Now, every morning, a scavenger came to the ogre's dining-room to clear away the remains of the last night's feast, for the ogre was mighty fastidious, and could not bear the smell of old bones; and this particular morning, when the scavenger saw only half the quantity of bones, he was much astonished, and beginning to search for more, found the young Prince hard by, fast asleep, with the ogre's head by his side.

'Ho! ho!' thought the scavenger, 'this is a fine chance for me!'

So, lifting the Prince, who, being dead tired, did not awake, he put him gently into a clay-pit close by, and covered him up with clay. Then he took the ogre's head, and going to the King, claimed half the kingdom and the Princess in marriage, as his reward for slaying the ogre.

Although the King had his suspicions that all was not fair, he was obliged to fulfil his promise as far as giving up part of his kingdom was concerned, but for the present he managed to evade the dreadful necessity of giving his daughter in marriage to a scavenger, by the excuse that the Princess was desirous of a year's delay. So the Scavenger-king reigned over half the kingdom, and made great preparations for his future marriage.

Meanwhile, some potters coming to get clay from their pit were mightily astonished to find a handsome young man, insensible, but still breathing, hidden away under the clay. Taking him home, they handed him over to the care of their women, who soon brought him round. On coming to himself, he learnt with surprise of the scavenger's victory over the ogre, with which all the town was ringing. He understood how the wicked wretch had stepped in and defrauded him, and having no witness but his own word, saw it would be useless to dispute the point; therefore he gladly accepted the potters' offer of teaching him their trade.

Thus the Prince sat at the potters' wheel, and proved so clever, that ere long they became famous for the beautiful patterns and excellent workmanship of their wares; so much so, that the story of the handsome young potter who had been found in a clay-pit soon became noised abroad; and although the Prince had wisely never breathed a word of his adventures to any one, yet, when the news of his existence reached the Scavenger-king's ears, he determined in some way or another to get rid of the young man, lest the truth should leak out.

Now, just at this time, the fleet of merchant vessels which annually came to the city with merchandise and spices was detained in harbour by calms and contrary winds. So long were they detained that the merchants feared lest they should be unable to return within the year; and as this was a serious matter, the auguries were consulted. They declared that until a human sacrifice was made the vessels would never leave port. When this was reported to the Scavenger-king he seized his opportunity, and said, 'Be it so; but do not sacrifice a citizen. Give the merchants that good-for-nothing potter-lad, who comes no one knows whence.'



The courtiers of course lauded the kindness of the Scavenger-king to the skies, and the Prince was handed over to the merchants, who, taking him on board their ships, prepared to kill him. However, he begged and prayed them so hard to wait till evening, on the chance of a breeze coming up, that they consented to wait till sunset. Then, when none came, the Prince took a knife and made a tiny cut on his little finger. As the first drop of blood flowed forth, the sails of the first ship filled with wind, and she glided swiftly out of harbour; at the second drop, the second ship did likewise, and so on till the whole fleet were sailing before a strong breeze.

The merchants were enchanted at having such a valuable possession as the Prince, who could thus compel the winds, and took the very greatest care of him; before long he was a great favourite with them all, for he was really an amiable young man. At length they arrived at another city, which happened to be the very one where the Prince's brother had been elected King by the elephant, and while the merchants went into the town to transact business, they left the Prince to watch over the vessels. Now, growing weary of watching, the Prince, to amuse himself, began, with the clay on the shore beside him, to make a model from memory of his father's palace. Growing interested in his work, he worked away till he had made the most beautiful thing imaginable. There was the garden full of flowers, the King on his throne, the courtiers sitting round,—even the Princes learning in school, and the pigeons fluttering about the tower. When it was quite finished, the poor young Prince could not help the tears coming into his eyes, as he looked at it, and he sighed to think of past days.

Just at that very moment the Prime Minister's daughter, surrounded by her women, happened to pass that way. She looked at the beautiful model, and was wonderstruck, but when she saw the handsome, sad young man who sat sighing beside it, she went straight home, locked the doors, and refused to eat anything at all. Her father, fearing she was ill, sent to inquire what was wrong, whereupon she sent him this reply: 'Tell my father I will neither eat nor drink until he marries me to the young man who sits sighing on the sea-shore beside a king's palace made of clay.'

At first the Prime Minister was very angry, but seeing his daughter was determined to starve herself to death if she did not gain her point, he outwardly gave his consent; privately, however, arranging with the merchants that immediately after the marriage the bride and bridegroom were to go on board the ships, which were at once to set sail, and that on the first opportunity the Prince was to be thrown overboard, and the Princess brought back to her father.

So the marriage took place, the ships sailed away, and a day or two afterwards the merchants pushed the young man overboard as he was sitting on the prow. But it so happened that a rope was hanging from the bride's window in the stern, and as the Prince drifted by, he caught it and climbed up into her cabin unseen. She hid him in her box, where he lay concealed, and when they brought her food, she refused to eat, pretending grief, and saying, 'Leave it here; perhaps I may be hungry by and by.' Then she shared the meal with her husband.

The merchants, thinking they had managed everything beautifully, turned their ships round, and brought the bride and her box back to her father, who, being much pleased, rewarded them handsomely.

His daughter also was quite content, and having reached her own apartments, let her husband out of the box and dressed him as a woman-servant, so that he could go about the palace quite securely.

Now the Prince had of course told his wife the whole story of his life, and when she in return had related how the King of that country had been elected by the elephant, her husband began to feel sure he had found his long-lost brother at last. Then he laid a plan to make sure. Every day a bouquet of flowers was sent to the King from the Minister's garden, so one evening the Prince, in his disguise, went up to the gardener's daughter, who was cutting flowers, and said, 'I will teach you a new fashion of arranging them, if you like.' Then, taking the flowers, he tied them together just as his father's gardener used to do.

The next morning, when the King saw the bouquet, he became quite pale, and turning to the gardener, asked him who had arranged the flowers.

'I did, sire,' replied the gardener, trembling with fear.

'You lie, knave!' cried the King; 'but go, bring me just such another bouquet to-morrow, or your head shall be the forfeit!'

That day the gardener's daughter came weeping to the disguised Prince, and, telling him all, besought him to make her another bouquet to save her father's life. The Prince willingly consented, for he was now certain the King was his long-lost brother; and, making a still more beautiful bouquet, concealed a paper, on which his name was written, amidst the flowers.

When the King discovered the paper he turned quite pale, and said to the gardener, 'I am now convinced you never made this nosegay; but tell me the truth, and I will forgive you.'

Whereupon the gardener fell on his knees and confessed that one of the women-servants in the Prime Minister's palace had made it for his daughter. This surprised the King immensely, and he determined to disguise himself and go with the gardener's daughter to cut flowers in the Minister's garden, which he accordingly did; but no sooner did the disguised young Prince behold his brother than he recognised him, and wishing to see if power and wealth had made his brother forget their youthful affection, he parried all questions as to where he had learnt to arrange flowers, and replied by telling the story of his adventures, as far as the eating of the starling and the parrot. Then he declared he was too tired to proceed further that day, but would continue his story on the next. The King, though greatly excited, was accordingly obliged to wait till the next evening, when the Prince told of his fight with the demon and delivery by the potters. Then once more he declared he was tired, and the King, who was on pins and needles to hear more, had to wait yet another day; and so on until the seventh day, when the Prince concluded his tale by relating his marriage with the Prime Minister's daughter, and disguise as a woman.

Then the King fell on his brother's neck and rejoiced greatly; the Minister also, when he heard what an excellent marriage his daughter had made, was so pleased that he voluntarily resigned his office in favour of his son-in-law. So what the parrot and the starling had said came true, for the one brother was King, and the other Prime Minister.

The very first thing the King did was to send ambassadors to the court of the king who owned the country where the ogre had been killed, telling him the truth of the story, and saying that his brother, being quite satisfied as Prime Minister, did not intend to claim half the kingdom. At this, the king of that country was so delighted that he begged the Minister Prince to accept of his daughter as a bride, to which the Prince replied that he was already married, but that his brother the King would gladly make her his wife.

So there were immense rejoicings, but the Scavenger-king was put to death, as he very well deserved.



THE JACKAL AND THE IGUANA

One moonlight night, a miserable, half-starved jackal, skulking through the village, found a worn-out pair of shoes in the gutter. They were too tough for him to eat, so, determined to make some use of them, he strung them to his ears like earrings, and, going down to the edge of the pond, gathered all the old bones he could find together, and built a platform with them, plastering it over with mud.

On this he sat in a dignified attitude, and when any animal came to the pond to drink, he cried out in a loud voice, 'Hi! stop! You must not taste a drop till you have done homage to me. So repeat these verses, which I have composed in honour of the occasion:—­

'Silver is his daïs, plastered o'er with gold; In his ears are jewels,—some prince I must behold!'

Now, as most of the animals were very thirsty, and in a great hurry to drink, they did not care to dispute the matter, but gabbled off the words without a second thought. Even the royal tiger, treating it as a jest, repeated the jackal's rhyme, in consequence of which the latter became quite cock-a-hoop, and really began to believe he was a personage of great importance.



By and by an iguana, or big lizard, came waddling and wheezing down to the water, looking for all the world like a baby alligator.

'Hi! you there!' sang out the jackal; 'you mustn't drink until you have said—­

'Silver is his daïs, plastered o'er with gold; In his ears are jewels,—some prince I must behold!'

'Pouf! pouf! pouf!' gasped the iguana. 'Mercy on us, how dry my throat is! Mightn't I have just a wee sip of water first? and then I could do justice to your admirable lines; at present I am as hoarse as a crow!'

'By all means!' replied the jackal, with a gratified smirk. 'I flatter myself the verses are good, especially when well recited.'

So the iguana, nose down into the water, drank away, until the jackal began to think he would never leave off, and was quite taken aback when he finally came to an end of his draught, and began to move away.

'Hi! hi!' cried the jackal, recovering his presence of mind;' stop a bit, and say—­

'Silver is his daïs, plastered o'er with gold; In his ears are jewels,—some prince I must behold!'

'Dear me!' replied the iguana, politely, 'I was very nearly forgetting! Let me see—I must try my voice first—Do, re, me, fa, sol, la, si,—that is right! Now, how does it run?'

