Part 6

Yes! the woman’s daughter made up her mind to go out to serve too, that she might get just such another gold casket. So they sat down to spin again, and now the woman’s daughter was to spin bristles, and the man’s daughter flax, and she whose thread first snapped, was to go down the well. It wasn’t long, as you may fancy, before the woman’s daughter’s thread snapped, and so they threw her down the well.

So the same thing happened. She fell to the bottom, but met with no harm, and found herself on a lovely green meadow. When she had walked a bit she came to the hedge.

“Don’t tread hard on me, pray, lassie, and I’ll help you again,” said the Hedge.

“Oh!” said she, “what should I care for a bundle of twigs?” and tramped and stamped over the hedge till it cracked and groaned again.

A little farther on she came to the cow, which walked about ready to burst for want of milking.

“Be so good as to milk me, lassie,” said the Cow, “and I’ll help you again. Drink as much as you please, but throw the rest over my hoofs.”

Yes? she did that; she milked the cow, and drank till she could drink no more; but when she left off, there was none left to throw over the cow’s hoofs, and as for the pail, she tossed it down the hill and walked on.

When she had gone a bit further, she came to the sheep which walked along with his wool dragging after him.

“Oh, be so good as to clip me, lassie,” said the Sheep, “And I’ll serve you again. Take as much of the wool as you will, but twist the rest round my neck.”

Well! she did that; but she went so carelessly to work, that she cut great pieces out of the poor sheep, and as for the wool, she carried it all away with her.

A little while after she came to the apple tree, which stood there quite crooked with fruit again.

“Be so good as to pluck the apples off me, that my limbs may grow straight, for it’s weary work to stand all awry,” said the Apple Tree. “But please take care not to beat me too hard. Eat as many as you will, but lay the rest neatly round my root, and I’ll help you again.”

Well, she plucked those nearest to her, and thrashed down those she couldn’t reach with the pole, but she didn’t care how she did it, and broke off and tore down great boughs, and ate till she was as full as full could be, and then she threw down the rest under the tree.

So when she had gone a good bit further, she came to the farm where the old witch lived. There she asked for a place, but the old hag said she wouldn’t have any more maids, for they were either worth nothing, or were too clever, and cheated her out of her goods. But the woman’s daughter was not to be put off, she _would_ have a place, so the old witch said she’d give her a trial, if she was fit for anything.

The first thing she had to do was to fetch water in a sieve. Well, off she went to the well, and drew water in a sieve, but as fast as she got it in it ran out again. So the little birds sung—

“Daub in clay, Put in straw; Daub in clay, Put in straw!”

But she didn’t care to listen to the birds’ song, and pelted them with clay, till they flew off, far away. And so she had to go home with the empty sieve, and got well scolded by the old witch.

Then she was to go into the byre to clean it, and milk the kine. But she was too good for such dirty work, she thought. Still, she went out into the byre, but when she got there, she couldn’t get on at all with the pitchfork, it was so big. The birds said the same to her as they had said to her step-sister, and told her to take the broom-stick and toss out a little dung, and then all the rest would fly after it; but all she did with the broom-stick was to throw it at the birds. When she came to milk, the kine were so unruly, they kicked and pushed, and every time she got a little milk in the pail, over they kicked it. Then the birds sang again—

“A little drop and a tiny sup For the little birds to drink it up.”

But she beat and banged the cows about, and threw and pelted at the birds everything she could lay hold of, and made such a to do, ’twas awful to see. So she didn’t make much either of her pitching or milking, and when she came in-doors she got blows as well as hard words from the old witch, who sent her off to wash the black wool white; but that, too, she did no better.

Then the old witch thought this really too bad, so she set out the three caskets, one red, one green, and one blue, and said she’d no longer any need of her services, for she wasn’t worth keeping, but for wages she should have leave to choose whichever casket she pleased.

Then sung the little birds,—

“Don’t take the red, don’t take the green, But choose the blue, where may be seen Three little crosses, all in a row; We saw the marks, and so we know.”

