little Kay.

"Caw, caw," said a big raven that hopped on the stone in front of her. "Caw, caw."

"Have you seen little Kay?" asked Gerda, and she told the bird her sad story.

"It may have been Kay," said the raven, "I cannot tell. But if it was, he will have forgotten you now that he lives with the princess."

"Does he live with a princess?" asked Gerda.

"Yes, he does. If you care to listen, I will tell you how it came about. In this kingdom lives a princess so clever that she has read all the newspapers in the world, and forgotten them again. Last winter she made up her mind to marry. Her husband, she said, must speak well. He must know the proper thing to say, and say it prettily. Otherwise she would not marry. I assure you what I say is perfectly true, for I have a tame sweetheart who lives at court, and she told me the whole story.

"One day it was published in the newspapers that any handsome young man might go to the palace to speak to the princess. The one who spoke most prettily and answered most wisely should be chosen as her husband. What a stir there was! Young men flocked to the palace in crowds, chattering as they came. But when they saw the great staircase, and the soldiers in their silver uniform, and the grand ladies in velvet and lace, they could only talk in whispers. And when they were led before the beautiful princess, who was seated on a pearl as big as a spinning-wheel, they were silent. She spoke to them, but they could think of nothing to say, so they repeated her last words over and over again. The princess did not like that, and she——"

"But Kay, little Kay, did he come?" interrupted Gerda.

"You are in too great a hurry," said the raven; "I am just coming to that. On the third day came a boy with sparkling eyes and golden hair, but his clothes were shabby. He——"

"Oh, that would be Kay. Dear, dear Kay, I have found him at last."

"He had a knapsack on his back, and——"

"No, it must have been a sledge," again interrupted Gerda.

"I said he had a knapsack on his back, and he wore boots that creaked, but——"

"Oh, then it must be Kay, for he had new boots. I heard them creak through our attic wall when——"

"Little girl, do not interrupt, but listen to me. He wore boots that creaked, but even that did not frighten him. He creaked up the great staircase, he passed the soldiers in silver uniform, he bowed to the ladies in velvet and lace, and still he was quite at his ease. And when he was led before the beautiful princess who was seated on a pearl as big as a spinning-wheel, he answered so prettily and spoke so wisely that she chose him as her husband."

"Indeed, indeed it was Kay," said little Gerda. "He was so clever. He could do arithmetic up to long division. Oh, take me to him."

"I will see what can be done," said the raven. "I will talk about it to my tame sweetheart. She will certainly be able to advise us. Wait here by the stile," and the raven wagged his head and flew off.

It was growing dark before he returned. "Here is a roll my tame sweetheart sent you. 'The little maiden must be hungry,' she said. As for your going to the palace with those bare feet—the thing is impossible. The soldiers in silver uniform would not let you go up the great stair. But do not cry. My sweetheart knows a little back staircase. She will take you to the prince and princess. Follow me."



On tiptoe little Gerda followed the raven, as he hopped across the snow-covered field and up the long avenue that led to the palace garden. And in the garden they waited silently until the last light had gone out. Then they turned along the bare walk that led to the back door. It stood wide open.

Oh, how little Gerda's heart beat, as on the tips of her little bare toes she followed the raven up the dimly lighted back staircase!

On the landing at the top burned a small lamp. Beside it stood the tame sweetheart.

Gerda curtsied as her grandmother had taught her.

"He," said the tame sweetheart, nodding to the raven of the field, "he has told me your story. It has made me sad. But if you carry the lamp, I will lead the way, and then we shall see——"

"We shall see little Kay," murmured Gerda.

"Hush! we shall see what we shall see," said the tame sweetheart.

Through room after room Gerda followed her strange guide, her heart thumping and thumping so loudly that she was afraid some one in the palace would hear it and wake.

At last they came to a room in which stood two little beds, one white and one red. The tame sweetheart nodded to the little girl.

Poor Gerda! she was trembling all over, as she peeped at the little head that rested on the pillow of the white bed.

Oh! that was the princess.

Gerda turned to the little red bed. The prince was lying on his face, but the hair, surely it was Kay's hair. She drew down the little red coverlet until she saw a brown neck. Yes! it was Kay's neck, she felt sure.

"Kay, Kay, it is I, little Gerda, wake, wake."

And the prince awoke. He turned his head. He opened his eyes—and—alas! alas! it was not little Kay.

Then Gerda cried and cried as if her heart would break. She cried until she awoke the princess, who started up bewildered.

"Who are you, little girl, and where do you come from, and what do you want?"

"Oh, I want Kay, little Kay, do you know where he is?" And Gerda told the princess all her story, and of what the ravens had done to help her.

"Poor little child," said the princess, "how sad you must feel!"

"And how tired," said the prince, and he jumped out of his little red bed, and made Gerda lie down.

The little girl was grateful indeed. She folded her hands and was soon fast asleep.

And Gerda dreamed of Kay. She saw him sitting in his little sledge, and it was dragged by angels. But it was only a dream, and, when she awoke, her little playmate was as far away as ever.

The ravens were now very happy, for the princess said that, although they must never again lead any one to the palace by the back staircase, this time they should be rewarded. They should for the rest of their lives live together in the palace garden, and be known as the court ravens, and be fed from the royal kitchen.

When little Gerda awoke from her dreams, she saw the sunbeams stealing across her bed. It was time to get up.

The court ladies dressed the little girl in silk and velvet, and the prince and princess asked her to stay with them at the palace. But Gerda begged for a little carriage, and a horse, and a pair of boots, that she might again go out into the great wide world to seek little Kay.

So they gave her a pair of boots and a muff, and when she was dressed, there before the door stood a carriage of pure gold. The prince himself helped Gerda to step in, and the princess waved to her as she drove off.

But although Gerda was now a grand little girl, she was very lonely. The coachman and footman in the scarlet and gold livery did not speak a word. She was glad when the field raven flew to the carriage and perched by her side. He explained that his wife, for he was now married, would have come also, but she had eaten too much breakfast and was not well. But at the end of three miles the raven said good-by, and flapping his shiny black wings, flew into an elm. There he watched the golden carriage till it could no longer be seen.

Poor Gerda was lonely as ever! There were gingernuts and sugar-biscuits and fruit in the carriage, but these could not comfort the little girl.

When would she find Kay?

* * *

In a dark forest lived a band of wild robbers. Among them was an old robber-woman, with shaggy eyebrows and no teeth. She had one little daughter.

"Look, look! what is that?" cried the little robber-girl one afternoon, as something like a moving torch gleamed through the forest. It was Gerda's golden carriage. The robbers rushed toward it, drove away the coachman and the footman, and dragged out the little girl.

"How plump she is! You will taste nice, my dear," the old woman said to Gerda, as she drew out her long, sharp knife. It glittered horribly. "Now, just stand still, so, and—oh! stop, I say, stop," screamed the old woman, for at that moment her daughter sprang upon her back and bit her ear. And there she hung like some savage little animal. "Oh, my ear, my ear, you bad, wicked child!" But the woman did not now try to kill Gerda.

Then the robber-child said, "Little girl, I want you myself, and I want to ride beside you." So together they stepped into the golden carriage and drove deep into the wood. "No one will hurt you now, unless I get angry with you," said the robber-girl, putting her arm round Gerda. "Are you a princess?"

"No," said Gerda, and she told the robber-girl all her story. "Have you seen little Kay?" she ended.

"Never," said the robber-girl, "never." Then she looked at Gerda and added, "No one shall kill you even if I am angry with you. I shall do it myself." And she dried Gerda's eyes. "Now this is nice," and she lay back, her red hands in Gerda's warm, soft muff.

At last the carriage stopped at a robber's castle. It was a ruin. The robber-girl led Gerda into a large, old hall and gave her a basin of hot soup. "You shall sleep there to-night," she said, "with me and my pets."

Gerda looked where the robber-girl pointed, and saw that in one corner of the room straw was scattered on the stone floor.

"Yes, you shall see my pets. Come, lie down now."

And little Gerda and the robber-girl lay down together on their straw bed. Above, perched on poles, were doves.

"Mine, all mine," said the little robber-girl. Jumping up, she seized the dove nearest her by the feet and shook it till its wings flapped. Then she slung it against Gerda's face. "Kiss it," she said. "Yes, all mine; and look," she went on, "he is mine, too;" and she caught by the horn a reindeer that was tied to the wall. He had a bright brass collar round his neck. "We have to keep him tied or he would run away. I tickle him every night with my sharp knife, and then he is afraid;" and the girl drew from a hole in the wall a long knife, and gently ran it across the reindeer's neck. The poor animal kicked, but the little robber-girl laughed, and then again lay down on her bed of straw.