'Silver is his daïs, plastered o'er with gold; In his ears are jewels,—some prince I must behold!'

repeated the jackal, not observing that the lizard was carefully edging farther and farther away.

'Exactly so,' returned the iguana; 'I think I could say that!' Whereupon he sang out at the top of his voice—­

'Bones make up his daïs, with mud it's plastered o'er, Old shoes are his ear-drops: a jackal, nothing more!'

And turning round, he bolted for his hole as hard as he could.

The jackal could scarcely believe his ears, and sat dumb with astonishment. Then, rage lending him wings, he flew after the lizard, who, despite his short legs and scanty breath, put his best foot foremost, and scuttled away at a great rate.

It was a near race, however, for just as he popped into his hole, the jackal caught him by the tail, and held on. Then it was a case of 'pull butcher, pull baker,' until the lizard made certain his tail must come off, and the jackal felt as if his front teeth would come out. Still not an inch did either budge, one way or the other, and there they might have remained till the present day, had not the iguana called out, in his sweetest tones, 'Friend, I give in! Just leave hold of my tail, will you? then I can turn round and come out.'

Whereupon the jackal let go, and the tail disappeared up the hole in a twinkling; while all the reward the jackal got for digging away until his nails were nearly worn out, was hearing the iguana sing softly—­

'Bones make up his daïs, with mud it's plastered o'er, Old shoes are his ear-drops: a jackal, nothing more!'



THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF POOR HEN-SPARROW

Once upon a time there lived a cock-sparrow and his wife, who were both growing old. But despite his years the cock-sparrow was a gay, festive old bird, who plumed himself upon his appearance, and was quite a ladies' man. So he cast his eyes on a lively young hen, and determined to marry her, for he was tired of his sober old wife. The wedding was a mighty grand affair, and everybody as jolly and merry as could be, except of course the poor old wife, who crept away from all the noise and fun to sit disconsolately on a quiet branch just under a crow's nest, where she could be as melancholy as she liked without anybody poking fun at her.

Now while she sat there it began to rain, and after a while the drops, soaking through the crow's nest, came drip-dripping on to her feathers; she, however, was far too miserable to care, and sat there all huddled up and peepy till the shower was over. Now it so happened that the crow had used some scraps of dyed cloth in lining its nest, and as these became wet the colours ran, and dripping down on to the poor old hen-sparrow beneath, dyed her feathers until she was as gay as a peacock.

Fine feathers make fine birds, we all know, and she really looked quite spruce; so much so, that when she flew home, the new wife nearly burst with envy, and asked her at once where she had found such a lovely dress.

'Easily enough,' replied the old wife; 'I just went into the dyer's vat.'

The bride instantly determined to go there also. She could not endure the notion of the old thing being better dressed than she was, so she flew off at once to the dyer's, and being in a great hurry, went pop into the middle of the vat, without waiting to see if it was hot or cold. It turned out to be just scalding; consequently the poor thing was half boiled before she managed to scramble out. Meanwhile, the gay old cock, not finding his bride at home, flew about distractedly in search of her, and you may imagine what bitter tears he wept when he found her, half drowned and half boiled, with her feathers all awry, lying by the dyer's vat.

'What has happened?' quoth he.

But the poor bedraggled thing could only gasp out feebly—­

'The old wife was dyed— The nasty old cat! And I, the gay bride, Fell into the vat!'

Whereupon the cock-sparrow took her up tenderly in his bill, and flew away home with his precious burden. Now, just as he was crossing the big river in front of his house, the old hen-sparrow, in her gay dress, looked out of the window, and when she saw her old husband bringing home his young bride in such a sorry plight, she burst out laughing shrilly, and called aloud, 'That is right! that is right! Remember what the song says—­

'Old wives must scramble through water and mud, But young wives are carried dry-shod o'er the flood.'

This allusion so enraged her husband that he could not contain himself, but cried out,' Hold your tongue, you shameless old cat!'

Of course, when he opened his mouth to speak, the poor draggled bride fell out, and going plump into the river, was drowned. Whereupon the cock-sparrow was so distracted with grief that he picked off all his feathers until he was as bare as a ploughed field. Then, going to a pîpal tree, he sat all naked and forlorn on the branches, sobbing and sighing.

'What has happened?' cried the pîpal tree, aghast at the sight.

'Don't ask me!' wailed the cock-sparrow; 'it isn't manners to ask questions when a body is in deep mourning.'

But the pîpal would not be satisfied without an answer, so at last poor bereaved cock-sparrow replied—­

'The ugly hen painted. By jealousy tainted, The pretty hen dyed. Lamenting his bride, The cock, bald and bare, Sobs loud in despair!'

On hearing this sad tale, the pîpal became overwhelmed with grief, and declaring it must mourn also, shed all its leaves on the spot.

By and by a buffalo, coming in the heat of the day to rest in the shade of the pîpal tree, was astonished to find nothing but bare twigs.

'What has happened?' cried the buffalo; 'you were as green as possible yesterday!'

'Don't ask me!' whimpered the pîpal. 'Where are your manners? Don't you know it isn't decent to ask questions when people are in mourning?'

But the buffalo insisted on having an answer, so at last, with many sobs and sighs, the pîpal replied—­

'The ugly hen painted. By jealousy tainted, The pretty hen dyed. Bewailing his bride, The cock, bald and bare, Sobs loud in despair; The pîpal tree grieves By shedding its leaves!'

'Oh dear me!' cried the buffalo, 'how very sad! I really must mourn too!' So she immediately cast her horns, and began to weep and wail. After a while, becoming thirsty, she went to drink at the river-side.

'Goodness gracious!' cried the river, 'what is the matter? and what have you done with your horns?'

'How rude you are!' wept the buffalo. 'Can't you see I am in deep mourning? and it isn't polite to ask questions.'

But the river persisted, until the buffalo, with many groans, replied—­

'The ugly hen painted. By jealousy tainted, The pretty hen dyed. Lamenting his bride, The cock, bald and bare, Sobs loud in despair; The pîpal tree grieves By shedding its leaves; The buffalo mourns By casting her horns!'

'Dreadful!' cried the river, and wept so fast that its water became quite salt.

By and by a cuckoo, coming to bathe in the stream, called out, 'Why, river! what has happened? You are as salt as tears!'

'Don't ask me!' mourned the stream; 'it is too dreadful for words!'

Nevertheless, when the cuckoo would take no denial, the river replied—­

'The ugly hen painted. By jealousy tainted, The pretty hen dyed. Lamenting his bride, The cock, bald and bare, Sobs loud in despair; The pîpal tree grieves By shedding its leaves; The buffalo mourns By casting her horns; The stream, weeping fast, Grows briny at last!'

'Oh dear! oh dear me!' cried the cuckoo, 'how very very sad! I must mourn too!' So it plucked out an eye, and going to a corn-merchant's shop, sat on the doorstep and wept.

'Why, little cuckoo! what's the matter?' cried Bhagtu the shopkeeper. 'You are generally the pertest of birds, and to-day you are as dull as ditchwater!'

'Don't ask me!' snivelled the cuckoo; 'it is such terrible grief! such dreadful sorrow! such—such horrible pain!'

However, when Bhagtu persisted, the cuckoo, wiping its one eye on its wing, replied—­

'The ugly hen painted. By jealousy tainted, The pretty hen dyed. Lamenting his bride, The cock, bald and bare, Sobs loud in despair; The pîpal tree grieves By shedding its leaves; The buffalo mourns By casting her horns; The stream, weeping fast, Grows briny at last; The cuckoo with sighs Blinds one of its eyes!'

'Bless my heart!' cried Bhagtu,'but that is simply the most heartrending tale I ever heard in my life! I must really mourn likewise!' Whereupon he wept, and wailed, and beat his breast, until he went completely out of his mind; and when the Queen's maidservant came to buy of him, he gave her pepper instead of turmeric, onion instead of garlic, and wheat instead of pulse.

'Dear me, friend Bhagtu!' quoth the maid-* servant, 'your wits are wool-gathering! What's the matter?'

'Don't! please don't!' cried Bhagtu; 'I wish you wouldn't ask me, for I am trying to forget all about it. It is too dreadful—too too terrible!'

At last, however, yielding to the maid's entreaties, he replied, with many sobs and tears—­

'The ugly hen painted. By jealousy tainted, The pretty hen dyed. Lamenting his bride, The cock, bald and bare, Sobs loud in despair; The pîpal tree grieves By shedding its leaves; The buffalo mourns By casting her horns; The stream, weeping fast, Grows briny at last; The cuckoo with sighs Blinds one of its eyes; Bhagtu's grief so intense is, He loses his senses!'

'How very sad!' exclaimed the maidservant. 'I don't wonder at your distress; but it is always so in this miserable world!—everything goes wrong!'

Whereupon she fell to railing at everybody and everything in the world, until the Queen said to her, 'What is the matter, my child? What distresses you?'

'Oh!' replied the maidservant, 'the old story! every one is miserable, and I most of all! Such dreadful news!—­

'The ugly hen painted. By jealousy tainted, The pretty hen dyed. Lamenting his bride, The cock, bald and bare, Sobs loud in despair; The pîpal tree grieves By shedding its leaves; The buffalo mourns By casting her horns; The stream, weeping fast, Grows briny at last; The cuckoo with sighs Blinds one of its eyes; Bhagtu's grief so intense is, He loses his senses; The maidservant wailing Has taken to railing!'

'Too true!' wept the Queen, 'too true! The world is a vale of tears! There is nothing for it but to try and forget!' Whereupon she set to work dancing away as hard as she could.

By and by in came the Prince, who, seeing her twirling about, said, 'Why, mother! what is the matter?'

The Queen, without stopping, gasped out—­

'The ugly hen painted. By jealousy tainted, The pretty hen dyed. Lamenting his bride, The cock, bald and bare, Sobs loud in despair; The pîpal tree grieves By shedding its leaves; The buffalo mourns By casting her horns; The stream, weeping fast, Grows briny at last; The cuckoo with sighs Blinds one of its eyes; Bhagtu's grief so intense is, He loses his senses; The maidservant wailing Has taken to railing; The Queen, joy enhancing, Takes refuge in dancing!'

'If that is your mourning, I'll mourn too!' cried the Prince, and seizing his tambourine, he began to thump on it with a will. Hearing the noise, the King came in, and asked what was the matter.