She didn’t care a pin for what the birds sang, but took the red, which caught her eye most. And so she set out on her road home, and she went along quietly and easily enough; there was no one who came after _her_.

So when she got home, her mother was ready to jump with joy, and the two went at once into the ingle, and put the casket up there, for they made up their minds there could be nothing in it but pure silver and gold, and they thought to have all the walls and roof gilded like the pig-sty. But lo! when they opened the casket there came tumbling out nothing but toads, and frogs, and snakes; and worse than that, whenever the woman’s daughter opened her mouth, out popped a toad or a snake, and all the vermin one ever thought of, so that at last there was no living in the house with her.

That was all the wages _she_ got for going out to service with the old witch.

BUTTERCUP.

ONCE on a time there was an old wife who sat and baked. Now you must know that this old wife had a little son, who was so plump and fat, and so fond of good things, that they called him Buttercup; she had a dog, too, whose name was Goldtooth, and as she was baking, all at once Goldtooth began to bark.

“Run out, Buttercup, there’s a dear!” said the old wife, “and see what Goldtooth is barking at.”

So the boy ran out, and came back crying out,—

“Oh, Heaven help us! here comes a great big witch, with her head under her arm, and a bag at her back.”

“Jump under the kneading-trough and hide yourself,” said his mother.

So in came the old hag!

“Good day,” said she.

“God bless you,” said Buttercup’s mother.

“Isn’t your Buttercup at home to-day?” asked the hag.

“No, that he isn’t. He’s out in the wood with his father, shooting ptarmigan.”

“Plague take it,” said the hag, “for I had such a nice little silver knife I wanted to give him.”

“Pip, pip! here I am,” said Buttercup under the kneading-trough, and out he came.

“I’m so old and stiff in the back,” said the hag, “you must creep into the bag and fetch it out for yourself.”

But when Buttercup was well into the bag, the hag threw it over her back and strode off, and when they had gone a good bit of the way, the old hag got tired, and asked,—

“How far is it off to Snoring?”

“Half a mile,” answered Buttercup.

So the hag put down the sack on the road and went aside by herself into the wood, and lay down to sleep. Meantime Buttercup set to work and cut a hole in the sack with his knife; then he crept out and put a great root of a fir-tree into the sack, and ran home to his mother.

When the hag got home and saw what there was in the sack, you may fancy she was in a fine rage.

Next day the old wife sat and baked again, and her dog began to bark just as he did the day before.

“Run out, Buttercup, my boy,” said she, “and see what Goldtooth is barking at.”

“Well, I never!” cried Buttercup, as soon as he got out; “if there isn’t that ugly old beast coming again with her head under her arm, and a great sack at her back.”

“Under the kneading-trough with you and hide,” said his mother.

“Good day,” said the hag, “is your Buttercup at home to-day?”

“I’m sorry to say he isn’t,” said his mother; “he’s out in the wood with his father shooting ptarmigan.”

“What a bore,” said the hag; “here I have a beautiful little silver spoon I want to give him.”

“Pip, pip! here I am,” said Buttercup, and crept out.

“I’m so stiff in the back,” said the old witch “you must creep into the sack and fetch it out for yourself.”

So when Buttercup, was well into the sack, the hag swung it over her shoulders and set off home as fast as her legs could carry her. But when they had gone a good bit, she grew weary, and asked,—

“How far is it off to Snoring?”

“A mile and a half,” answered Buttercup.

So the hag set down the sack, and went aside into the wood to sleep a bit, but while she slept, Buttercup made a hole in the sack and got out, and put a great stone into it. Now, when the old witch got home, she made a great fire on the hearth, and put a big pot on it, and got everything ready to boil Buttercup; but when she took the sack, and thought she was going to turn out Buttercup into the pot, down plumped the stone and made a hole in the bottom of the pot, so that the water ran out and quenched the fire. Then the old hag was in a dreadful rage, and said, “If he makes himself ever so heavy next time, he shan’t take me in again.”

The third day everything went just as it had gone twice before; Goldtooth began to bark, and Buttercup’s mother said to him,—

“Do run out and see what our dog is barking at.”