"But," said Gerda, with terror in her eyes, "you are not going to sleep with that long, sharp knife in your hand?"

"Yes, I always do," replied the robber-girl; "one never knows what may happen. But tell me again all about Kay, and about your journey through the wide world."

And Gerda told all her story over again. Then the little robber-girl put one arm round Gerda's neck, and with her long knife in the other, she fell sound asleep.

But Gerda could not sleep. How could she, with that sharp knife close beside her? She would try not to think of it. She would listen to the doves. "Coo, coo," they said. Then they came nearer.

"We have seen little Kay," they whispered. "He floated by above our nest in the Snow Queen's sledge. She blew upon us as she passed, and her icy breath killed many of us."

"But where was little Kay going? Where does the Snow Queen live?" asked Gerda.

"The reindeer can tell you everything," said the doves.

"Yes," said the reindeer, "I can tell you. Little Kay was going to the Snow Queen's palace, a splendid palace of glittering ice, away in Lapland."

"Oh, Kay, little Kay!" sighed Gerda.

"Lie still, or I shall stick my knife into you," said the little robber-girl.

And little Gerda lay still, but she did not sleep. In the morning she told the robber-girl what the doves and the reindeer had said.

The little robber-girl looked very solemn and thoughtful. Then she nodded her head importantly. At last she spoke, not to Gerda, but to the reindeer.

"I should like to keep you here always, tied by your brass collar to that wall. Then I should still tickle you with my knife, and have the fun of seeing you kick and struggle. But never mind. Do you know where Lapland is?"

Lapland! of course the reindeer knew. Had he not been born there? Had he not played in its snow-covered fields? As the reindeer thought of his happy childhood, his eyes danced.

"Would you like to go back to your old home?" asked the robber-girl.

The reindeer leaped into the air for joy.

"Very well, I will soon untie your chain. Mother is still asleep. Come along, Gerda. Now, I am going to put this little girl on your back, and you are to carry her safely to the Snow Queen's palace. She must find her little playfellow." And the robber-girl lifted Gerda up and tied her on the reindeer's back, having first put a little cushion beneath her. "I must keep your muff, Gerda, but you can have mother's big, black mittens. Come, put your hands in. Oh, they do look ugly."

"I am going to Kay, little Kay," and Gerda cried for joy.

"There is nothing to whimper about," said the robber-girl. "Look! here are two loaves and a ham." Then she opened wide the door, loosened the reindeer's chain, and said, "Now run."

And the reindeer darted through the open door, Gerda waving her blackmittened hands, and the little robber-girl calling after the reindeer, "Take care of my little girl."

On and on they sped, over briers and bushes, through fields and forests and swamps. The wolves howled and the ravens screamed. But Gerda was happy. She was going to Kay.

* * *

The loaves and the ham were finished, and Gerda and the reindeer were in Lapland.

They stopped in front of a little hut. Its roof sloped down almost to the ground, and the door was so low that to get into the hut one had to creep on hands and knees. How the reindeer squeezed through I cannot tell, but there he was in the little hut, telling an old Lapp woman who was frying fish over a lamp, first his own story and then the sad story of Gerda and little Kay.

"Oh, you poor creatures," said the Lapp woman, "the Snow Queen is not in Lapland at present. She is hundreds of miles away at her palace in Finland. But I will give you a note to a Finn woman, and she will direct you better than I can." And the Lapp woman wrote a letter on a dried fish, as she had no paper.

Then, when Gerda had warmed herself by the lamp, the Lapp woman tied her on to the reindeer again, and they squeezed through the little door and were once more out in the wide world.

On and on they sped through the long night, while the blue northern lights flickered in the sky overhead, and the crisp snow crackled beneath their feet.

At last they reached Finland and knocked on the Finn woman's chimney, for she had no door at all. Then they squeezed down the chimney and found themselves in a very hot little room.

The old woman at once loosened Gerda's things, and took off her mittens and boots. Then she put ice on the reindeer's head. Now that her visitors were more comfortable she could look at the letter they brought. She read it three times and then put it in the fish-pot, for this old woman never wasted anything.

There was silence for five minutes, and then the reindeer again told his story first, and afterward the sad story of Gerda and little Kay.

Once more there was silence for five minutes, and then the Finn woman whispered to the reindeer. This is what she whispered: "Yes, little Kay is with the Snow Queen, and thinks himself the happiest boy in the world. But that is because a little bit of the magic mirror is still in his eye, and another tiny grain remains in his heart. Until they come out, he can never be the old Kay. As long as they are there, the Snow Queen will have him in her power."

"But cannot you give Gerda power to overcome the Snow Queen?" whispered the reindeer.

"I cannot give her greater power than she has already. Her own loving heart has won the help of bird and beast and robber-girl, and it is that loving heart that will conquer the Snow Queen. But this you can do. Carry little Gerda to the palace garden. It is only two miles from here. You will see a bush covered with red berries. Leave Gerda there and hurry back to me."

Off sped the reindeer.

"Oh, my boots and my mittens!" cried Gerda.

But the reindeer would not stop. On he rushed through the snow until he came to the bush with the red berries. There he put Gerda down and kissed her, while tears trickled down his face. Then off he bounded, leaving the little girl standing barefoot on the crisp snow.

Gerda stepped forward. Huge snowflakes were coming to meet her. They did not fall from the sky. No, they were marching along the ground. And what strange shapes they took! Some looked like white hedgehogs, some like polar bears. They were the Snow Queen's soldiers.

Gerda grew frightened. But she did not run away. She folded her hands and closed her eyes. "Our Father which art in heaven," she began, but she could get no further. The cold was so great that she could not go on. She opened her eyes, and there, surrounding her, was a legion of bright little angels. They had been formed from her breath, as she prayed, "Our Father which art in heaven." And the bright little angels shivered into a hundred pieces the snowflake army, and Gerda walked on fearlessly toward the palace of the Snow Queen.

* * *

Little Kay sits alone in the great ice hall. He does not know that he is blue with cold, for the Snow Queen has kissed away the icy shiverings and left his heart with no more feeling than a lump of ice.

And this morning she has flown off to visit the countries of the south, where the grapes and the lemons grow.

"It is all so blue there," she had said, "I must go and cast my veil of white across their hills and meadows." And away she flew.

So Kay sits in the great ice hall alone. Chips of ice are his only playthings, and now he leaves them on the ice-floor and goes to the window to gaze at the snowdrifts in the palace garden. Great gusts of wind swirl the snow past the windows. Kay can see nothing. He turns again to his ice toys.

Outside, little Gerda struggles through the biting wind, then, saying her morning prayer, she enters the vast hall. At a glance she sees the lonely boy. In a twinkling she knows it is Kay. Her little bare feet carry her like wings across the ice floor. Her arms are round his neck.

"Kay, dear, dear Kay!"

But Kay does not move. He is still and cold as the palace walls.

Little Gerda bursts into tears, hot, scalding tears. Her arms are yet round Kay's neck, and her tears fall upon his heart of ice. They thaw it. They reach the grain of glass, and it melts away.

And now Kay's tears fall hot and fast, and as they pour, the tiny bit of glass passes out of his eye, and he sees, he knows, his long-lost playmate.

"Little Gerda, little Gerda!" he cries, "where have you been, where have you been, where are we now?" and he shivers as he looks round the vast cold hall.

But Gerda kisses his white cheeks, and they grow rosy; she kisses his eyes, and they shine like stars; she kisses his hands and feet, and he is strong and glad.

Hand in hand they wander out of the ice palace. The winds hush, the sun bursts forth. They talk of their grandmother, of their rose-trees.

The reindeer has come back, and with him there waits another reindeer. They stand by the bush with the red berries.

The children bound on to their backs, and are carried first to the hut of the Finn woman, and then on to Lapland. The Lapp woman has new clothes ready for them, and brings out her sledge. Once more Kay and Gerda are sitting side by side. The Lapp woman drives, and the two reindeer follow. On and on they speed through the white-robed land. But now they leave it behind. The earth wears her mantle of green.

"Good-by," they say to the kind Lapp woman; "good-by" to the gentle reindeer.

Together the children enter a forest. How strange and how sweet the song of the birds!