'This is the matter!' cried the Prince, drumming away with all his might—­

'The ugly hen painted. By jealousy tainted, The pretty hen dyed. Lamenting his bride, The cock, bald and bare, Sobs loud in despair; The pîpal tree grieves By shedding its leaves; The buffalo mourns By casting her horns; The stream, weeping fast, Grows briny at last; The cuckoo with sighs Blinds one of its eyes; Bhagtu's grief so intense is, He loses his senses; The maidservant wailing Has taken to railing; The Queen, joy enhancing, Takes refuge in dancing; To aid the mirth coming, The Prince begins drumming!'

'Capital! capital!' cried the King, 'that's the way to do it!' so, seizing his zither, he began to thrum away like one possessed.

And as they danced, the Queen, the King, the Prince, and the maidservant sang—­

'The ugly hen painted. By jealousy tainted, The pretty hen dyed. Bewailing his bride, The cock, bald and bare, Sobs loud in despair; The pîpal tree grieves By shedding its leaves; The buffalo mourns By casting her horns; The stream, weeping fast, Grows briny at last; The cuckoo with sighs Blinds one of its eyes; Bhagtu's grief so intense is, He loses his senses; The maidservant wailing Has taken to railing; The Queen, joy enhancing, Takes refuge in dancing; To aid the mirth coming, The Prince begins drumming; To join in it with her The King strums the zither!'

So they danced and sang till they were tired, and that was how every one mourned poor cock-sparrow's pretty bride.



PRINCESS PEPPERINA

A Bulbul once lived in a forest, and sang all day to her mate, till one morning she said, 'Oh, dearest husband! you sing beautifully, but I should so like some nice green pepper to eat!' The obedient bulbul at once flew off to find some, but though he flew for miles, peeping into every garden by the way, he could not discover a single green pepper. Either there was no fruit at all on the bushes, but only tiny white star-flowers, or the peppers were all ripe, and crimson red.

At last, right out in the wilderness, he came upon a high-walled garden. Tall mango-trees shaded it on all sides, shutting out fierce sunshine and rough winds, and within grew innumerable flowers and fruits. But there was no sign of life within its walls—no birds, no butterflies, only silence and a perfume of flowers.

The bulbul alighted in the middle of the garden, and, lo! there grew a solitary pepper plant, and amid the polished leaves shone a single green fruit of immense size, gleaming like an emerald.

Greatly delighted, the bird flew home to his mate, and telling her he had found the most beautiful green pepper in the world, brought her back with him to the garden, where she at once began to eat the delicious morsel.

Now the Jinn to whom the garden belonged had all this time been asleep in a summer-house; and as he generally kept awake for twelve whole years, and then slept for another twelve years, he was of course very sound asleep, and knew nothing of the bulbul's coming and going. Nevertheless, as the time of his awaking was not far off, he had dreadful nightmares whilst the green pepper was being pecked to pieces, and, becoming restless, awoke just when the bulbul's wife, after laying one glittering emerald-green egg beneath the pepper plant, flew away with her husband.

As usual, the Jinn, after yawning and stretching, went to see how his pet pepper was getting on. Great was his sorrow and rage at finding it pecked to pieces. He could not imagine what had done the mischief, knowing as he did that neither bird, beast, nor insect lived in the garden.

'Some dreadful creeping thing from that horrid world outside must have stolen in, whilst I slept,' said the Jinn to himself, and immediately began to search for the intruder. He found nothing, however, but the glittering green egg, with which he was so much astonished that he took it to his summer-house, wrapped it up in cotton-wool, and put it away carefully in a carved niche in the wall. Every day he went and looked at it, sighing over the thought of his lost pepper, until one morning, lo and behold! the egg had disappeared, and in its place sat the loveliest little maiden, dressed from head to foot in emerald-green, while round her neck hung a single emerald of great size, shaped just like the green pepper.

The Jinn, who was a quiet, inoffensive creature, was delighted, for he loved children, and this one was the daintiest little morsel ever beheld. So he made it the business of his life to tend Princess Pepperina, for such the maiden informed him was her name.

Now, when twelve years had passed by in the flowery garden, it became time for the good-natured Jinn to go to sleep again; and it puzzled him very much to think what would become of his Princess when he was no longer able to take care of her. But it so happened that a great King and his Minister, while hunting in the forest, came upon the high-walled garden, and being curious to see what was inside, they climbed over the wall, and found the lovely Princess Pepperina seated by the pepper plant.

The King immediately fell in love with her, and in the most elegant language begged her to be his wife. But the Princess hung down her head modestly, saying, 'Not so!—you must ask the Jinn who owns this garden; only he has an unfortunate habit of eating men sometimes.'

Nevertheless, when she saw the young King kneeling before her, she could not help thinking him the handsomest and most splendid young man in the world, so her heart softened, and when she heard the Jinn's footstep, she cried, 'Hide yourself in the garden, and I will see if I can persuade my guardian to listen to you.'

Now, no sooner had the Jinn appeared, than he began to sniff about, and cry 'Fee! fa! fum! I smell the blood of a man!'

Then the Princess Pepperina soothed him, saying, 'Dear Jinn! you may eat me if you like, for there is no one else here,'

And the Jinn replied, kissing and caressing her the while, 'My dearest life! I would sooner eat bricks and mortar!'

After that the Princess cunningly led the conversation to the Jinn's approaching slumbers, and wondered tearfully what she should do alone in the walled garden. At this the good-hearted Jinn became greatly troubled, until at last he declared that the best plan would be to marry her to some young nobleman, but, he added, a worthy husband was hard to find, especially as it was necessary he should be as handsome, as a man, as Princess Pepperina was beautiful amongst women. Hearing this, the Princess seized her opportunity, and asked the Jinn if he would promise to let her marry any one who was as beautiful as she was. The Jinn promised faithfully, little thinking the Princess already had her eye on such a one, and was immensely astonished when she clapped her hands, and the splendid young King appeared from a thicket. Nevertheless, when the young couple stood together hand in hand, even the Jinn was obliged to own that such a handsome pair had never before been seen; so he gave his consent to their marriage, which was performed in ever so great a hurry, for already the Jinn had begun to nod and yawn. Still, when it came to saying good-bye to his dear little Princess, he wept so much that the tears kept him awake, and he followed her in his thoughts, until the desire to see her face once more became so strong that he changed himself into a dove, which flying after her, fluttered above her head. She seemed quite happy, talking and whispering to her handsome husband, so he flew home again to sleep. But the green mantle of his dear little Princess kept floating before his eyes, so that he could not rest, and changing himself into a hawk, he sped after her, circling far above her head. She was smiling by her husband's side, so the Jinn flew home to his garden, yawning terribly. But the soft eyes of his dear little Pepperina seemed to look into his, driving sleep far from them; so he changed into an eagle, and soaring far up into the blue sky, saw with his bright piercing gaze the Princess entering a King's palace far away on the horizon. Then the good Jinn was satisfied, and fell fast asleep.

Now during the years which followed, the young King remained passionately in love with his beautiful bride, but the other women in the palace were very jealous of her, especially after she gave birth to the most lovely young Prince imaginable. They determined to compass her ruin, and spent hours in thinking how they might kill her, or lay a snare for her.

Every night they would come to the door of the Queen's room, and whisper, to see if she was awake, 'The Princess Pepperina is awake, but all the world is fast asleep.'

Now the emerald, which the young Queen still wore round her neck, was a real talisman, and always told the truth; if any one even whispered a story, it just up and out with the truth at once, and shamed the culprit without remorse. So the emerald on these occasions would answer, 'Not so! the Princess Pepperina is asleep. It is the world that wakes.'

Then the wicked women would shrink away, for they knew they had no power to harm the Princess while the talisman was round her neck.

At last it so happened that when the young Queen was bathing she took off the emerald talisman, and left it by mistake in the bathing-place. So that night, when the jealous women as usual came whispering round the door, 'The Princess Pepperina is awake, but all the world sleeps,' the truthful talisman called out from the bathing-place, 'Not so! the Princess Pepperina sleeps. It is the world that wakes.'

Knowing by the sound of the talisman's voice that it was not in its usual place, these wicked creatures stole into the room gently, killed the infant Prince, who was peacefully sleeping in his little crib, cut him into little bits, laid them in his mother's bed, and gently stained her lips with the blood.

Early next morning they flew to the King, weeping and wailing, bidding him come and see the horrible sight.

'Look!' said they, 'the beautiful wife you loved so much is an ogress! We warned you against her, and now she has killed her child in order to eat its flesh!'

The King was terribly grieved and wroth, for he loved his wife, and yet could not deny she was an ogress; so he ordered her to be whipped out of his kingdom and then slain.

So the lovely tender fair young Queen was scourged out of the land, and then cruelly murdered, whilst the wicked jealous women rejoiced at their evil success.

But when Princess Pepperina died, her body became a high white marble wall, her eyes turned into liquid pools of water, her green mantle changed into stretches of verdant grass, her long curling hair into lovely creepers and tendrils, while her scarlet mouth and white teeth became a beautiful bed of roses and narcissus. Then her soul took the form of a sheldrake and its mate,—those loving birds which, like the turtle-dove, are always constant,—and floating on the liquid pools, they mourned all day long the sad fate of the Princess Pepperina.

Now, after many days, the young King, who, despite her supposed crime, could not help bewailing his beautiful bride, went out a-hunting, and finding no game, wandered far afield, until he came to the high white marble wall. Curious to see what it enclosed, he climbed over on to the verdant grass, where the tendrils waved softly, the roses and narcissus blossomed, and the loving birds floated on the liquid pools mourning all day long.

The King, weary and sad, lay down to rest in the lovely spot, and listened to the cry of the birds, and as he listened, the meaning seemed to grow plain, so that he heard them tell the whole story of the wicked women's treachery.

Then the one bird said, weeping, to the other, 'Can she never become alive again?' And the other answered, 'If the King were to catch us, and hold us close, heart to heart, while he severed our heads from our bodies with one blow of his sword, so that neither of us should die before the other, the Princess Pepperina would become alive once more. But if one dies before the other, she will always remain as she is!'

Then the King, with a beating heart, called the birds to him, and they came quite readily, standing heart to heart while he cut off their heads with one blow of his sword, so that they fell dead at the self-same moment.