So out he went, but he soon came back crying out,—

“Heaven save us! Here comes the old hag again with her head under her arm, and a sack at her back.”

“Jump under the kneading-trough and hide,” said his mother.

“Good day!” said the hag, as she came in at the door; “is your Buttercup at home to-day?”

“You’re very kind to ask after him,” said his mother; “but he’s out in the wood with his father shooting ptarmigan.”

“What a bore now,” said the old hag; “here have I got such a beautiful little silver fork for him.”

“Pip, pip! here I am,” said Buttercup, as he came out from under the kneading-trough.

“I’m so stiff in the back,” said the hag, “you must creep into the sack and fetch it out for yourself.”

But when Buttercup was well inside the sack, the old hag swung it across her shoulders, and set off as fast as she could. This time she did not turn aside to sleep by the way, but went straight home with Buttercup in the sack, and when she reached her house it was Sunday.

So the old hag said to her daughter,—

“Now you must take Buttercup and kill him, and boil him nicely till I come back, for I’m off to church to bid my guests to dinner.”

So, when all in the house were gone to church, the daughter was to take Buttercup and kill him, but then she didn’t know how to set about it at all.

“Stop a bit,” said Buttercup; “I’ll soon shew you how to do it; just lay your head on the chopping-block, and you’ll soon see.”

So the poor silly thing laid her head down, and Buttercup took an axe and chopped her head off, just as if she had been a chicken. Then he laid her head in the bed, and popped her body into the pot, and boiled it so nicely; and when he had done that, he climbed up on the roof, and dragged up with him the fir-tree root and the stone, and put the one over the door, and the other at the top of the chimney.

So when the household came back from church, and saw the head on the bed, they thought it was the daughter who lay there asleep; and then they thought they would just taste the broth.

“Good, by my troth! Buttercup broth,”

said the old hag.

“Good by my troth! Daughter broth,”

said Buttercup down the chimney, but no one heeded him.

So the old hag’s husband, who was every bit as bad as she, took the spoon to have a taste.

“Good by my troth! Buttercup broth,”

said he.

“Good, by my troth! Daughter broth,”

said Buttercup down the chimney pipe.

Then they all began to wonder who it could be that chattered so, and ran out to see. But when they came out at the door, Buttercup threw down on them the fir-tree root and the stone, and broke all their heads to bits. After that he took all the gold and silver that lay in the house, and went home to his mother, and became a rich man.

TAMING THE SHREW.

ONCE on a time there was a king, and he had a daughter who was such a scold, and whose tongue went so fast, there was no stopping it. So he gave out that the man who could stop her tongue should have the Princess to wife, and half his kingdom into the bargain. Now, three brothers, who heard this, made up their minds to go and try their luck; and first of all the two elder went, for they thought they were the cleverest; but they couldn’t cope with her at all, and got well thrashed besides.

Then Boots, the youngest, set off, and when he had gone a little way he found an ozier band lying on the road, and he picked it up. When he had gone a little farther he found a piece of a broken plate, and he picked that up too. A little farther on he found a dead magpie, and a little farther on still, a crooked ram’s horn; so he went on a bit and found the fellow to the horn; and at last, just as he was crossing the fields by the king’s palace, where they were pitching out dung, he found a worn-out shoe-sole. All these things he took with him into the palace, and went before the Princess.

“Good day,” said he.

“Good day,” said she, and made a wry face.

“Can I get my magpie cooked here?” he asked.

“I’m afraid it will burst,” answered the Princess.

“Oh! never fear! for I’ll just tie this ozier band round it,” said the lad, as he pulled it out.

“The fat will run out of it,” said the Princess.

“Then I’ll hold this under it,” said the lad, and shewed her the piece of broken plate.

“You are so crooked in your words,” said the Princess, “there’s no knowing where to have you.”

“No, I’m not crooked,” said the lad; but “this is,” as he held up one of the horns.

“Well!” said the Princess, “I never saw the match of this in all my days.”