A young girl on horseback comes galloping toward them. She wears a scarlet cap, and has pistols in her belt. It is the robber-girl.

"So you have found little Kay."

Gerda smiles a radiant smile, and asks for the prince and princess.

"They are traveling far away."

"And the raven?"

"Oh, the raven is dead. But tell me what you have been doing, and where you found little Kay."

The three children sit down under a fir-tree, and Gerda tells of her journey through Lapland and Finland, and how at last she had found little Kay in the palace of the Snow Queen.

"Snip, snap, snorra!" shouts the robber-girl, which is her way of saying "Hurrah!" Then, promising that if ever she is near their town, she will pay them a visit, off she gallops into the wide world.

On wander the two children, on and on. At last they see the tall towers of the old town where they had lived together. Soon they come to the narrow street they remember so well. They climb the long, long stair, and burst into the little attic.

The rose-bush is in bloom, and the sun pours in upon the old grandmother, who reads her Bible by the open window.

Kay and Gerda take their two little stools and sit down one on either side of her, and listen to the words from the Good Book. As they listen, a great peace steals into their souls.

And outside it is summer—warm, bright, beautiful summer.



THE MASTER-MAID

Once there was a King who had a son, and this Prince would not stay at home, but went a long, long way off to a very far country. There he met a Giant; and though it seems a strange thing for a King's son to do, the Prince went to the Giant's house to be his servant, and the Giant gave the Prince a room, to sleep in, which, very strangely, had a door on every side. However, the Prince thought little of this, for he was very tired, and he went quickly to bed, and slept soundly all night.

Now, the Giant had a large herd of goats; and very likely the Prince thought the Giant would send him to herd the goats. But the Giant did nothing of the sort. In the morning he prepared to take the goats to pasture himself; but before he set out he told the Prince that he expected him to clean the stable before he came back in the evening.

"I am a very easy master," said the Giant, "and that is all I expect you to do. But remember, I expect the work to be well done." Then, before he reached the door, he turned back and said, in a threatening way: "You are not to open a single one of the doors in your room. If you do, I shall kill you."

Then the Giant shut the door in a way that seemed to say, "I mean every word I have said," and he went off with his goats, and left the Prince alone.

When he was gone, the Prince drummed for a while with his fingers on the window. Then, when the Giant and his flock had gone out of sight, he began to walk about the room, whistling to himself and looking at the forbidden doors.

The house seemed silent and lonely, and he really had nothing to do. To clean a stable with only one stall seemed a very small task for a sturdy boy like him.

At last he said to himself: "I wonder what the Giant keeps behind those doors? I think I shall look and see."

If the Giant had been there the Prince would have paid dear for his curiosity; but he was far away, and the Prince boldly opened the first door, and inside he saw a huge pot, or cauldron, boiling away merrily.

"What a strange thing," said the Prince; "there is no fire under the pot. I must go in and see it!"

And into the room he went, and bent down to see what queer soup it was that boiled without a fire. As he did so, a lock of his hair dipped into the pot; and when he raised his head, the lock looked like bronze. The cauldron was full of boiling copper.

He went out and closed the door carefully behind him; and, wondering if there was a copper pot in the next room, he opened the second door. There was a cauldron inside, boiling merrily; but there was no fire to be seen. He went over and looked into the pot; and as it did not look exactly like the first one, he dipped in another lock. When he raised his head, up came the lock, weighted heavily with silver. The cauldron was full of boiling silver.

Wondering greatly at the Giant's riches, the Prince went out, closed the door very carefully, and opened the third door. He almost tip-toed into this room, he was so curious; but he went through the same performance. And when he raised his head from the third pot that boiled without a fire, the third lock of hair was like a heavy tassel of gold. The third pot was full of boiling gold.

Full of amazement at the Giant's great riches, the Prince hurried out of the room, and closed the door with the greatest care. By this time he was so full of curiosity that he ran as fast as he could to the fourth door. And yet he scarcely dared to open it to see the riches he was sure it hid behind it.

However, he opened it, very gently and very quietly; and there on the bench, in the window, looking out, sat a beautiful maiden.

Although the door opened very quietly, she heard the sound, and looked up. And when she saw the handsome young Prince standing in the doorway, she started toward him, and cried in great distress: "O boy, boy! why have you come here?"

The Prince told her he had come to serve the Giant, and found him a very easy master. Indeed, he said the Giant had given him nothing to do that day but clean the stable.

The maiden told him that if he tried to clean it as everyone else did, he would never finish the work, because for every pitchforkful he threw out, ten would come back.

The thing to do, she said, was to use the handle of his pitchfork, and the work would soon be done.

The Prince said he would follow her advice; and then they sat all day and talked of pleasant things. Indeed, they liked each other so well that they very soon settled that they would get married.

When it came toward evening, the maiden reminded the Prince that the Giant would soon be home. So the youth went out to clean the stable. First, he tried to do the work as any other boy would do it; but when he found that in a very short time he would not have room to stand, he quickly turned the pitchfork around and used the handle. In a few moments the stable was as clean as a stable could be. Then he went back to his room and wandered about it with his hands in his pockets, looking quite as innocent as if he had not raised the latch of a single door.

Soon the Giant came in and asked if his work was done. The Prince said it was. Of course, the Giant did not believe him; but he went out to see. When he came back he said very decidedly to the Prince: "You have been talking to my Master-Maid. You could not have learned how to clean that stable yourself."

But the Prince made himself appear as if he had never heard of the maiden before, and asked such stupid questions that the Giant went away satisfied, and left him to sleep.

Next morning, before the Giant set out with his goats, he again told the Prince that he would find he was an easy master: all he had to do that day was to catch the Giant's horse that was feeding on the mountain-side. And having set him this task, the Giant said that if the Prince opened one of the doors he would kill him. Then he took his staff, and was soon out of sight.

Quick as the Giant disappeared, the Prince, who had no more interest in the other rooms, opened the fourth door. The maiden asked him about his day's task; and when she heard it; she told the Prince that the horse would rush at him with flame bursting from its nostrils, and its mouth wide open to tear him. But, she said, if he would take the bridle that hung on the crook by the door, and fling it straight into the horse's mouth, the beast would become quite tame. He promised to do so; and they talked all day of pleasant things. And when it came toward evening the maiden reminded him that the Giant would soon be home.

So the Prince went out to catch the horse; and everything happened as the maiden said. But when the fiery horse rushed at him with open mouth he watched his opportunity, and just at the right moment he flung the bridle in between its teeth, and the horse stood still. Then the Prince mounted it and rode it quietly home. He put the horse in the stable, and went to his room, sat down and whistled to himself as if he did not know there was a maiden in the world.

Very soon the Giant came in, and asked about the horse, and the Prince said very quietly that it was in the stable. The Giant did not believe him; but he went to see, and again accused the Prince of having been talking to his Master-Maid.

The Prince pretended to be stupid, and asked silly questions, and said he would like to see the maid. "You shall see her soon enough," the Giant promised, and went away and left the Prince to go to sleep.

The next day, before the Giant set out, he told the Prince to go down underground and fetch his taxes. Then he warned the Prince not to touch the doors, and went off with his goats.

No sooner was he out of sight than the Prince rushed to the maiden, and asked her how he was to find his way underground to get the taxes, and how much he should ask for. She took him to the window and pointed out a rocky ledge. He must go there, she said, take a club that hung beside it, and knock on the rocky wall. As soon as he did so, a fiery monster would come out, and ask his errand.

"But remember," said the maiden, "when he asks how much you want, you are to say: 'As much as I can carry.'"

The Prince promised to do as she said, and they sat down close together and talked until the evening of what they would do when they escaped from the Giant and went home to get married.

When evening came the maiden reminded the Prince of the Giant's coming, and he went to get the money from the fiery monster. Everything happened as the maiden said; and when the monster, with sparks flying everywhere from him, asked fiercely, "How much do you want?" the Prince was not in the least afraid, but said: "As much as I can carry."

"It is a good thing you did not ask for a horse-load," said the monster; and he took the Prince in and filled a sack, which was as much as the Prince could do to carry. Indeed, that was nothing to what the Prince saw there, for gold and silver coins lay around, inside the mountain, like pebbles on the seashore.

The Prince carried the money back to the Giant's house; and when the Giant reached home, the Prince sat quietly in his room, whistling softly, just as if he had never risen from his seat since the Giant left.

The Giant demanded the money for his taxes. "Here it is," said the Prince, showing him the bursting sack. The Giant examined the money, and then again accused the Prince of having been talking to the Master-Maid.

