Part 5

He suddenly felt very tired and fell asleep with his head on the table. When he awoke he felt better, and his head was clearer. He considered what he had better do. He dared not return home as he knew what a warm welcome he would have! He could not stay in the inn as he had spent all his money, and innkeepers do not give credit. Although undecided, he was about to leave the inn, when the innkeeper, pleased to have a chat so early in the evening, told him that the countess who lived at the neighbouring castle had had a ring set with diamonds stolen.

The wealthy lady, who set great value on the ring, had promised a reward of a hundred crowns to the finder.

“Well, upon my soul,” thought Percy, contemplating his empty glass, “that would be a stroke of luck for me; if I could discover the thief, I should be saved.”

Without answering the innkeeper, he got up, went off at once to the castle, and introduced himself as a wizard.

The countess promised him a hundred crowns if in three days he succeeded in discovering the thief. If he failed to do so, he would be sent away in disgrace.

The first day he searched all the nooks and crannies in the garden for the lost jewel. He ferreted in every bush and ditch, turned over every mole-hill, but in vain. Quite by chance, while he was feeling in the moss and the grass, he saw three servants talking excitedly together. Very ashamed at the thought that these men should have witnessed his useless and ridiculous search, Snail passed by them still in a bent position, but at the same time glanced defiantly at them.

Now a strange thing happened. He had hardly turned his back on the three men when one of them whispered to the others, so low that Percy was unable to hear what they were saying, “Beware, my friends, be careful what you say. This strange wizard looked at us as though he were watching us; has he already discovered the thief?”

In the evening, after Percy Snail had had his supper, the countess ordered a valet to show him to his room. Percy was very depressed; one day had passed without his having discovered a single clue. He sank into a chair with a deep sigh, and as the servant was leaving the room, muttered under his breath, “Poor fellow! That is one of the three.”

When the servant heard this he was very frightened. He rushed downstairs and said to his comrades, “My friends, we are lost, this stranger has discovered everything.” He told them what he had heard. From that moment they avoided Percy.

The second day he searched in the attics and cellars of the castle, but could not find the ring. As chance would have it, in the evening the countess ordered another valet to show Percy Snail to his room. He was more depressed than ever, and flung himself down on the bed, saying to himself, “Poor fellow, you are to be pitied! That is already the second, and still nothing.”

The valet, who listened attentively, repeated these words to his accomplices. “The wretch has certainly discovered all. I bet my life that to-morrow he will tell the countess everything. We shall then be imprisoned as well as lose our good places.”

After a long discussion, they decided to confess all to the wizard, to implore him not to betray them to the countess, and to offer him part of their savings.

This was done. They explained their position to Percy Snail, handed him the diamond ring, and the sum of money agreed on between them.

“Are you convinced now,” said Snail, taking leave of them, “that your sin will always find you out? I discovered your villainy during the first hour I passed in the castle. I will keep silence this time, but beware if I find you out again.”

Percy Snail, full of cunning, procured a little lump of paste; in it he concealed the ring, and threw it to some geese and turkeys which were feeding near by.

“Ik, kih, ih-kih!” said a fat turkey, and “slok,” the little lump of paste was swallowed.

An hour or two afterwards Percy asked for the countess.

“Noble lady,” he said, “disabuse your mind of all suspicion against your servants. That black turkey is the thief.”

The bird was promptly seized and killed.

You can imagine every one’s astonishment when the ring was discovered.

Snail thought he would immediately receive the promised reward of a hundred crowns, but he was rudely mistaken.

The countess suspected that she was dealing with a rogue. In order to be quite satisfied on this point she decided to put him to a second test.

“I am lost in admiration at your ability,” she said in a forced manner. “I beg you not to go without giving me another proof of your skill.”

Snail, who knew full well what she meant, was very ill at ease. However, he boldly replied, “Madam, I am yours to command, one proof more or less is nothing to me.”

In the evening, when seated at table for supper, the countess had two dishes placed before him, one on the top of the other.

They fitted so exactly that no one could suspect that a little snail had been placed between them.

“Wizard,” said the countess, “listen to me; if you can tell me what lies between these two dishes, I will give you fifty crowns over and above those you were promised! If, however, you do not know, you will be turned out of the castle, after receiving as many lashes with the whip as you would have received crowns.”

You can imagine how his heart sank within him. He was struck dumb, and could not hide his confusion. He was over an hour cudgelling his brains for an answer, but without success. He dared not open his lips for fear of guessing wrong.

He thought of his wife, and the whipping that awaited him, and his courage slipped away from him. He strained every nerve in his agitation.

“Well, poor Snail, poor Snail,” he sighed.

Imagine his surprise when the countess said, “I am beaten, my friend, I am beaten. It is a snail....”

She lifted off the top dish. The insect was lying dead on the lower dish.

Our wizard’s joy was boundless. He received the hundred and fifty crowns, and ran home with all speed.

For a whole week he continued to indulge himself with little glasses, and his wife ate hotchpotch every day to the honour and glory of the worthy Snail, who by a stroke of good fortune had become such a clever wizard.

SIMPLE JOHN

Simple John had served his master, a cowkeeper, for seven years, when the latter being overwhelmed by misfortunes was obliged to dismiss his servants. Having no money with which to reward John for his faithful service, he proposed to give him the one remaining horse in his stables.

John, who had sometimes driven in the horses from the field on Sunday evenings when the grooms were at the inn, jumped for joy at the suggestion. He thanked his master with all his heart, and led the beast from the stable. He set out on his journey home to his parents’ hut, singing:

“You set out on foot, you return on horseback.”

In about half an hour he reached a cross-road, where he saw a peasant with a cow harnessed to a plough working in his field.