“Why, here you see the match to it,” said the lad, as he pulled out the other ram’s horn.

“I think,” said the Princess, “you must have come here to wear out my tongue with your nonsense.”

“No, I have not,” said the lad; “but this is worn out,” as he pulled out the shoe-sole.

To this the Princess hadn’t a word to say, for she had fairly lost her voice with rage.

“Now you are mine,” said the lad; and so he got the Princess to wife, and half the kingdom.

SHORTSHANKS.

ONCE on a time there was a poor couple who lived in a tumble-down hut, in which there was nothing but black want, so that they hadn’t a morsel to eat, nor a stick to burn. But though they had next to nothing of other things, they had God’s blessing in the way of children, and every year they had another babe. Now, when this story begins, they were just looking out for a new child; and to tell the truth, the husband was rather cross, and he was always going about grumbling and growling, and saying “For his part, he thought one might have too many of these God’s gifts.” So when the time came that the babe was to be born, he went off into the wood to fetch fuel, saying “he didn’t care to stop and see the young squaller; he’d be sure to hear him soon enough, screaming for food.”

Now when her husband was well out of the house, his wife gave birth to a beautiful boy, who began to look about the room as soon as ever he came into the world.

“Oh! dear mother,” he said, “give me some of my brother’s cast-off clothes, and a few days’ food, and I’ll go out into the world and try my luck; you have children enough as it is, that I can see.”

“God help you, my son!” answered his mother; “that can never be, you are far too young yet.”

But the tiny one stuck to what he said, and begged and prayed till his mother was forced to let him have a few old rags, and a little food tied up in a bundle, and off he went right merrily and manfully into the wide world. But he was scarce out of the house before his mother had another boy, and he too looked about him, and said—

“Oh, dear mother! give me some of my brother’s old clothes and a few days’ food, and I’ll go out into the world to find my twin brother; you have children enough already on your hands, that I can see.”

“God help you, my poor little fellow!” said his mother; “you are far too little, this will never do.”

But it was no good; the tiny one begged and prayed so hard, till he got some old tattered rags and a bundle of food; and so he wandered out into the world like a man, to find his twin-brother. Now, when the younger had walked a while, he saw his brother a good bit on before him, so he called out to him to stop.

“Holloa! can’t you stop? why you lay legs to the ground as if you were running a race. But you might just as well have stayed to see your youngest brother before you set off into the world in such a hurry.”

So the elder stopped and looked round; and when the younger had come up to him and told him the whole story, and how he was his brother, he went on to say,—

“But let’s sit down here and see what our mother has given us for food.” So they sat down together, and were soon great friends.

Now, when they had gone a bit further on their way, they came to a brook which ran through a green meadow, and the youngest said now the time was come to give one another names, “Since we set off in such a hurry that we hadn’t time to do it at home, we may as well do it here.”

“Well,” said the elder, “and what shall your name be?”

“Oh!” said the younger, “my name shall be Shortshanks; and yours, what shall it be?”

“I will be called King Sturdy,” answered the eldest.

So they christened each other in the brook, and went on; but when they had walked a while they came to a cross road, and agreed they should part there, and each take his own road. So they parted, but they hadn’t gone half a mile before their roads met again. So they parted the second time, and took each a road; but in a little while the same thing happened, and they met again, they scarce knew how; and the same thing happened a third time also. Then they agreed that they should each choose a quarter of the heavens, and one was to go east and the other west; but before they parted, the elder said,—

“If you ever fall into misfortune or need, call three times on me, and I will come and help you; but mind you don’t call on me till you are at the last pinch.”

“Well!” said Shortshanks, “if that’s to be the rule, I don’t think we shall meet again very soon.”

After that they bade each other good-bye, and Shortshanks went east, and King Sturdy west. Now, you must know, when Shortshanks had gone a good bit alone, he met an old, old crook-backed hag, who had only one eye, and Shortshanks snapped it up.

“Oh! oh!” screamed the hag, “what has become of my eye?”

“What will you give me,” asked Shortshanks, “if you get your eye back?”