"Master," said the Prince, "this is the third day you have talked about the Master-Maid. Will you let me see her?"

The Giant looked at the Prince from under his bushy eyebrows, and said: "It is time enough to-morrow. I will show her to you myself, and you will see quite enough of her," and he went off and left the Prince to his sleep.

But next morning, early, the Giant strode into the Prince's room, and saying, "Now I will take you to see the Master-Maid," he opened the door of the fourth room, beckoned the Prince to follow him in, and said to the maiden: "Kill this youth, boil him in the large cauldron, and when the broth is ready, call me."

Then, just as if he had said nothing more startling than "Prepare some cauliflower for dinner," he lay down on the bench and fell so fast asleep that his snores sounded like thunder.



Immediately the maiden began to make her preparations very neatly and quickly. First, with a little knife she made a small gash in the Prince's little finger and dropped three drops of his blood on the wooden stool, near the cauldron. Then she gathered up a lot of rubbish, such as old shoes and rags, and put them in the cauldron with water and pepper and salt. Last of all, she packed a small chest with gold, and gave it to the Prince to carry; filled a water-flask; took a golden cock and hen, and put a lump of salt and a golden apple in her pocket. Then the maid and the Prince ran to the sea-shore as fast as they could, climbed on board a little ship that had come from no-one-knows-where, and sailed away.

After a while the Giant roused a little, and said sleepily: "Will it soon boil?"

The first drop of blood answered quietly: "It is just beginning." And the Giant went to sleep again.

At the end of a few hours more he roused again and asked: "Will it soon be ready?"

And the second drop said: "Half done," in the maiden's mournful voice, for she had seen so many dark deeds done that, until the Prince came, she was always sad.

Again the Giant went to sleep, for several hours; but then he became quite awake, and asked: "Is it not done yet?"

The third drop said: "Quite ready." And the Giant sat up, and looked around. The maiden was nowhere to be seen, but the Giant went over to the pot and tasted the soup.

At once he knew what had happened, and in a furious rage rushed to the sea, but he could not get over it. So he called up his water-sucker, who lay down and drank two or three draughts; and the water fell so low that the horizon dropped, and the Giant could see the maiden and the Prince a long way off.

But the Master-Maid told the Prince to throw the lump of salt into the sea, and as soon as he did so it became such a high mountain that the Giant could not cross it, and the water-sucker could not gather up any more water.

Then the Giant called his hill-borer, who bored a tunnel through the mountain, so that the sucker could go through and drink up more water.

Then the maiden told the Prince to scatter a few drops from the water-bottle into the sea. As soon as he did so the sea filled up, and before the water-sucker could drink one drop, they were at the other side, safe in the kingdom of the Prince's father.

The Prince did not think it was fitting that his bride should walk to his palace, so he said he would go and fetch seven horses and a carriage to take her there. The maiden begged him not to go, because, she said, he would forget her; but he insisted. Then she asked him to speak to no one while he was away, and on no account to taste anything; and he promised that he would go straight to the stable for the horses, and without speaking a word to anyone, would come straight back.

When he got to the palace he found it full of a merry company, for his brother was going to be married to a lovely princess, who had come from a far-off land. But in answer to their cries of welcome and questions the Prince said no word, and only shook his head when they offered him food, until the pretty laughing young sister of the bride-to-be rolled a bright red apple across the courtyard to him. Laughing back at her, he picked it up, and without thinking bit into it. Immediately he forgot the Master-Maid, who had saved his life and was now sitting alone on the seashore waiting for him.

She waited until the night began to grow dark; then she went away into the wood near the palace to find shelter. There she found a dark hut, owned by a Witch, who at first would not allow her to stay. The Witch's hard heart, however, was softened by the maiden's gold, and she allowed her to have the hut.

Then the maid flung into the fire a handful of gold, which immediately melted and boiled all over the hut, and gilded the dark, dingy walls. The Witch was so frightened that she ran away, and the maid was left alone in the little gilded house.

The next morning the Sheriff was passing through the wood, and stopped to see the gilded house. At once he fell in love with the beautiful maiden, and asked her to marry him. The maiden asked if he had a great deal of money, and the Sheriff said he had a good deal, and went away to fetch it. In the evening he came back with a two-bushel bag of gold; and as he had so much, the maiden seemed to think she would marry him.

But as they were talking she sprang up, saying she had forgotten to put coal on the fire. The Sheriff went to do it for her, and immediately she put a spell on him so that until morning came, he could not let the shovel go, and had to stand all night pouring red hot coals over himself. In the morning he was a sad sight to see, and hurried home so fast, to hide himself, that people thought he was mad.

The next day the Attorney passed by, and the same thing happened. The Attorney brought a four-bushel sack of money to show the maid how rich he was; and while they were talking the maid said she had forgotten to close the door, so the Attorney went to close it. When he had his hand on the latch the maid cried: "May you hold the door, and the door you, and may you go between wall and wall, till day dawns."

And all night long the Attorney had to rush back and forth, trying to escape from the blows of the door which he could not let go. He made a great deal of noise, but the maid slept as soundly as if she were in the midst of calm. In the morning the Attorney escaped, and went home so bruised-and-battered looking that everyone stopped and stared at him.

The next day the Bailiff saw the bright little house and the maid. He at once fell in love with her, and brought at least six bushels of money to show how rich she would be, if she married him. The maid seemed to think she would; but while they were talking she suddenly remembered to tie up the calf.

The Bailiff went to do it for her, and she put a spell on him, so that all night long he had to fly over hill and dale holding on to the calf's tail, which he could by no means let go. In the morning he was a sorry sight, as he limped slowly home, with torn coat and ragged boots at which everyone looked, for he was always dressed very neatly.

While all this was happening, the Prince had quite forgotten the maid; and, indeed, it was arranged that he was to marry the young Princess who had thrown him the apple on the same day that his brother married her sister.



But when the two Princes and their brides were seated in the carriage the trace-pin broke, and no pin could be got that would not break, until the Sheriff thought of the maiden's shovel-handle. The King sent to borrow it, and it made a pin that did not break in two.

Then a curious thing happened: the bottom of the carriage fell out, and as fast as a new one was made it fell to pieces. However, the Attorney thought of the maiden's door. The King sent to borrow it, and it fitted the bottom of the carriage exactly.

Everything was now ready, and the coachman cracked his whip; but, strain as they would, the horses could not move the carriage. At last the Bailiff thought of the Master-Maid's calf; and although it was a very ridiculous thing to see the King's carriage drawn by a calf, the King sent to borrow it. The maiden, who was very obliging, lent it at once. The calf was harnessed to the carriage, and away it went over stock and stone, pulling horse and carriage as easily and quickly as it had pulled the Bailiff.

When they got to the church door the carriage began to go round and round so quickly that it was very difficult and dangerous to get out of it.

When they were seated at the wedding feast, the Prince said he thought they ought to invite the maiden who lived in the gilded hut, because without her help they could not have got to the church at all. The King thought so too; so they sent five courtiers to ask her to the feast.

"Greet the King," replied the maid, "and tell him if he is too good to come to me, I am too good to go to him."

So the King had to go himself and invite her; and as they went to the palace he thought she was something else than what she seemed to be.

So he put her in the place of honor beside the Prince; and after a while the Master-Maid took out the golden cock and hen and the golden apple, which she had brought from the Giant's house, and put them on the table.

At once the cock and hen began to fight.

"Oh! look how those two there are fighting for the apple," said the Prince.

"Yes, and so did we fight to get out of danger," said the Master-Maid.

Then the Prince knew her again. The Witch who had thrown him the apple disappeared, and now for the first time they began really to keep the wedding.



CAP O' RUSHES[J]

Well, there was once a very rich gentleman who had three daughters, and he thought he'd see how fond they were of him. So he says to the first:

"How much do you love me, my dear?"

"Why," says she, "as I love my life."

"That's good," says he.

So he says to the second: "How much do you love me, my dear?"

"Why," says she, "better nor all the world."

"That's good," says he.

So he says to the third: "How much do you love me, my dear?"

"Why, I love you as fresh meat loves salt," says she.

Well, but he was angry! "You don't love me at all," says he, "and in my house you stay no more." So he drove her out, there and then, and shut the door in her face.

Well, she went away, on and on, till she came to a fen, and there she gathered a lot of rushes and made them into a kind of a sort of a cloak, with a hood, to cover her from head to foot, and to hide her fine clothes.