At the very same instant the Princess Pepperina appeared, smiling, more beautiful than ever; but, strange to say, the liquid pools, the grass, the climbing tendrils, and the flowers remained as they were.

Then the King besought her to return home with him, vowing he would never again distrust her, and would put all the wicked traitors to death; but she refused, saying she would prefer to live always within the high white marble walls, where no one could molest her.

'Just so!' cried the Jinn, who, having but that moment awakened from his twelve years' sleep, had flown straight to his dearest Princess. 'Here you shall live, and I will live with you!'

Then he built the King and Queen a magnificent palace, where they lived very happily ever after; and as no one knew anything about it, no one was jealous of the beautiful Princess Pepperina.



PEASIE AND BEANSIE

Once upon a time there were two sisters, who lived together; but while the elder, Beansie by name, was a hard quarrelsome creature, apt to disagree with everybody, Peasie, the younger, was soft and most agreeable.

Now, one day, Peasie, who was for ever trying to please somebody, said to her sister, 'Beansie, my dear! don't you think we ought to pay a visit to our poor old father? He must be dull now—it is harvest time, and he is left alone in the house.'

'I don't care if he is!' replied Beansie. 'Go yourself! I'm not going to walk about in the heat to please any old man!'

So kind Peasie set off alone, and on the way she met a plum-tree. 'Oh, Peasie!' cried the tree, 'stop a bit, there's a good soul, and tidy up my thorns a little; they are scattered about so that I feel quite uncomfortable!'

'So they are, I declare!' returned Peasie, and forthwith set to work with such a will that ere long the tree was as neat as a new pin.

A little farther on she met a fire, and the fire cried out, 'Oh, sweet Peasie! tidy up my hearth a bit, for I am half choked in the ashes!'

'So you are, I declare!' returned good-natured Peasie, setting herself to clear them away, until the fire crackled and flamed with pleasure.

Farther on she met a pîpal tree, and the pîpal called out, 'Oh, kind Peasie! bind up this broken branch for me, or it will die, and I shall lose it!'

'Poor thing! poor thing!' cried soft-hearted Peasie; and tearing a bandage from her veil, she bound up the wounded limb carefully.

After a while she met a stream, and the stream cried out, 'Pretty Peasie! clear away the sand and dead leaves from my mouth, for I cannot run when I am stifled!'

'No more you can!' quoth obliging Peasie; and in a trice she made the channel so clear and clean that the water flowed on swiftly.

At last she arrived, rather tired, at her old father's house, but his delight at seeing her was so great that he would scarcely let her away in the evening, and insisted on giving her a spinning-wheel, a buffalo, some brass pots, a bed, and all sorts of things, just as if she had been a bride going to her husband. These she put on the buffalo's back, and set off homewards.

Now, as she passed the stream, she saw a web of fine cloth floating down.

'Take it, Peasie, take it!' tinkled the stream; 'I have carried it far, as a reward for your kindness.'

So she gathered up the cloth, laid it on the buffalo, and went on her way.

By and by she passed the pîpal tree, and lo! on the branch she had tied up hung a string of pearls.

'Take it, Peasie, take it!' rustled the pîpal; 'I caught it from a Prince's turban as a reward for your kindness.'

Then she took the pearls, fastened them round her pretty slender throat, and went on her way rejoicing.



Farther on she came to the fire, burning brightly, and on it was a girdle with a nice hot sweet-cake.

'Take it, Peasie, take it!' crackled the fire; 'I have cooked it to a turn, in reward for your kindness.'

So lucky Peasie took the nice hot cake, and, dividing it into two pieces, put one aside for her sister, and ate the other while she went on her way.

Now when she reached the plum-tree, the topmost branches were bending down, covered with ripe yellow fruit.

'Take some, Peasie, take some!' groaned the laden tree; 'I have ripened these as a reward for your kindness.'

So she gathered her veil full, and eating some, set the rest aside for her sister; but when she arrived at home, instead of being pleased at her little sister's good fortune and thoughtfulness, disagreeable Beansie nearly cried with spite and envy, and was so cross, that poor little sweet Peasie became quite remorseful over her own luck, and suggested that her sister might be equally fortunate if she also went to visit her father.

So, next morning, greedy Beansie set off to see what she could get from the old man. But when she came to the plum-tree, and it cried out, 'Oh, Beansie! stop a bit and tidy up my thorns a little, there's a good soul!' the disobliging Beansie tossed her head, and replied, 'A likely story! Why, I could travel three miles in the time it would take me to settle up your stupid old thorns! Do it yourself!'

And when she met the pîpal tree, and it asked her to tie up its broken branch, she only laughed, saying, 'It doesn't hurt me, and I should have walked three miles in the time it would take to set it right; so ask somebody else!'

Then when the fire said to her, 'Oh, sweet Beansie! tidy up my hearth a bit, for I am half choked by my ashes,' the unkind girl replied, 'The more fool you for having ashes! You don't suppose I am going to dawdle about helping people who won't help themselves? Not a bit of it!'

So when she met the stream, and it asked her to clear away the sand and the dead leaves which choked it, she replied, 'Do you imagine I'm going to stop my walk that you may run? No, no!—every one for himself!'

At last she reached her father's house, full of determination not to go away without a heavy load for at least two buffaloes, when, just as she was entering the courtyard, her brother and his wife fell upon her, and whacked her most unmercifully, crying, 'So this is your plan, is it? Yesterday comes Peasie, while we were hard at work, and wheedles her doting old father out of his best buffalo, and goodness knows what else besides, and to-day you come to rob us! Out of the house, you baggage!'

With that they hounded her away, hot, tired, bruised, and hungry.

'Never mind!' said she, to console herself, 'I shall get the web of cloth yet!'

Sure enough, when she crossed the stream, there was a web, three times as fine as Peasie's, floating close to the shore, and greedy Beansie went straight to get it; but, alas! the water was so deep that she was very nearly drowned, while the beautiful cloth floated past her very fingers. Thus all she got for her pains was a ducking.

'Never mind!' thought she, 'I'll have the string of pearls!'

Yes, there it hung on the broken branch; but when Beansie jumped to catch it, branch and all fell right on her head, so that she was stunned. When she came to herself, some one else had walked off with the pearls, and she had only a bump on her head as big as an egg.

All these misfortunes had quite wearied her out; she was starving with hunger, and hurried on to the fire, hoping for a nice hot sweet girdle-cake.

Yes, there it was, smelling most deliciously, and Beansie snatched at it so hastily that she burnt her fingers horribly and the cake rolled away. Before she had done blowing at her fingers and hopping about in pain, a crow had carried off the cake, and she was left lamenting.

'At any rate, I'll have the plums!' cried miserable Beansie, setting off at a run, her mouth watering at the sight of the luscious yellow fruit on the topmost branches. First she held on to a lower branch with her left hand, and reached for the fruit with the right; then, when that was all scratched and torn by the thorns, she held on with her right, and tried to get the fruit with the left, but all to no avail; and when face and hands were all bleeding and full of prickles, she gave up the useless quest, and went home, bruised, beaten, wet, sore, hungry, and scratched all over, where I have no doubt her kind sister Peasie put her to bed, and gave her gruel and posset.



THE JACKAL AND THE PARTRIDGE

A Jackal and a Partridge swore eternal friendship; but the Jackal was very exacting and jealous. 'You don't do half as much for me as I do for you,' he used to say, 'and yet you talk a great deal of your friendship. Now my idea of a friend is one who is able to make me laugh or cry, give me a good meal, or save my life if need be. You couldn't do that!'

'Let us see,' answered the Partridge; 'follow me at a little distance, and if I don't make you laugh soon you may eat me!'

So she flew on till she met two travellers trudging along, one behind the other. They were both footsore and weary, and the first carried his bundle on a stick over his shoulder, while the second had his shoes in his hand.

Lightly as a feather the Partridge settled on the first traveller's stick. He, none the wiser, trudged on, but the second traveller, seeing the bird sitting so tamely just in front of his nose, said to himself,

'What a chance for a supper!' and immediately flung his shoes at it, they being ready to hand. Whereupon the Partridge flew away, and the shoes knocked off the first traveller's turban.

'What a plague do you mean?' cried he, angrily turning on his companion. 'Why did you throw your shoes at my head?'



'Brother!' replied the other mildly, 'do not be vexed. I didn't throw them at you, but at a Partridge that was sitting on your stick.'

'On my stick! Do you take me for a fool?' shouted the injured man, in a great rage. 'Don't tell me such cock-and-bull stories. First you insult me, and then you lie like a coward; but I'll teach you manners!'

Then he fell upon his fellow-traveller without more ado, and they fought until they could not see out of their eyes, till their noses were bleeding, their clothes in rags, and the Jackal had nearly died of laughing.

'Are you satisfied?' asked the Partridge of her friend.

'Well,' answered the Jackal, 'you have certainly made me laugh, but I doubt if you could make me cry. It is easy enough to be a buffoon; it is more difficult to excite the higher emotions.'

'Let us see,' retorted the Partridge, somewhat piqued; 'there is a huntsman with his dogs coming along the road. Just creep into that hollow tree and watch me: if you don't weep scalding tears, you must have no feeling in you!'

The Jackal did as he was bid, and watched the Partridge, who began fluttering about the bushes till the dogs caught sight of her, when she flew to the hollow tree where the Jackal was hidden. Of course the dogs smelt him at once, and set up such a yelping and scratching that the huntsman came up, and seeing what it was, dragged the Jackal out by the tail. Whereupon the dogs worried him to their hearts' content, and finally left him for dead.

By and by he opened his eyes—for he was only foxing—and saw the Partridge sitting on a branch above him.

'Did you cry?' she asked anxiously. 'Did I rouse your higher emo—-'

'Be quiet, will you!' snarled the Jackal; 'I'm half dead with fear!'

So there the Jackal lay for some time, getting the better of his bruises, and meanwhile he became hungry.

'Now is the time for friendship!' said he to the Partridge. 'Get me a good dinner, and I will acknowledge you are a true friend.'

'Very well!' replied the Partridge; 'only watch me, and help yourself when the time comes.'

Just then a troop of women came by, carrying their husbands' dinners to the harvest-field.

The Partridge gave a little plaintive cry, and began fluttering along from bush to bush as if she were wounded.

'A wounded bird!—a wounded bird!' cried the women; 'we can easily catch it!'