“I’ll give you a sword, and such a sword! It will put a whole army to flight, be it ever so great,” answered the old woman.

“Out with it, then!” said Shortshanks.

So the old hag gave him the sword, and got her eye back again. After that, Shortshanks wandered on a while, and another old, old crook-backed hag met him who had only one eye, which Shortshanks stole before she was aware of him.

“Oh, oh! whatever has become of my eye,” screamed the hag.

“What will you give me to get your eye back?” asked Shortshanks.

“I’ll give you a ship,” said the woman, “which can sail over fresh water and salt water, and over high hills and deep dales.”

“Well! out with it,” said Shortshanks.

So the old woman gave him a little tiny ship, no bigger than he could put in his pocket, and she got her eye back again, and they each went their way. But when he had wandered on a long, long way, he met a third time an old, old crook-backed hag, with only one eye. This eye, too, Shortshanks stole; and when the hag screamed and made a great to-do, bawling out what had become of her eye, Shortshanks said,—

“What will you give me to get back your eye?”

Then she answered,—

“I’ll give you the art how to brew a hundred lasts of malt at one strike.”

Well! for teaching that art the old hag got back her eye, and they each went their way.

But when Shortshanks had walked a little way, he thought it might be worth while to try his ship; so he took it out of his pocket, and put first one foot into it, and then the other; and as soon as ever he set one foot into it, it began to grow bigger and bigger, and by the time he set the other foot into it, it was as big as other ships that sail on the sea. Then Shortshanks said,—

“Off and away, over fresh water and salt water, over high hills and deep dales, and don’t stop till you come to the king’s palace.”

And lo! away went the ship as swiftly as a bird through the air, till it came down a little below the king’s palace, and there it stopped. From the palace windows people had stood and seen Shortshanks come sailing along, and they were all so amazed that they ran down to see who it could be that came sailing in a ship through the air. But while they were running down, Shortshanks had stepped out of his ship and put it into his pocket again; for as soon as he stepped out of it, it became as small as it was when he got it from the old woman. So those who had run down from the palace saw no one but a ragged little boy standing down there by the strand. Then the king asked whence he came, but the boy said he didn’t know, nor could he tell them how he had got there. There he was, and that was all they could get out of him; but he begged and prayed so prettily to get a place in the king’s palace; saying, if there was nothing else for him to do, he could carry in wood and water for the kitchen-maid, that their hearts were touched, and he got leave to stay there.

Now when Shortshanks came up to the palace, he saw how it was all hung with black, both outside and in, wall and roof; so he asked the kitchen-maid what all that mourning meant?

“Don’t you know?” said the kitchen-maid; “I’ll soon tell you: the king’s daughter was promised away a long time ago to three ogres, and next Thursday evening one of them is coming to fetch her. Ritter Red, it is true, has given out that he is man enough to set her free, but God knows if he can do it; and now you know why we are all in grief and sorrow.”

So when Thursday evening came, Ritter Red led the Princess down to the strand, for there it was she was to meet the Ogre, and he was to stay by her there and watch; but he wasn’t likely to do the Ogre much harm, I reckon, for as soon as ever the Princess had sat down on the strand, Ritter Red climbed up into a great tree that stood there, and hid himself as well as he could among the boughs. The Princess begged and prayed him not to leave her, but Ritter Red turned a deaf ear to her, and all he said was,—

“’Tis better for one to lose life than for two.” That was what Ritter Red said.

Meantime Shortshanks went to the kitchen-maid, and asked her so prettily if he mightn’t go down to the strand for a bit?

“And what should take you down to the strand?” asked the kitchen-maid. “You know you’ve no business there.”

“Oh, dear friend,” said Shortshanks, “do let me go? I should so like to run down there and play a while with the other children; that I should.”

“Well, well!” said the kitchen-maid, “off with you; but don’t let me catch you staying there a bit over the time when the brose for supper must be set on the fire, and the roast put on the spit; and let me see; when you come back, mind you bring a good armful of wood with you.”

Yes! Shortshanks would mind all that; so off he ran down to the strand.