And then she went on and on till she came to a great house.

"Do you want a maid?" says she.

"No, we don't," said they.

"I haven't nowhere to go," says she; "and I ask no wages, and will do any sort of work," says she.

"Well," said they, "if you like to wash the pots and scrape the saucepans you may stay," said they.

So she stayed there, and washed the pots, and scraped the saucepans, and did all the dirty work. And because she gave no name they called her "Cap o' Rushes."

Well, one day there was to be a great dance a little way off, and the servants were allowed to go and look on at the grand people. Cap o' Rushes said she was too tired to go, so she stayed at home.

But when they were gone, she offed with her cap o' rushes, and cleaned herself, and went to the dance. And no one there was so finely dressed as she!

Well, who should be there but her master's son, and what should he do but fall in love with her the minute he set eyes on her. He wouldn't dance with anyone else.

But before the dance was done, Cap o' Rushes slipped off and away she went home. And when the other maids came back she was pretending to be asleep with her cap o' rushes on.

Well, next morning they said to her: "You did miss a sight, Cap o' Rushes!"

"What was that?" says she.

"Why, the beautifullest lady you ever saw, dressed right gay and ga'. The young master—he never took his eyes off her."

"Well, I should like to have seen her," says Cap o' Rushes.

"Well, there's to be another dance this evening, and perhaps she'll be there."

But, come the evening, Cap o' Rushes said she was too tired to go with them. Howsoever, when they were gone, she offed with her cap o' rushes, cleaned herself, and away she went to the dance.

The master's son had been reckoning on seeing her, and he danced with no one else, and never took his eyes off her. But before the dance was over she slipped off and home she went, and when the maids came back she pretended to be asleep with her cap o' rushes on.

Next day they said to her again: "Well, Cap o' Rushes, you should have been there to see the lady. There she was again, gay and ga', and the young master—he never took his eyes off her."

"Well, there," says she, "I should ha' liked to ha' seen her."

"Well," says they, "there's a dance again this evening, and you must go with us, for she's sure to be there."

Well, come this evening, Cap o' Rushes said she was too tired to go; and do what they would she stayed at home. But when they were gone, she offed with her cap o' rushes and cleaned herself, and away she went to the dance.

The master's son was rarely glad when he saw her. He danced with none but her, and never took his eyes off her. When she wouldn't tell him her name, nor where she came from, he gave her a ring, and told her if he didn't see her again he should die.

Well, before the dance was over, off she slipped, and home she went; and when the maids came home she was pretending to be asleep with her cap o' rushes on.

Well, next day they says to her: "There, Cap o' Rushes, you didn't come last night, and now you won't see the lady, for there's no more dances."

"Well, I should have rarely liked to have seen her," says she.

The master's son he tried every way to find out where the lady was gone; but go where he might, and ask whom he might, he never heard anything about her. And he got worse and worse for the love of her, till he had to keep to his bed.

"Make some gruel for the young master," they said to the cook. "He's dying for the love of the lady." The cook set about making it, when Cap o' Rushes came in.

"What are you a-doing of?" says she.

"I'm going to make some gruel for the young master," says the cook, "for he's dying for love of the lady."

"Let me make it," says Cap o' Rushes.

Well, the cook wouldn't at first, but at last she said yes, and Cap o' Rushes made the gruel. And when she had made it she slipped the ring into it on the sly before the cook took it upstairs.

The young man he drank it, and then he saw the ring at the bottom.

"Send for the cook," says he.

So up she came.

"Who made this gruel here?" says he.

"I did," says the cook, for she was frightened.

And he looked at her.

"No, you didn't," says he. "Say who did it, and you shan't be harmed."

"Well, then, 't was Cap o' Rushes," says she.

"Send Cap o' Rushes here," says he.

So Cap o' Rushes came.

"Did you make my gruel?" says he.

"Yes, I did," says she.

"Where did you get this ring?" says he.

"From him that gave it me," says she.

"Who are you, then?" says the young man.

"I'll show you," says she. And she offed with her cap o' rushes, and there she was in her beautiful clothes.

Well, the master's son he got well very soon, and they were to be married in a little time. It was to be a very grand wedding, and everyone was asked, far and near. And Cap o' Rushes' father was asked. But she never told anybody who she was.

But before the wedding, she went to the cook, and says she:

"I want you to dress every dish without a mite of salt."

"That'll be rare nasty," says the cook.



"That doesn't signify," said she.

Well, the wedding day came, and they were married. And after they were married all the company sat down to the dinner. When they began to eat the meat, it was so tasteless they couldn't eat it. But Cap o' Rushes' father tried first one dish and then another, and then he burst out crying.

"What's the matter?" said the master's son to him.

"Oh!" says he, "I had a daughter. And I asked her how much she loved me. And she said, 'As much as fresh meat loves salt.' And I turned her from my door, for I thought she didn't love me. And now I see she loved me best of all. And she may be dead for aught I know."

"No, father, here she is!" said Cap o' Rushes. And she goes up to him and puts her arms round him.

And so they were all happy ever after.

[J] From "English Fairy Tales," collected by Joseph Jacobs; used by permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons.



FULFILLED

It was Christmas eve, and in the great house on the hill there was much rejoicing and preparation for the feasting on the morrow. A knock came at the door, and two strangers stood there. "We have lost our way," they said, "and the night is dark and cold, and we do not know where to go, and we would be glad to be allowed to stay for the night."

But the farmer and his wife said "No!" very shortly. They had no room for beggars.

So the strangers went to the foot of the hill where stood the small cottage of a laborer and his wife. In this house there was much happiness, but there was no preparation for feasting on the morrow. They were poor folk, who could not keep the feast.

But when the strangers came the laborer opened the door wide and bade them enter and draw near the fire and warm themselves. And, because there was but one bed in the house, the laborer and his wife gave that to their guests, and themselves slept on straw in an outer room; but, strange to say, they never slept better in all their lives.

In the morning they urged the strangers to stay with them, as it was a feast-day, and a sorry time for travelers to be on the road. And, because there was no meat in the house, the laborer went out and killed the one goat which they owned, and his wife dressed it, and cooked it, and made a feast. Then the strangers and the laborer and his wife went to church together, and all came home and sat down to the good dinner.

And when they were departing one of the strangers said to the laborer: "How many horns had the little goat?"

The laborer looked a bit confused, for he had not meant that his guests should know that he had sacrificed his last goat for them, but he answered: "Why, there were but two, of course."

"Then," said the guests, "you and your wife shall have two wishes, one for each of you."

The laborer and his wife looked at each other, at first in perplexity, and then they smiled. They were very contented, they said. They had looked into each other's eyes, and had seen that which made for happiness and contentment. So they told the guests that they had no wishes to make: if they might but have their daily bread, and the hope of heaven when they died, there was nothing more.

The strangers said that these things should certainly be fulfilled, and took their leave, promising to come again next year, and spend the night, and attend church, and share the feast with their friends.

From that day on everything that the laborer and his wife did prospered. Their pigs were fat, and brought good prices on the market; their corn grew thick and tall, and the barns were filled with golden grain; their hens laid more and bigger eggs than ever before, so that soon the couple were no longer poor, but prosperous.

They knew quite well to whom they owed such good fortune, and often spoke about it, and looked forward to the time when their friends should come again next year. For it seemed to them that they could hardly enjoy the good things that had been given to them until they had thanked those through whose favor the good fortune had come.

Now, the farmer and his wife remembered that these strangers had first come to them; and when they heard the story they were envious, for, although they were rich, they were not content.

So one day the farmer went down the hill to the laborer's cottage and said:

"After all, your house is but small to entertain such guests. When they come again this year, send them up to our house, and we will give them a grand feast, and soft beds to sleep on, and take them to the church in our fine carriage."

The laborer and his wife thought that it was very nice that their friends were to be so well entertained, and were very willing to promise to send them to the house of the farmer.

So when the Christmas season was come the farmer and his wife killed an ox, and prepared a great feast. And when the strangers came they were right royally entertained; but the next morning they said that they must hasten, as they were to enter the church with the friends of the year before. This was very satisfactory to the farmer and his wife, for they did not want to go to church on Christmas Day, but the farmer said that since the strangers were going to the church he would drive them there in his carriage.

So the finest horses on the farm were harnessed to the carriage and it stood at the door. And just as they were about to drive away one of the strangers turned to the farmer, asking: "Did you kill the ox for us?"