Whereupon they set off in pursuit, but the cunning Partridge played a thousand tricks, till they became so excited over the chase that they put their bundles on the ground in order to pursue it more nimbly. The Jackal, meanwhile, seizing his opportunity, crept up, and made off with a good dinner.

'Are you satisfied now?' asked the Partridge.

'Well,' returned the Jackal, 'I confess you have given me a very good dinner; you have also made me laugh—and cry—ahem! But, after all, the great test of friendship is beyond you—you couldn't save my life!'

'Perhaps not,' acquiesced the Partridge mournfully, 'I am so small and weak. But it grows late—we should be going home; and as it is a long way round by the ford, let us go across the river. My friend the crocodile will carry us over.'

Accordingly, they set off for the river, and the crocodile kindly consented to carry them across, so they sat on his broad back and he ferried them over. But just as they were in the middle of the stream the Partridge remarked, 'I believe the crocodile intends to play us a trick. How awkward if he were to drop you into the water!'

'Awkward for you too!' replied the Jackal, turning pale.

'Not at all! not at all! I have wings, you haven't.'

On this the Jackal shivered and shook with fear, and when the crocodile, in a gruesome growl, remarked that he was hungry and wanted a good meal, the wretched creature hadn't a word to say.

'Pooh!' cried the Partridge airily, 'don't try tricks on us,—­ I should fly away, and as for my friend the Jackal, you couldn't hurt him. He is not such a fool as to take his life with him on these little excursions; he leaves it at home, locked up in the cupboard.'

'Is that a fact?' asked the crocodile, surprised.

'Certainly!' retorted the Partridge. 'Try to eat him if you like, but you will only tire yourself to no purpose.'

'Dear me! how very odd!' gasped the crocodile; and he was so taken aback that he carried the Jackal safe to shore.

'Well, are you satisfied now?' asked the Partridge.

'My dear madam!' quoth the Jackal, 'you have made me laugh, you have made me cry, you have given me a good dinner, and you have saved my life; but upon my honour I think you are too clever for a friend; so, good-bye!'

And the Jackal never went near the Partridge again.



THE SNAKE-WOMAN AND KING ALI MARDAN

Once upon a time King Ali Mardan went out a-hunting, and as he hunted in the forest above the beautiful Dal lake, which stretches clear and placid between the mountains and the royal town of Srinagar, he came suddenly on a maiden, lovely as a flower, who, seated beneath a tree, was weeping bitterly. Bidding his followers remain at a distance, he went up to the damsel, and asked her who she was, and how she came to be alone in the wild forest.

'O great King,' she answered, looking up in his face, 'I am the Emperor of China's handmaiden, and as I wandered about in the pleasure-grounds of his palace I lost my way. I know not how far I have come since, but now I must surely die, for I am weary and hungry!'

'So fair a maiden must not die while Ali Mardan can deliver her,' quoth the monarch, gazing ardently on the beautiful girl. So he bade his servants convey her with the greatest care to his summer palace in the Shalimar gardens, where the fountains scatter dewdrops over the beds of flowers, and laden fruit-trees bend over the marble colonnades. And there, amid the flowers and sunshine, she lived with the King, who speedily became so enamoured of her that he forgot everything else in the world.

So the days passed until it chanced that a Jôgi's servant, coming back from the holy lake Gangabal, which lies on the snowy peak of Haramukh, whither he went every year to draw water for his master, passed by the gardens; and over the high garden wall he saw the tops of the fountains, leaping and splashing like silver sunshine. He was so astonished at the sight that he put his vessel of water on the ground, and climbed over the wall, determined to see the wonderful things inside. Once in the garden amid the fountains and flowers, he wandered hither and thither, bewildered by beauty, until, wearied out by excitement, he lay down under a tree and fell asleep.

Now the King, coming to walk in the garden, found the man lying there, and noticed that he held something fast in his closed right hand. Stooping down, Ali Mardan gently loosed the fingers, and discovered a tiny box filled with a sweet-smelling ointment. While he was examining this more closely, the sleeper awoke, and missing his box, began to weep and wail; whereupon the King bade him be comforted, and showing him the box, promised to return it if he would faithfully tell why it was so precious to him.

'O great King,' replied the Jôgi's servant, 'the box belongs to my master, and it contains a holy ointment of many virtues. By its power I am preserved from all harm, and am able to go to Gangabal and return with my jar full of water in so short a time that my master is never without the sacred element.'

Then the King was astonished, and, looking at the man keenly, said, 'Tell me the truth! Is your master indeed such a holy saint? Is he indeed such a wonderful man?'

'O King,' replied the servant, 'he is indeed such a man, and there is nothing in the world he does not know!'

This reply aroused the King's curiosity, and putting the box in his vest, he said to the servant, 'Go home to your master, and tell him King Ali Mardan has his box, and means to keep it until he comes to fetch it himself.' In this way he hoped to entice the holy Jôgi into his presence.

So the servant, seeing there was nothing else to be done, set off to his master, but he was two years and a half in reaching home, because he had not the precious box with the magical ointment; and all this time Ali Mardan lived with the beautiful stranger in the Shalimar palace, and forgot everything in the wide world except her loveliness. Yet he was not happy, and a strange look came over his face, and a stony stare into his eyes.

Now, when the servant reached home at last, and told his master what had occurred, the Jôgi was very angry, but as he could not get on without the box which enabled him to procure the water from Gangabal, he set off at once to the court of King Ali Mardan. On his arrival, the King treated him with the greatest honour, and faithfully fulfilled the promise of returning the box.

Now the Jôgi was indeed a learned man, and when he saw the King he knew at once all was not right, so he said, 'O King, you have been gracious unto me, and I in my turn desire to do you a kind action; so tell me truly,—have you always had that white scared face and those stony eyes?'

The King hung his head.

'Tell me truly,' continued the holy Jôgi, 'have you any strange woman in your palace?'

Then Ali Mardan, feeling a strange relief in speaking, told the Jôgi about the finding of the maiden, so lovely and forlorn, in the forest.

'She is no handmaiden of the Emperor of China—she is no woman!' quoth the Jôgi fearlessly; 'she is nothing but a Lamia—the dreadful two-hundred-years-old snake which has the power of taking woman's shape!'

Hearing this, King Ali Mardan was at first indignant, for he was madly in love with the stranger; but when the Jôgi insisted, he became alarmed, and at last promised to obey the holy man's orders, and so discover the truth or falsehood of his words.

Therefore, that same evening he ordered two kinds of khichrî to be made ready for supper, and placed in one dish, so that one half was sweet khichrî, and the other half salt.

Now, when as usual the King sat down to eat out of the same dish with the Snake-woman, he turned the salt side towards her and the sweet side towards himself.

She found her portion very salt, but, seeing the King eat his with relish and without remark, finished hers in silence. But when they had retired to rest, and the King, obeying the Jôgi's orders, had feigned sleep, the Snake-woman became so dreadfully thirsty, in consequence of all the salt food she had eaten, that she longed for a drink of water; and as there was none in the room, she was obliged to go outside to get some.

Now, if a Snake-woman goes out at night, she must resume her own loathsome form; so, as King Ali Mardan lay feigning sleep, he saw the beautiful form in his arms change to a deadly slimy snake, that slid from the bed out of the door into the garden. He followed it softly, watching it drink of every fountain by the way, until it reached the Dal lake, where it drank and bathed for hours.

Fully satisfied of the truth of the Jôgi's story, King Ali Mardan begged him for aid in getting rid of the beautiful horror. This the Jôgi promised to do, if the King would faithfully obey orders. So they made an oven of a hundred different kinds of metal melted together, and closed by a strong lid and a heavy padlock. This they placed in a shady corner of the garden, fastening it securely to the ground by strong chains. When all was ready, the King said to the Snake-woman, 'My heart's beloved! let us wander in the gardens alone to-day, and amuse ourselves by cooking our own food,'

She, nothing loath, consented, and so they wandered about in the garden; and when dinner-time came, set to work, with laughter and mirth, to cook their own food.

The King heated the oven very hot, and kneaded the bread, but being clumsy at it, he told the Snake-woman he could do no more, and that she must bake the bread. This she at first refused to do, saying that she disliked ovens, but when the King pretended to be vexed, averring she could not love him since she refused to help, she gave in, and set to work with a very bad grace to tend the baking.

Then, just as she stooped over the oven's mouth, to turn the loaves, the King, seizing his opportunity, pushed her in, and clapping down the cover, locked and double-locked it.



Now, when the Snake-woman found herself caught in the scorching oven, she bounded so, that had it not been for the strong chains, she would have bounded out of the garden, oven and all! But as it was, all she could do was to bound up and down, whilst the King and the Jôgi piled fuel on to the fire, and the oven grew hotter and hotter. So it went on from four o'clock one afternoon to four o'clock the next, when the Snake-woman ceased to bound, and all was quiet.

They waited until the oven grew cold, and then opened it, when not a trace of the Snake-woman was to be seen, only a tiny heap of ashes, out of which the Jôgi took a small round stone, and gave it to the King, saying, 'This is the real essence of the Snake-woman, and whatever you touch with it will turn to gold.'

But King Ali Mardan said such a treasure was more than any man's life was worth, since it must bring envy and battle and murder to its possessor; so when he went to Attock he threw the magical Snake-stone into the river, lest it should bring strife into the world.



THE WONDERFUL RING

Once upon a time there lived a King who had two sons, and when he died he left them all his treasures; but the younger brother began to squander it all so lavishly that the elder said, 'Let us divide what there is, and do you take your own share, and do what you please with it.'

So the younger took his poition, and spent every farthing of it in no time.

When he had literally nothing left, he asked his wife to give him what she had. Then she wept, saying, 'I have nothing left but one small piece of jewellery; however, take that also if you want it.'

So he took the jewel, sold it for four pounds, and taking the money with him, set off to make his fortune in the world.

As he went on his way he met a man with a cat 'How much for your cat?' asked the spendthrift Prince.

'Nothing less than a golden pound/ replied the man.

'A bargain indeed!' cried the spendthrift, and immediately bought the cat for a golden sovereign.

By and by he met a man with a dog, and called out as before, 'How much for your dog?' And when the man said not less than a golden pound, the Prince again declared it was a bargain indeed, and bought it cheerfully.