"Oh, yes," answered the farmer, eagerly.

"And how many horns did he have?"

This was the question that the farmer and his wife had been waiting for, and the farmer's wife whispered in her husband's ear: "Say four—there will be that much more for us."

So the farmer answered: "Indeed, it was a very peculiar ox; it had four horns."

"Then," said the stranger, "you shall have four wishes, two for each of you."

Then they mounted into the carriage and were driven off to the church, the farmer driving very fast, for he was eager to get back home to his wife so that they might talk over what they were to wish for.

So when he started back the horses were pretty well "blown," and could not go fast, and the farmer whipped them, and at last one of them stumbled and a trace broke. This was most provoking, and he could not wait to fix it right, but fastened it hastily, for he wanted to be at home again. Then the other horse stumbled, and the other trace broke, so both of them were down.

At this the farmer was very angry. "The wicked elves take you! I wish—" But the words were not all out of his mouth before the horses had gone, leaving the harness dangling to the carriage.

The farmer was indeed angry now, but there was nothing to be done about it, and he knew that he had but one wish left and he wanted to make that one very carefully, so he packed the harness on his back, left the wagon standing, and started home on foot.

Now, at home the farmer's wife was very impatient for him to come, for she wanted to talk over with him what her two wishes should be, and at last she exclaimed: "Oh, I wish that he would hurry!"

No sooner were the words spoken than the farmer shot through the air and into the house, angry at having been brought so speedily, and at his wife for having so foolishly wasted a wish. So immediately they began to quarrel about it, and the farmer said that it was all her fault for making him lie about the number of horns on the ox.

"Plague take the woman!" he exclaimed, "I wish that two of the horns were growing out of her head this minute!"

No sooner were the words spoken than the woman threw her hands to her head and cried aloud in pain, for two horns were growing rapidly, one on each side of her head, and soon they were pushing through her hair and shoving her cap aside.

But the farmer clapped his hand to his mouth exclaiming: "Oh, that was my last wish. Do you now quickly wish for a million dollars!"

"Much good a million dollars would do me!" said his wife, "with horns on my head like an ox!"

"But you could buy bonnets of silk and of velvet and cover them up," pleaded her husband, who saw his last hope of riches disappearing, as, indeed, it did, for he had hardly stopped speaking when his wife exclaimed: "I wish that the horns were gone off of my head."

And in a moment the horns were gone, and so was the last wish, and so was the hope for great riches, and so, also, were the two fine horses!



KING GRISLY-BEARD

RETOLD FROM THE BROTHERS GRIMM

Once there was a great King who had a daughter that was very beautiful, but so haughty and vain she thought none of the Princes who came to ask her in marriage were good enough for her, and she made sport of them.

One day the King, her father, held a great feast, and invited all the Princes at once. They sat in a row, according to their rank—Kings and Princes and Dukes and Earls. Then the Princess came in, and passed down the line by them all; but she had something disagreeable to say to every one. The first was too fat. "He's as round as a tub!" she said. The next one was too tall. "What a flag-pole!" she declared. The next was too short. "What a dumpling!" was her comment. The fourth was too pale, and so she called him "Wall-face." The fifth was too red, and was named "Coxcomb."

Thus she had some joke upon every one, but she laughed more than all at a good King who was there. "Look at him," said she; "his beard is like an old mop. I call him 'Grisly-Beard.'" So after that the good King got the nickname of "Grisly-Beard."

Now the old King, her father, was very angry when he saw how badly his daughter behaved, and how she treated all his friends. So he said that, willing or unwilling, she should marry the first beggar that came to the door! All the Kings and Nobles heard him say this.

Two days afterward a traveling singer came by. When he began to sing and beg alms the King heard him and said: "Let him come in." So they brought in a dirty-looking fellow, and he sang before the King and the Princess. When he begged a gift the King said: "You have sung so well that I will give you my daughter for your wife."



The Princess begged for mercy, but her father said: "I shall keep my word." So the parson was sent for, and she was married to the singer. Then the King said: "You must get ready; you can't stay here any longer; you must travel on with your husband."

Then the beggar departed and took his wife with him.

Soon they came to a great wood. "Whose wood is this?" she asked.

"It belongs to King Grisly-Beard," said he. "If you had taken him this would have been yours."

"Ah, unlucky girl that I am! I wish I had taken King Grisly-Beard."

Next they came to some fine meadows. "Whose are these beautiful green meadows?" she asked.

"They belong to King Grisly-Beard. If you had taken him they would have been yours."

"Ah, unlucky girl that I am! I wish indeed I had married King Grisly-Beard."

Then they came to a great city. "Whose is this noble city?" she asked.

"It belongs to King Grisly-Beard," he said again. "If you had taken him this would have been yours, also."



"Ah, miserable girl that I am," she sighed. "Why did I not marry King Grisly-Beard?"

"That is no business of mine," said the singer.

At last they came to a small cottage. "To whom does this little hovel belong?" she asked.

"This is yours and mine," said the beggar. "This is where we are to live."

"Where are your servants?" she asked, falteringly.

"We cannot afford servants," said he. "You will have to do whatever is to be done. Now, make the fire and put on water and cook my supper."

The Princess knew nothing of making fires and cooking, and the beggar was forced to help her. Early the next morning he called her to clean the house.

Thus they lived for three days, and when they had eaten up all there was in the cottage, the man said: "Wife, we can't go on like this, spending money and earning nothing. You must learn to weave baskets." So he went out and cut willows, and brought them home and taught her how to weave. But it made her fingers very sore.

"I see that this will never do," said her husband; "try and spin. Perhaps you will do that better."

So she sat down and tried to spin, and her husband tried to teach her; but the threads cut her tender fingers till the blood ran.

"I am afraid you are good for nothing," said the man. "What a bargain I have got. However, I will try and set up a trade in pots and pans, and you shall stand in the market and sell them."

"Alas!" sighed she, "when I stand in the market, if any of my father's court pass by and see me there, how they will laugh at me!"

But the beggar said she must work, if she did not wish to die of hunger. At first, the trade went very well, for many people, seeing such a beautiful woman, bought her wares and paid their money without thinking of taking away the goods. Then her husband bought a fresh lot of ware, and she sat down one day with it in the corner of the market; but a drunken soldier came by and rode his horse against her stall, and broke her goods into a thousand pieces. So she began to weep: "Ah, what will become of me?" said she. "What will my husband say?" So she ran home and told him all.

"How silly you were," he said, "to put a china-stall in the corner of the market where everybody passes; but let us have no more crying. I see you are not fit for this sort of work; so I will go to the King's palace and ask if they do not want a kitchen-maid."

So the next day the Princess became a kitchen-maid, and helped the cook do all the dirtiest work.

She had not been there long before she heard that the eldest son of the King of that country was going to be married. She looked out of one of the windows and saw all the ladies and gentlemen of the court in fine array. Then she thought with a sore heart of her own sad fate. Her husband, it is true, had been in a way kind to her; but she realized now the pride and folly which had brought her so low.

All of a sudden, as she was going out to take some food to her husband in their humble cottage, the King's son in golden clothes broke through the crowd; and when he saw a beautiful woman at the kitchen door, he took her by the hand and said that she should be his partner in the dance.

Then she trembled for fear, for when she looked up she saw that it was King Grisly-Beard himself who was making fun of her. However, he led her into the ballroom, and as he did so the cover of her basket came off, so that the fragments of food in it fell to the floor. Then everybody laughed and jeered at her, and she wished herself a thousand feet deep in the earth.

She sprang to the door to run away; but King Grisly-Beard overtook her, brought her back, and threw his golden cloak over her shoulders.

"Do not be afraid, my dear," said he; "I am the beggar who has lived with you in the hut. I brought you there because I loved you. I am also the soldier who upset your stall. I have done all this to cure you of your pride. Now it is all over; you have learned wisdom, and it is time for us to hold our marriage feast."

Then the maids came and brought her the most beautiful robes, and her father and his whole court came in and wished her much happiness. The feast was grand, and all were merry; and I wish you and I had been of the party.