Then he met a man carrying a parrot, and called out as before, 'How much for the parrot?' And when he heard it was only a golden sovereign he was delighted, saying once more that was a bargain indeed.

He had only one pound left. Yet even then, when he met a Jôgi carrying a serpent, he cried out at once, 'O Jôgi, how much for the snake?'

'Not a farthing less than a golden sovereign,' quoth the Jôgi.

'And very little, too!' cried the spendthrift, handing over his last coin.

So there he was, possessed of a cat, a dog, a parrot, and a snake, but not a single penny in his pocket. However, he set to work bravely to earn his living; but the hard labour wearied him dreadfully, for being a Prince he was not used to it. Now when his serpent saw this, it pitied its kind master, and said, 'Prince, if you are not afraid to come to my father's house, he will perhaps give you something for saving me from the Jôgi.' The spendthrift Prince was not a bit afraid of anything, so he and the serpent set off together, but when they arrived at the house, the snake bade the Prince wait outside, while it went in alone and prepared the snake-father for a visitor. When the snake-father heard what the serpent had to say, he was much pleased, declaring he would reward the Prince by giving him anything he desired. So the serpent went out to fetch the Prince into the snake-father's presence, and when doing so, it whispered in his ear, 'My father will give you anything you desire. Remember only to ask for his little ring as a keepsake.'

This rather astonished the Prince, who naturally thought a ring would be of little use to a man who was half starving; however, he did as he was bid, and when the snake-father asked him what he desired, he replied, 'Thank you; I have everything, and want for nothing.'

Then the snake-father asked him once more what he would take as a reward, but again he answered that he wanted nothing, having all that heart could desire.

Nevertheless, when the snake-father asked him the third time, he replied, 'Since you wish me to take something, let it be the ring you wear on your finger, as a keepsake.'

Then the snake-father frowned, and looked displeased, saying, 'Were it not for my promise, I would have turned you into ashes on the spot, for daring to ask for my greatest treasure. But as I have said, it must be. Take the ring, and go!'

So the Prince, taking the ring, set off homewards with his servant the serpent, to whom he said regretfully, 'This old ring is a mistake; I have only made the snake-father angry by asking for it, and much good it will do me! It would have been wiser to say a sack of gold.'

'Not so, my Prince!' replied the serpent; 'that ring is a wonderful ring! You have only to make a clean square place on the ground, plaster it over according to the custom of holy places, put the ring in the centre, sprinkle it with buttermilk, and then whatever you wish for will be granted immediately.'

Vastly delighted at possessing so great a treasure as this magic ring, the Prince went on his way rejoicing, but by and by, as he trudged along the road, he began to feel hungry, and thought he would put his ring to the test. So, making a holy place, he put the ring in the centre, sprinkled it with buttermilk, and cried, 'O ring, I want some sweetmeats for dinner!'

No sooner had he uttered the words, than a dishful of most delicious sweets appeared on the holy place. These he ate, and then set off to a city he saw in the distance.

As he entered the gate a proclamation was being made that any one who would build a palace of gold, with golden stairs, in the middle of the sea, in the course of one night, should have half the kingdom, and the King's daughter in marriage; but if he failed, instant death should be his portion.

Hearing this, the spendthrift Prince went at once to the Court and declared his readiness to fulfil the conditions.

The King was much surprised at his temerity, and bade him consider well what he was doing, telling him that many princes had tried to perform the task before, and showing him a necklace of their heads, in hopes that the dreadful sight might deter him from his purpose.

But the Prince merely replied that he was not afraid, and that he was certain he should succeed.

Whereupon the King ordered him to build the palace that very night, and setting a guard over him, bade the sentries be careful the young boaster did not run away. Now when evening came, the Prince lay down calmly to sleep, whereat the guard whispered amongst themselves that he must be a madman to fling away his life so uselessly. Nevertheless, with the first streak of dawn the Prince arose, and making a holy place, laid the ring in the centre, sprinkled it with buttermilk, and cried, 'O ring, I want a palace of gold, with golden stairs, in the midst of the sea!'

And lo! there in the sea it stood, all glittering in the sunshine. Seeing this, the guard ran to tell the King, who could scarcely believe his eyes when he and all his Court came to the spot and beheld the golden palace.

Nevertheless, as the Prince had fulfilled his promise, the King performed his, and gave his daughter in marriage, and half his kingdom, to the spendthrift.

'I don't want your kingdom, or your daughter either!' said the Prince. 'I will take the palace I have built in the sea as my reward.'

So he went to dwell there, but when they sent the Princess to him, he relented, seeing her beauty; and so they were married and lived very happily together.

Now, when the Prince went out a-hunting he took his dog with him, but he left the cat and the parrot in the palace, to amuse the Princess; nevertheless, one day, when he returned, he found her very sad and sorrowful, and when he begged her to tell him what was the matter, she said, 'O dear Prince, I wish to be turned into gold by the power of the magic ring by which you built this glittering golden palace.'

So, to please her, he made a holy place, put the ring in the centre, sprinkled it with buttermilk, and cried, 'O ring, turn my wife into gold!'

No sooner had he said the words than his wish was accomplished, and his wife became a golden Princess.

Now, when the golden Princess was washing her beautiful golden hair one day, two long glittering hairs came out in the comb. She looked at them, regretting that there were no poor people near to whom she might have given the golden strands; then, determining they should not be lost, she made a cup of green leaves, and curling the hairs inside it, set it afloat upon the sea.

As luck would have it, after drifting hither and thither, it reached a distant shore where a washerman was at work. The poor man, seeing the wonderful gold hairs, took them to the King, hoping for a reward; and the King in his turn showed them to his son, who was so much struck by the sight that he lay down on a dirty old bed, to mark his extreme grief and despair, and, refusing to eat or drink anything, swore he must marry the owner of the beautiful golden hair, or die.

The King, greatly distressed at his son's state, cast about how he should find the golden-haired Princess, and after calling his ministers and nobles to help him, came to the conclusion that it would be best to employ a wise woman. So he called the wisest woman in the land to him, and she promised to find the Princess, on condition of the King, in his turn, promising to give her anything she desired as a reward.

Then the wise woman caused a golden barge to be made, and in the barge a silken cradle swinging from silken ropes. When all was ready, she set off in the direction whence the leafy cup had come, taking with her four boatmen, whom she trained carefully always to stop rowing when she put up her finger, and go on as long as she kept it down.

After a long while they came in sight of the golden palace, which the wise woman guessed at once must belong to the golden Princess; so, putting up her finger, the boatmen ceased rowing, and the wise woman, stepping out of the boat, went swiftly into the palace. There she saw the golden Princess, sitting on a golden throne; and going up to her, she laid her hands upon the Princess's head, as is the custom when relatives visit each other; afterwards she kissed her and petted her, saying, 'Dearest niece! do you not know me? I am your aunt.'

But the Princess at first drew back, and said she had never seen or heard of such an aunt. Then the wise woman explained how she had left home years before, and made up such a cunning, plausible story that the Princess, who was only too glad to get a companion, really believed what she said, and invited her to stop a few days in the palace.

Now, as they sat talking together, the wise woman asked the Princess if she did not find it dull alone in the palace in the midst of the sea, and inquired how they managed to live there without servants, and how the Prince her husband came and went. Then the Princess told her about the wonderful ring the Prince wore day and night, and how by its help they had everything heart could desire.

On this, the pretended aunt looked very grave, and suggested the terrible plight in which the Princess would be left should the Prince come to harm while away from her. She spoke so earnestly that the Princess became quite alarmed, and the same evening, when her husband returned, she said to him, 'Husband, I wish you would give me the ring to keep while you are away a-hunting, for if you were to come to harm, what would become of me alone in this sea-girt palace?'

So, next morning, when the Prince went a-hunting, he left the magical ring in his wife's keeping.

As soon as the wicked wise woman knew that the ring was really in the possession of the Princess, she persuaded her to go down the golden stairs to the sea, and look at the golden boat with the silken cradle; so, by coaxing words and cunning arts the golden Princess was inveigled into the boat, in order to have a tiny sail on the sea; but no sooner was her prize safe in the silken cradle, than the pretended aunt turned down her finger, and the boatmen immediately began to row swiftly away.

Soon the Princess begged to be taken back, but the wise woman only laughed, and answered all the poor girl's tears and prayers with slaps and harsh words. At last they arrived at the royal city, where great rejoicings arose when the news was noised abroad that the wise woman had returned with the golden bride for the love-sick Prince. Nevertheless, despite all entreaties, the Princess refused even to look at the Prince for six months; if in that time, she said, her husband did not claim her, she might think of marriage, but until then she would not hear of it.

To this the Prince agreed, seeing that six months was not a very long time to wait; besides, he knew that even should her husband or any other guardian turn up, nothing was easier than to kill them, and so get rid both of them and their claims.

Meanwhile, the spendthrift Prince having returned from hunting, called out as usual to his wife on reaching the golden stairs, but received no answer; then, entering the palace, he found no one there save the parrot, which flew towards him and said, 'O master, the Princess's aunt came here, and has carried her off in a golden boat.'

Hearing this, the poor Prince fell to the ground in a fit, and would not be consoled. At last, however, he recovered a little, when the parrot, to comfort him, bade him wait there while it flew away over the sea to gather news of the lost bride.

So the faithful parrot flew from land to land, from city to city, from house to house, until it saw the glitter of the Princess's golden hair. Then it fluttered down beside her and bidding her be of good courage, for it had come to help her, asked for the magic ring. Whereupon the golden Princess wept more than ever, for she knew the wise woman kept the ring in her mouth day and night, and that none could take it from her.

However, when the parrot consulted the cat, which had accompanied the faithful bird, the crafty creature declared nothing could be easier.

'All the Princess has to do,' said the cat, 'is to ask the wise woman to give her rice for supper tonight, and instead of eating it all, she must scatter some in front of the rat-hole in her room. The rest is my business, and yours.'