The Country Rat and the Town Rat



A Country Rat invited a Town Rat, an intimate friend, to pay him a visit, and partake of his country fare. As they were on the bare plough-lands, eating their wheat-stalks and roots pulled up from the hedge row, the Town Rat said to his friend, "You live here the life of the ants, while in my house is the horn of plenty. I am surrounded with every luxury, and if you will come with me, as I much wish you would, you shall have an ample share of my dainties." The Country Rat was easily persuaded, and returned to town with his friend. On his arrival, the Town Rat placed before him bread, barley, beans, dried figs, honey, raisins, and last of all, brought a dainty piece of cheese from a basket. The Country Rat being much delighted at the sight of such good cheer, expressed his satisfaction in warm terms, and lamented his own hard fate. Just as they were beginning to eat, some one opened the door, and they both ran off squeaking as fast as they could to a hole so narrow that two could only find room in it by squeezing. They had scarcely again begun their repast when someone else entered to take something out of a cupboard, on which the two Rats, more frightened than before, ran away and hid themselves. At last the Country Rat, almost famished, thus addressed his friend: "Although you have prepared for me so dainty a feast, I must leave you to enjoy it by yourself. It is surrounded by too many dangers to please me. I prefer my bare plough-lands and roots from the hedge row, so that I only can live in safety and without fear."

Peace is more desirable than wealth









THE FOX AND THE GOAT

A Fox one day tried to drink at a well when he caught his feet on a stone and fell into the water. It was not so deep as to drown him, yet the poor Fox could not get out. Soon a Goat came that way. He, too, thought he would drink, but then he saw the Fox in the well, so he said, "Is the water good?" "Oh, yes," said the Fox, "it is very good and nice, and there is a lot of it." In sprang the Goat, and at once the Fox sprang on to his back, and thence out of the well. "Ah, my friend!" said he, as he stood safe on the brink, "if your brains had been as large as your beard, you would have seen where you meant to jump to!" and then the sly Fox ran off and left the poor Goat in the well. Look before you leap.



THE TWO FROGS

Two Frogs were neighbors. The one inhabited a deep pond, far removed from public view; the other lived in a gully containing little water, and traversed by a country road. He that lived in the pond warned his friend, and entreated him to change his residence and come and live with him, saying that he could enjoy greater safety from danger and more abundant food. The other refused, saying that he felt it so very hard to remove from a place to which he had become accustomed. A few days afterward a heavy wagon passed through the gully, and crushed him to death under its wheels. A wilful man will have his way to his own hurt.



THE DOG IN THE MANGER

A cross Dog lay in a manger full of hay; and when the Ox came near to eat his own food, the rude and ill-bred cur at once began to snarl and bite at him. "What a selfish Beast thou art!" said the Ox; "thou canst not eat the hay thyself, nor wilt thou look on while others feed." Do not be selfish.



THE STAG AT THE POOL

One hot day, a Stag, who came down from the hills to quench his thirst at a pool of clear water, saw his form in the stream. "Ah!" said he, "what fine horns these are—with what grace do they rise above my head! I wish that all the parts of my body were as good as they. But sometimes I quite blush at these poor, thin, weak legs of mine." While he thought thus, all at once the cries of the huntsman and the bay of the hounds were heard. Away flew the Stag, and by the aid of these same thin, weak legs he soon outran the hunt. At last he found himself in a wood, and he had the bad luck to catch his fine horns in the branch of a tree, where he was held till the hounds came up and caught him. He now saw how foolish he had been in thinking so ill of his legs which would have brought him safely away, and in being so vain of those horns which had caused his ruin. The useful is better than the beautiful.



THE WAR-HORSE AND THE ASS

A War-Horse, grand in all the trappings of war, came with a great noise down the road. The ground rang with the sound of his hoofs. At the same time a meek Ass went with tired step down the same road with a great load on his back. The Horse cried to the poor Ass to "get out of my way, or I will crush you beneath my feet." The Ass, who did not wish to make the proud horse cross, at once went to the side, so that he might pass him. Not long after this, the Horse was sent to the wars. There he had the ill-luck to get a bad wound, and in that state, as he was not fit to serve in the field of war, his fine clothes were taken from him, and he was sold to the man with whom the Ass dwelt. Thus the Ass and the Horse met once more, but this time the grand War-Horse was, with great pains and toil, drawing a cart with a load of bricks. Then the Ass saw what small cause he had to think his lot worse than that of the Horse, who had in times gone by treated him with so much scorn. Pride will have a fall.



THE FROGS WHO WANTED A KING

In old times when the Frogs swam at ease through the ponds and lakes, they grew tired of their tame mode of life. They thought they would like some kind of change, so they all met and with much noise prayed to Jove to send them a King. Jove and all the gods laughed loud at the Frogs, and with a view to please them he threw to them a log, and said, "There is a King for you!" The loud fall of the log made a great splash in the lake, which sent a thrill through all the Frogs; and it was long ere they dared to take a peep at their new lord and King. At length some of the more brave swam to him, and they were soon followed by the rest; and when they saw that he did not move but lay quite still, they leaped upon his back, and sprang and sang on him, and cried out that he was no King but a log. Such a King did not at all please them; so they sent a fresh prayer to Jove to beg him for a King who had some life, and would move. Then Jove sent a Stork, and said he thought this would suit them. The Stork had but just come to the Frogs than he set to work to eat them up as fast as he could. Of course the Frogs did not like this new King even as well as King Log, and they sent at once to Jove and prayed to him to take away the Stork. They would rather have no King at all than all be eaten up. But Jove would not grant their prayer this time. "No," said he, "it was your own wish, and if you will be so vain and foolish, you must pay the cost." It is better to bear the ills we have than fly to those we know not of.





THE OX AND THE FROG

An ox, drinking at a pool, trod on a brood of young frogs, and crushed one of them to death. The mother coming up, and missing one of her sons, inquired of his brothers what had become of him.

"He is dead," said they; "for just now a very huge beast with four great feet came to the pool and crushed him with his cloven heel."

The frog, puffing herself out, inquired, "Was the beast as big as that in size?"

"Cease mother, to puff yourself out," said her son, "and do not be angry; for you would, I assure you, sooner burst than successfully imitate the hugeness of that monster."

To know the limitations of our nature, and act accordingly, is the part of wisdom.





THE HERON WHO WAS HARD TO PLEASE

A heron having bolted down too large a fish, burst its deep gullet-bag and lay down on the shore to die. A kite seeing it, exclaimed: "You richly deserve your fate; for a bird of the air has no business to seek its food from the sea."

Everyone should be content to mind his own business.





THE SHEPHERD BOY AND THE WOLF

A Shepherd Boy, who tended his sheep in a field near a village, used to make fun of his friends by crying out now and then, "A Wolf! a Wolf!" as if a Wolf were at the heels of his sheep. This trick did well more than once. The men who were in the village would leave their work, and come in hot haste to the boy's help, each man with an axe or a club with which to kill the Wolf. But as each time they found that it was a Boy's joke, they made up their minds not to come at his cries. One day the Wolf did come; and the Boy cried and cried, "The Wolf! The Wolf! Help! Help!" But it was all in vain, each man thought he was at his old game again. So the Wolf ate the poor Sheep. No one trusts a liar even when he speaks the truth.



THE ASS, THE COCK, AND THE LION

An Ass and a Cock one day ate together just as a fine Lion passed by. As soon as he had cast his eyes on the Ass, he made up his mind to make a meal of him. But it is said that the Lion, though he is the King of Beasts, dreads to hear a cock crow. Now, it came to pass that, just as the Lion was in the act of springing on the Ass, the Cock sent forth a loud and shrill crow. The Lion took to his heels at once, and ran off as fast as he could. The Ass saw this, and thought that the Lion was running off through fear of him. So he gave a great bray, and threw up his head, and started to chase the runaway King of Beasts. But they had not gone far in this way when the Lion turned round. He soon saw that there was but an Ass behind him; so he stood still in his flight, laid hold of the poor Ass, and soon tore him to pieces. Pride oft leads to ruin.



THE LION, THE BEAR, AND THE FOX

A Lion and a Bear were roaming together in the wood when they found a dead Fawn. "This belongs to me," cried the Bear, for she had been the first to catch sight of it. "No! to me," said the Lion; "am I not the King of Beasts?" As they could not agree as to who should own the body of the Fawn, they fell to blows. The fight was hard and long; and at last both were so faint and weak with loss of blood that they lay down on the ground and panted, for they were quite out of breath. Just then a Fox went by, and saw that the Bear and the Lion had no strength left, so he quickly stepped in between them and bore off the Fawn as his prize. "Ah!" said they, "how foolish we have been! The end of all our fighting has been to give that sly scamp the Fox a good meal." Half a loaf is better than no bread.