So that night the Princess had rice for supper, and instead of eating it all, she scattered some before the rat-hole. Then she went to bed, and slept soundly, and the wise woman snored beside her. By and by, when all was quiet, the rats came out to eat up the rice, when the cat, with one bound, pounced on the one which had the longest tail, and carrying it to where the wise woman lay snoring with her mouth open, thrust the tail up her nose. She woke with a most terrific sneeze, and the ring flew out of her mouth on to the floor. Before she could turn, the parrot seized it in his beak, and, without pausing a moment, flew back with it to his master the spendthrift Prince, who had nothing to do but make a holy place, lay the ring in the centre, sprinkle it with buttermilk, and say, 'O ring, I want my wife!' and there she was, as beautiful as ever, and overjoyed at seeing the golden palace and her dear husband once more.



THE JACKAL AND THE PEA-HEN

Once upon a time a Jackal and a Pea-hen swore eternal friendship. Every day they had their meals together, and spent hours in pleasant conversation.

Now, one day, the Pea-hen had juicy plums for dinner, and the Jackal, for his part, had as juicy a young kid; so they enjoyed themselves immensely. But when the feast was over, the Pea-hen rose gravely, and, after scratching up the ground, carefully sowed all the plum-stones in a row.

'It is my custom to do so when I eat plums,' she said, with quite an aggravating air of complacent virtue; 'my mother, good creature, brought me up in excellent habits, and with her dying breath bade me never be wasteful. Now these stones will grow into trees, the fruit of which, even if I do not live to see the day, will afford a meal to many a hungry peacock.'

These words made the Jackal feel rather mean, so he answered loftily, 'Exactly so! I always plant my bones for the same reason.' And he carefully dug up a piece of ground, and sowed the bones of the kid at intervals.

After this, the pair used to come every day and look at their gardens; by and by the plum-stones shot into tender green stems, but the bones made never a sign.

'Bones do take a long time germinating,' remarked the Jackal, pretending to be quite at his ease; 'I have known them remain unchanged in the ground for months.'

'My dear sir,' answered the Pea-hen, with ill-concealed irony, 'I have known them remain so for years!'

So time passed on, and every day, when they visited the garden, the self-complacent Pea-hen became more and more sarcastic, the Jackal more and more savage.

At last the plum-trees blossomed and bore fruit, and the Pea-hen sat down to a perfect feast of ripe juicy plums.

'He! he!' sniggered she to the Jackal, who, having been unsuccessful in hunting that day, stood by dinnerless, hungry, and in consequence very cross; 'what a time those old bones of yours do take in coming up! But when they do, my! what a crop you'll have!'

The Jackal was bursting with rage, but she wouldn't take warning, and went on: 'Poor dear! you do look hungry! There seems some chance of your starving before harvest. What a pity it is you can't eat plums in the meantime!'

'If I can't eat plums, I can eat the plum-eater!' quoth the Jackal; and with that he pounced on the Pea-hen, and gobbled her up.

Moral—It is never safe to be wiser than one's friends.



THE GRAIN OF CORN

Once upon a time a farmer's wife was winnowing corn, when a crow, flying past, swooped off with a grain from the winnowing basket and perched on a tree close by to eat it. The farmer's wife, greatly enraged, flung a clod at the bird with so good an aim that the crow fell to the ground, dropping the grain of corn, which rolled into a crack in the tree. The farmer's wife, seeing the crow fall, ran up to it, and seizing it by the tail, cried, 'Give me back my grain of corn, or I will kill you!'

The wretched bird, in fear of death, promised to do so, but, lo and behold! when he came to search for the grain, it had rolled so far into the crack that neither by beak nor claw could he reach it.

So he flew off to a woodman, and said—­

'Man! man! cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the woodman refused to cut the tree; so the crow flew on to the King's palace, and said—­

'King! king! kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn. To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the King refused to kill the man; so the crow flew on to the Queen, and said—­

'Queen! Queen! coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the Queen refused to coax the King; so the crow flew on till he met a snake, and said—­

'Snake! snake! bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the snake refused to bite the Queen; so the crow flew on till he met a stick, and said—­

'Stick! stick! beat snake; Snake won't bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the stick refused to beat the snake; so the crow flew on till he saw a fire, and said—­

'Fire! fire! burn stick; Stick won't beat snake; Snake won't bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the fire refused to burn the stick; so the crow flew on till he met some water, and said—­

'Water! water! quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat snake; Snake won't bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the water refused to quench the fire; so the crow flew on till he met an ox, and said—­

'Ox! ox! drink water; Water won't quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat snake; Snake won't bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the ox refused to drink the water; so the crow flew on till he met a rope, and said—­

'Rope! rope! bind ox; Ox won't drink water; Water won't quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat snake; Snake won't bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the rope wouldn't bind the ox; so the crow flew on till he met a mouse, and said—­

'Mouse! mouse! gnaw rope; Rope won't bind ox; Ox won't drink water; Water won't quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat snake; Snake won't bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

But the mouse wouldn't gnaw the rope; so the crow flew on until he met a cat, and said—­

'Cat! cat! catch mouse; Mouse won't gnaw rope; Rope won't bind ox; Ox won't drink water; Water won't quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat snake; Snake won't bite Queen; Queen won't coax King; King won't kill man; Man won't cut tree; And I can't get the grain of corn To save my life from the farmer's wife!'

The moment the cat heard the name of mouse, she was after it; for the world will come to an end before a cat will leave a mouse alone.

'So the cat began to catch the mouse, The mouse began to gnaw the rope, The rope began to bind the ox, The ox began to drink the water, The water began to quench the fire, The fire began to burn the stick, The stick began to beat the snake, The snake began to bite the Queen, The Queen began to coax the King, The King began to kill the man, The man began to cut the tree; So the crow got the grain of corn, And saved his life from the farmer's wife!'



THE FARMER AND THE MONEY-LENDER

There was once a farmer who suffered much at the hands of a money-lender. Good harvests, or bad, the farmer was always poor, the moneylender rich. At last, when he hadn't a farthing left, the farmer went to the moneylender's house, and said, 'You can't squeeze water from a stone, and as you have nothing to get by me now, you might tell me the secret of becoming rich.'

'My friend,' returned the money-lender piously, 'riches come from Ram—ask him.'

'Thank you, I will!' replied the simple farmer; so he prepared three girdle-cakes to last him on the journey, and set out to find Ram.

First he met a Brâhman, and to him he gave a cake, asking him to point out the road to Ram; but the Brâhman only took the cake and went on his way without a word. Next the farmer met a Jôgi or devotee, and to him he gave a cake, without receiving any help in return. At last, he came upon a poor man sitting under a tree, and finding out he was hungry, the kindly farmer gave him his last cake, and sitting down to rest beside him, entered into conversation.

'And where are you going?' asked the poor man at length.

'Oh, I have a long journey before me, for I am going to find Ram!' replied the farmer. 'I don't suppose you could tell me which way to go?'

'Perhaps I can,' said the poor man, smiling, 'for I am Ram! What do you want of me?'

Then the farmer told the whole story, and Ram, taking pity on him, gave him a conch shell, and showed him how to blow it in a particular way, saying, 'Remember! whatever you wish for, you have only to blow the conch that way, and your wish will be fulfilled. Only have a care of that money-lender, for even magic is not proof against their wiles!'

The farmer went back to his village rejoicing. In fact the money-lender noticed his high spirits at once, and said to himself, 'Some good fortune must have befallen the stupid fellow, to make him hold his head so jauntily.' Therefore he went over to the simple farmer's house, and congratulated him on his good fortune, in such cunning words, pretending to have heard all about it, that before long the farmer found himself telling the whole story—all except the secret of blowing the conch, for, with all his simplicity, the farmer was not quite such a fool as to tell that.

Nevertheless, the money-lender determined to have the conch by hook or by crook, and as he was villain enough not to stick at trifles, he waited for a favourable opportunity and stole it.

But, after nearly bursting himself with blowing the thing in every conceivable way, he was obliged to give up the secret as a bad job. However, being determined to succeed, he went back to the farmer, and said, 'Now, my friend! I've got your conch, but I can't use it; you haven't got it, so it's clear you can't use it either. The matter is at a standstill unless we make a bargain. Now, I promise to give you back your conch, and never to interfere with your using it, on one condition, which is this,—whatever you get from it, I am to get double.'

'Never!' cried the farmer; 'that would be the old business all over again!'

'Not at all!' replied the wily money-lender; 'you will have your share! Now, don't be a dog in the manger, for if you get all you want, what can it matter to you if I am rich or poor?'

At last, though it went sorely against the grain to be of any benefit to a money-lender, the farmer was forced to yield, and from that time, no matter what he gained by the power of the conch, the money-lender gained double. And the knowledge that this was so preyed upon the farmer's mind day and night, until he had no satisfaction out of anything he did get.

At last there came a very dry season,—so dry that the farmer's crops withered for want of rain. Then he blew his conch, and wished for a well to water them, and, lo! there was the well. But the money-lender had two!—two beautiful new wells! This was too much for any farmer to stand; and our friend brooded over it, and brooded over it, till at last a bright idea came into his head. He seized the conch, blew it loudly, and cried out, 'O Ram, I wish to be blind of one eye!' And so he was, in a twinkling, but the money-lender, of course, was blind of both eyes, and in trying to steer his way between the two new wells, he fell into one and was drowned.

Now this true story shows that a farmer once got the better of a money-lender; but only by losing one of his eyes!



THE LORD OF DEATH

Once upon a time there was a road, and every one who travelled along it died. Some folk said they were killed by a snake, others said by a scorpion, but certain it is they all died.

Now a very old man was travelling along the road, and being tired, sat down on a stone to rest; when suddenly, close beside him, he saw a scorpion as big as a cock, which, while he looked at it, changed into a horrible snake. He was wonderstruck, and as the creature glided away, he determined to follow it at a little distance, and so find out what it really was.

So the snake sped on day and night, and behind it followed the old man like a shadow. Once it went into an inn, and killed several travellers; another time it slid into the King's house and killed him. Then it crept up the waterspout to the Queen's palace, and killed the King's youngest daughter. So it passed on, and wherever it went the sound of weeping and wailing arose, and the old man followed it, silent as a shadow.

Suddenly the road became a broad, deep, swift river, on the banks of which sat some poor travellers who longed to cross over, but had no money to pay the ferry. Then the snake changed into a handsome buffalo, with a brass necklace and bells round its neck, and stood by the brink of the stream. When the poor travellers saw this, they said, 'This beast is going to swim to its home across the river; let us get on its back, and hold on to its tail, so that we too shall get over the stream.'