THE HORSE AND THE STAG

The Horse had the plain entirely to himself. A Stag intruded into his domain, and shared his pasture. The Horse desiring to revenge himself on the stranger, requested a man, if he were willing to help him in punishing the Stag. The man replied, that if the Horse would receive a bit in his mouth, and agree to carry him, that he would contrive effectual weapons against the Stag. The Horse consented and allowed the man to mount him. From that hour he found that, instead of obtaining revenge on the Stag, he had enslaved himself to the service of man. Beware of him who demands pay for a courtesy.



THE LION AND THE BOAR

On a summer day, when the great heat induced a general thirst, a Lion and a Boar came at the same moment to a small well to drink. They fiercely disputed which of them should drink first, and were soon engaged in the agonies of a mortal combat. On their stopping on a sudden to take breath for the fiercer renewal of the strife, they saw some Vultures waiting in the distance to feast on the one which should fall first. They at once made up their quarrel, saying, "It is better for us to make friends than to become the food of Crows or Vultures."



THE HUNTSMAN AND THE FISHERMAN

A Huntsman, returning with his dogs from the field, fell in by chance with a Fisherman, bringing home a basket well laden with fish. The Huntsman wished to have the fish; and their owner experienced an equal longing for the contents of the game-bag. They quickly agreed to exchange the produce of their day's sport. Each was so well pleased with his bargain that for some time they made the same exchange day after day. A neighbor said to them, "If you go on in this way, you will soon destroy, by frequent use, the pleasure of your exchange, and each will again wish to retain the fruits of his own sport." Abstain and enjoy.





THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN

An ass, having put on the lion's skin, roamed about in the forest, and amused himself by frightening all the foolish animals he met with in his wanderings. At last, meeting a fox, he tried to frighten him also, but the fox no sooner heard the sound of his voice than he exclaimed: "I might possibly have been frightened myself, if I had not heard you bray."

Deceitfulness has too many ill-concealed marks to escape discovery by someone, sometime.











FROM DRAWINGS BY BESS BRUCE CLEVELAND











FROM DRAWINGS BY BESS BRUCE CLEVELAND





THE HARE and THE TORTOISE

A hare one day ridiculed the short feet and slow pace of the tortoise. The latter laughing, said: "Though you be swift as the wind, I will beat you in a race." The hare, deeming her assertion to be simply impossible assented to the proposal; and they agreed that the fox should choose the course and fix the goal. On the day appointed for the race they started together. The tortoise never for a moment stopped, but went on with a slow but steady pace straight to the end of the course. The hare, trusting to his native swiftness, cared little about the race, and lying down by the wayside, fell fast asleep. At last, waking up, and moving as fast as he could, he saw the tortoise had reached the goal, and was comfortably dozing after her fatigue.

Slow and steady wins the race.



THE FOX AND THE WOOD-CUTTER

A Fox, running before the hounds, came across a Wood-cutter felling an oak, and besought him to show him a safe hiding-place. The Wood-cutter advised him to take shelter in his own hut. The Fox crept in and hid himself in a corner. The huntsman came up with his hounds, in a few minutes, and inquired of the Wood-cutter if he had not seen the Fox. He declared that he had not seen him, and yet pointed, all the time he was speaking, to the hut where the Fox lay hid. The huntsman took no notice of the signs, but, believing his word, hastened forward in the chase. As soon as they were well away, the Fox departed without taking any notice of the Wood-cutter: whereon he called to him, and reproached him, saying, "You ungrateful fellow, you owe your life to me, and yet you leave me without a word of thanks." The Fox replied, "Indeed, I should have thanked you fervently, if your deeds had been as good as your words, and if your hands had not been traitors to your speech."



THE LION AND OTHER BEASTS ON A HUNT

The Lion and a lot of other Beasts made a plan to share whatever they caught when they went on a hunt. The first day they went out they took a fat Stag, which was cut up into three parts. The Lion said he would be the chief judge, and laid his paw on one of the shares, and thus spoke: "This first piece I claim as your lord and king; this part, too, I claim as the most brave and most fierce of you all; and as for the third," he cried, as he bent his big, bright eyes on the crowd of Beasts, "I mean to take that, too, and let me see which of you dare stop me!" Might is apt to make a right.



THE EAGLE AND THE ARROW

A man shot a shaft at an Eagle, and hit him in the heart. When in the pains of death, the Eagle saw that the dart was made in part with one of his own quills. "Ah!" said he, "how much more sharp are wounds which are made by arms which we have ourselves made!" It is sad to find that we are the cause of our own ills.



THE MOUSE AND THE FROG

One day a Mouse met a Frog, and so well did they like each other that they said they would travel together. The Frog feared lest the Mouse should come to harm, and so tied his own hind-leg to the fore-leg of the Mouse. After a walk of some days like this on land, they came to a pond. The Frog made a start to swim, and bade the Mouse be of good heart. When they had got half-way over, the Frog made a sharp plunge to the bottom—and of course took the Mouse with him. The poor Mouse tried so hard to get to the top of the water again, and made such a splash, and such a noise, that a Kite that was flying past heard it, flew down, caught the Mouse, bore him off, and took the Frog with him. Self-help is best.



THE WOLF AND THE GOAT

As a Goat stood on the top of a high rock, a Wolf who could not get at her where she was thus spoke to her: "Pray come down; I much fear that you will fall from that great height; and you will, too, find the grass down here much more fresh and thick." "I am much pleased by your kind thought," said the Goat, "but do not mind if I do not accept it, as I think that you think more of your own meal than of mine." Keep far from those you do not trust.



THE BAD DOG

There was once a Dog which was so fierce and bad that his master had to tie a big clog round his neck lest he should bite and tease men and boys in the street. The Dog thought that this was a thing to be proud of, so ran through the best known streets, and grew so vain that he scorned the dogs he met, and would not be seen with them. But one of them said in his ear, "You are wrong, my friend; the badge round your neck is a mark of shame, not a cause for pride." Some win fame only for their folly.



THE KID AND THE WOLF

A Kid who had left the side of her dam was caught by a Wolf. When she saw that the Wolf had got her fast, and that there was no chance of flight, the Kid said, "If my life is to be short, let it at least be gay. Do you pipe for a time, and I will dance." So the Wolf set to play and the Kid to dance; but the music was heard by some Dogs who were near, and they ran to find out what it was for. When the Wolf saw them on their way he ran off as fast as his legs could go, and then the Dogs took the Kid home to her dam. There is oft a slip between the cup and the lip.





THE FOX AND THE GRAPES

A famished fox saw some clusters of rich black grapes hanging from a trellised vine. She resorted to all her tricks to get them, but wearied herself in vain, for she could not reach high enough. At last, she turned away, beguiling herself of her disappointment by saying: "The grapes are sour, and not ripe as I thought."

Disappointment may be lightened by philosophy, even if the latter is wrong.







THE FOX AND THE RAVEN

A raven having stolen a bit of cheese, perched in a tree, and held it in her beak. A fox seeing her longed to possess himself of the cheese, and by wily stratagem succeeded. "How handsome is the raven," he exclaimed, "in the beauty of her shape, and in the fairness of her complexion! Oh, if her voice were only equal to her beauty, she would deservedly be considered the Queen of the birds!" This he said deceitfully; but the raven, anxious to refute the reflection cast upon her voice, set up a loud caw, and dropped the cheese. The fox quickly picked it up, and thus addressed the raven: "My good raven, your voice is right enough, but your wit is wanting."

Flattery is often a mask to hide evil.





THE BULL AND THE GOAT

A Bull fled from a Lion and ran into a cave where a Goat lived. The Goat tried to stop his entrance, and struck at him with his horns. The Bull, though cross at this, did not butt at the Goat on the spot, but just said, "Do not think that I fear you. Wait till the Lion is out of sight, and then I will treat you as you deserve." Never profit by the woes of others.



THE RAVEN AND THE SWAN

A Raven who did not like his black coat had the wish to grow as white as a Swan. So he left his old friends and haunts, and went to the streams and lakes, where he spent all his time washing and dressing his clothes; but all was of no use, he was just as black as ever; and as he had not had food that was good for him, he soon grew ill and died. We cannot change our skins.



THE THIEF AND THE DOG

One night a Thief came to a house that he meant to rob; but he knew that he had no chance to do this till he had made the Dog who took care of it quiet. So he threw to him some sops with the hope that that would stop his bark. "Get out will you!" cried the Dog; "I did not trust you from the first, but now I know that you mean no good!" Do not take a bribe to do wrong.