Then they climbed on its back and held by its tail, and the buffalo swam away with them bravely; but when it reached the middle, it began to kick, until they tumbled off, or let go, and were all drowned.

When the old man, who had crossed the river in a boat, reached the other side, the buffalo had disappeared, and in its stead stood a beautiful ox. Seeing this handsome creature wandering about, a peasant, struck with covetousness, lured it to his home. It was very gentle, suffering itself to be tied up with the other cattle; but in the dead of night it changed into a snake, bit all the flocks and herds, and then, creeping into the house, killed all the sleeping folk, and crept away. But behind it the old man still followed, as silent as a shadow.

Presently they came to another river, where the snake changed itself into the likeness of a beautiful young girl, fair to see, and covered with costly jewels. After a while, two brothers, soldiers, came by, and as they approached the girl, she began to weep bitterly.

'What is the matter?' asked the brothers; 'and why do you, so young and beautiful, sit by the river alone?'

Then the snake-girl answered, 'My husband was even now taking me home; and going down to the stream to look for the ferry-boat, fell to washing his face, when he slipped in, and was drowned. So I have neither husband nor relations!'

'Do not fear!' cried the elder of the two brothers, who had become enamoured of her beauty; 'come with me, and I will marry you.'

'On one condition,' answered the girl: 'you must never ask me to do any household work; and no matter for what I ask, you must give it me.'

'I will obey you like a slave!' promised the young man.

'Then go at once to the well, and fetch me a cup of water. Your brother can stay with me,' quoth the girl.

But when the elder brother had gone, the snake-girl turned to the younger, saying, 'Fly with me, for I love you! My promise to your brother was a trick to get him away!'

'Not so!' returned the young man; 'you are his promised wife, and I look on you as my sister.'

On this the girl became angry, weeping and wailing, until the elder brother returned, when she called out, 'O husband, what a villain is here! Your brother asked me to fly with him, and leave you!'

Then bitter wrath at this treachery arose in the elder brother's heart, so that he drew his sword and challenged the younger to battle. Then they fought all day long, until by evening they both lay dead upon the field, and then the girl took the form of a snake once more, and behind it followed the old man silent as a shadow. But at last it changed into the likeness of an old white-bearded man, and when he who had followed so long saw one like himself, he took courage, and laying hold of the white beard, asked, 'Who and what are you?'

Then the old man smiled and answered, 'Some call me the Lord of Death, because I go about bringing death to the world.'

'Give me death!' pleaded the other, 'for I have followed you far, silent as a shadow, and I am aweary.'

But the Lord of Death shook his head, saying, 'Not so! I only give to those whose years are full, and you have sixty years of life to come!'

Then the old white-bearded man vanished, but whether he really was the Lord of Death, or a devil, who can tell?



THE WRESTLERS

A STORY OF HEROES

There was, once upon a time, long ago, a wrestler living in a far country, who, hearing there was a mighty man in India, determined to have a fall with him; so, tying up ten thousand pounds weight of flour in his blanket, he put the bundle on his head and set off jauntily. Towards evening he came to a little pond in the middle of the desert, and sat down to eat his dinner. First, he stooped down and took a good long drink of the water; then, emptying his flour into the remainder of the pond, stirred it into good thick brose, off which he made a hearty meal, and lying down under a tree, soon fell fast asleep.

Now, for many years an elephant had drunk daily at the pond, and, coming as usual that evening for its draught, was surprised to find nothing but a little mud and flour at the bottom.

'What shall I do?' it said to itself, 'for there is no more water to be found for twenty miles!'

Going away disconsolate, it espied the wrestler sleeping placidly under the tree, and at once made sure he was the author of the mischief; so, galloping up to the sleeping man, it stamped on his head in a furious rage, determined to crush him.

But, to his astonishment, the wrestler only stirred a little, and said sleepily, 'What is the matter? what is the matter? If you want to shampoo my head, why the plague don't you do it properly? What's worth doing at all is worth doing well; so put a little of your weight into it, my friend!'

The elephant stared, and left off stamping; but, nothing daunted, seized the wrestler round the waist with its trunk, intending to heave him up and dash him to pieces on the ground. 'Ho! ho! my little friend!—that is your plan, is it?' quoth the wrestler, with a yawn; and catching hold of the elephant's tail, and swinging the monster over his shoulder, he continued his journey jauntily.

By and by he reached his destination, and, standing outside the Indian wrestler's house, cried out, 'Ho! my friend! Come out and try a fall!'

'My husband's not at home to-day,' answered the wrestler's wife from inside; 'he has gone into the wood to cut pea-sticks.'

'Well, well! when he returns give him this, with my compliments, and tell him the owner has come from far to challenge him.'

So saying, he chucked the elephant clean over the courtyard wall.

'Oh, mamma! mamma!' cried a treble voice from within, 'I declare that nasty man has thrown a mouse over the wall into my lap! What shall I do to him?'

'Never mind, little daughter!' answered the wrestler's wife; 'papa will teach him better manners. Take the grass broom and sweep the mouse away.'

Then there was a sound of sweeping, and immediately the dead elephant came flying over the wall.

'Ahem!' thought the wrestler outside, 'if the little daughter can do this, the father will be a worthy foe!'

So he set off to the wood to meet the Indian wrestler, whom he soon saw coming along the road, dragging a hundred and sixty carts laden with brushwood.

'Now we shall see!' quoth the stranger, with a wink; and stealing behind the carts, he laid hold of the last, and began to pull.

'That's a deep rut!' thought the Indian wrestler, and pulled a little harder. So it went on for an hour, but not an inch one way or the other did the carts budge.

'I believe there is some one hanging on behind!' quoth the Indian wrestler at last, and walked back to see who it was. Whereupon the stranger, coming to meet him, said, 'We seem pretty well matched; let us have a fall together.'

'With all my heart!' answered the other, 'but not here alone in the wilds; it is no fun fighting without applause.'

'But I haven't time to wait!' said the stranger; 'I have to be off at once, so it must be here or nowhere.'

Just then an old woman came hurrying by with big strides.

'Here's an audience!' cried the wrestler, and called aloud, 'Mother! mother! stop and see fair play!'

'I can't, my sons, I can't!' she replied, 'for my daughter is going to steal my camels, and I am off to stop her; but if you like, you can jump on to the palm of my hand, and wrestle there as I go along.'

So the wrestlers jumped on to the old woman's palm, and wrestled away as she strode over hill and dale.

Now when the old woman's daughter saw her mother, with the wrestlers wrestling on her hand, she said to herself, 'Here she comes, with the soldiers she spoke about! It is time for me to be off!'

So she picked up the hundred and sixty camels, tied them in her blanket, and swinging it over her shoulder, set off at a run.

But one of the camels put its head out of the blanket and began groaning and hubble-bubble-ubbling, after the manner of camels; so, to quiet it, the girl tore down a tree or two, and stuffed them into the bundle also. On this, the farmer to whom the trees belonged came running up, and calling, 'Stop thief! stop thief!'

'Thief, indeed!' quoth the girl angrily; and with that she bundled farmer, fields, crops, oxen, house, and all into the blanket.

Soon she came to a town, and being hungry, asked a pastry-cook to give her some sweets; but he refused, so she caught up the town bodily; and so on with everything she met, until her blanket was quite full.

At last she came to a big water-melon, and being thirsty, she sat down to eat it; and afterwards, feeling sleepy, she determined to rest a while. But the camels in her bundle made such a hubble-bubble-ubbling that they disturbed her, so she just packed everything into the lower half of the water-melon rind, and popping on the upper half as a lid, she rolled herself in the blanket and used the melon as a pillow.

Now, while she slept, a big flood arose, and carried off the water-melon, which, after floating down stream ever so far, stuck on a mud-bank. The top fell off, and out hopped the camels, the trees, the farmer, the oxen, the house, the town, and all the other things, until there was quite a new world on the mud-bank in the middle of the river.



THE LEGEND OF GWÂSHBRÂRI, THE GLACIER-HEARTED QUEEN

Once upon a time, ever so long ago, when this old world was young, and everything was very different from what it is nowadays, the mighty Westarwân was King of all the mountains. High above all other hills he reared his lofty head, so lofty, that when the summer clouds closed in upon his broad shoulders he was alone under the blue sky. And thus, being so far above the world, and so lonely in his dignity, he became proud, and even when the mists cleared away, leaving the fair new world stretched smiling at his feet, he never turned his eyes upon it, but gazed day and night upon the sun and stars.

Now Harâmukh, and Nangâ Parbat, and all the other hills that stood in a vast circle round great Westarwân, as courtiers waiting on their king, grew vexed because he treated them as nought; and when the summer cloud that soared above their heads hung on his shoulders like a royal robe, they would say bitter, wrathful words of spite and envy.

Only the beautiful Gwâshbrâri, cold and glistening amid her glaciers, would keep silence. Self-satisfied, serene, her beauty was enough for her; others might rise farther through the mists, but there was none so fair as she in all the land.

Yet once, when the cloud-veil wrapped Westarwân from sight, and the wrath rose loud and fierce, she flashed a contemptuous smile upon the rest, bidding them hold their peace.

'What need to wrangle?' she said, in calm superiority;' great Westarwân is proud; but though the stars seem to crown his head, his feet are of the earth, earthy. He is made of the same stuff as we are; there is more of it, that is all.'

'The more reason to resent his pride!' retorted the grumblers. 'Who made him a King over us?'

Gwâshbrâri smiled an evil smile. 'O fools! poor fools and blind! giving him a majesty he has not in my sight. I tell you mighty Westarwân, for all his star-crowned loftiness, is no King to me. Tis I who am his Queen!'

Then the mighty hills laughed aloud, for Gwâshbrâri was the lowliest of them all.

'Wait and see!' answered the cold passionless voice. 'Before to-morrow's sunrise great Westarwân shall be my slave!'

Once more the mighty hills echoed with scornful laughter, yet the icy-hearted beauty took no heed. Lovely, serene, she smiled on all through the long summer's day; only once or twice from her snowy sides would rise a white puff of smoke, showing where some avalanche had swept the sure-footed ibex to destruction.

But with the setting sun a rosy radiance fell over the whole world. Then Gwâshbrâri's pale face flushed into life, her chill beauty glowed into passion. Trans-* figured, glorified, she shone on the fast-darkening horizon like a star.