“What a strange and useful beast,” thought John, as he pulled up his horse. “Tell me, man,” he cried to the peasant, “is that animal strong enough for such hard work?”

“If she chooses,” replied the other. “I wager she can pull as well as the best horse, and not only can she draw the plough, but she gives milk, which my wife churns into excellent cheeses,

that make one’s mouth water. If one day we wish to get rid of her we shall take her to the Brussels market, and any one will be pleased to give us a bag of silver for her.”

“Good gracious,” said John, “my mother should certainly have such a wonderful beast, but as it would cost a bag of silver, I am afraid we shall never have one. If only I could exchange my horse for one!--but no one would do so.”

“Oho,” thought the peasant, who already scented a bargain, “a horse in exchange for my old worn-out cow, that would be splendid. Listen to me, my friend,” he continued; “as you seem such a good fellow I am willing to give you my cow in exchange for your horse. Tell me you are not joking, and that the horse really belongs to you?”

“Certainly,” answered John, “to whom should it belong? I have served the same master for seven years, and have received this horse in lieu of wages.”

John was in the seventh heaven. “How pleased my mother will be,” he cried, and went on his way without further delay.

Soon after his path lay between two fields of ripe corn; suddenly a strange sound arrested him, “Ugh, ugh,” and immediately afterwards a farm hand came in sight with a willow twig in his hand, driving a pig down the winding path.

“Well, well,” said John, “what a pretty creature, what funny, roguish eyes, and what a curious corkscrew tail! Tell me what that pretty beast is called.”

“This one?” said the boy. “Tell me first what you call the animal you are leading, and then I will tell you what kind of pig mine is.”

“It is a cow,” said John. “She gives milk, which is churned into cheeses. I bought it for nothing. I only gave my horse, which I received as reward for seven years’ service.”

“Good,” replied the other. “You only gave a horse in exchange for your cow. Well, my beast makes its owner’s fortune, and is certainly worth more than a cow. If he finds something to nibble he rapidly becomes as fat as butter. Then he is slaughtered and cut open. It is incredible what comes out of him: liver, kidneys, ears, trotters, sausages, black-puddings, ham, bacon, and carbonades. You can make brushes with his bristles. Of course such an animal costs more than a foolish cow.”

“Oh, dear!” sighed John, when he heard this, “that is a lot of money. It is quite beyond the likes of me.”

“Listen,” said the other; “as you seem so anxious to have the animal--well, because it is you, and to give you pleasure, I will exchange it for your cow.”

“Hurrah!” cried John, “mother will be pleased.” He was more overjoyed than ever. Then he went on his way, driving the pig.

He soon reached the outskirts of the village, and was at once startled by a hoarse voice, which cried unceasingly:

“Any knives or scissors to grind.”

Whrr, whrrr. John drew near and was struck dumb with amazement when he saw a wonderful machine, whirring round, at which a man was seated, shouting as he worked.

“Well,” said the man, “you are looking so attentively at my grindstone; would you like to learn the trade?”

“Isn’t it too difficult?” said John.

“Not really difficult; a clever boy like you would learn in no time. Yes, yes, my lad, it is a merry trade, and pays well. If you know your job, your grindstone works unceasingly and turns merrily all day long. Ah, my lad, if grindstones were not so expensive, every one would be able to earn a living.”

“Oh,” said John, “are these stones so dear? What did the one you are using cost?”

“Half a dozen pigs would pay for it. If you would like one, I have another which I would give you for your pig, in which case your fortune is made.” He showed him a fine large grindstone which lay at the bottom of his cart.

“My fortune is made,” said John; “I will willingly give my pig in exchange for this stone.”

He shouldered the stone and walked on. Unfortunately it was very heavy, and being very hot, John stooped down to drink at a stream without putting down his load. He managed very well, when suddenly the stone slipped and fell into deep water.

“Everything considered,” said John, “it is just as well it has happened; the weight was breaking my back, and I shall be home all the sooner.”

He shouted joyously and ran towards the house.

“Little mother,” he cried, “I have had great luck; I exchanged a horse for a cow, a cow for a pig, and a pig for a grindstone. The stone was very heavy, and I lost it. Now I have nothing to carry, nothing to look after. Mother, I am the happiest John in the whole world.”

THE TWO CHICKENS OR THE TWO EARS

One day a parish priest had invited a relative to luncheon and wished to give him something nice to eat. He ordered two tender young chickens to be killed and plucked.

In the morning, before celebrating Mass, he said to his servant:

“Cook the two chickens for lunch and prepare them as nicely as possible, as my cousin is very fond of his food.”

“All right, your Reverence,” replied the servant.

When the chickens were roasted, wanting to know if they were done to a turn, she cut off a piece of the wing.

“It wants another five minutes,” she thought; she then took another little piece. That so whetted her appetite that she continued to take pickings until nearly all the chicken had disappeared.

“One is worse than useless,” she thought, so the second chicken disappeared after the other.

Crying bitterly she went to find the cousin.

“Oh, sir! oh, sir!” she cried.

“What is the matter, Catherine, a misfortune? Has his Reverence caught measles?” he asked.

“Worse than that, sir,” sighed Catherine. “I must tell you everything. The vicar has been so strange lately. Sometimes when he returns from the church and finds a visitor awaiting him, without saying a word he begins to sharpen his knife and then cuts off both his ears. You must be on your guard if he seizes his knife when he comes in.”

“He will not catch me napping,” replied the cousin.

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the priest appeared. The first thing he did was to take up his knife. He was very hungry and wanted his luncheon at once.

“I will be off,” thought the cousin, and he ran like a hare.

“Can you tell me why the wretched man has run away?” the priest asked the servant.

“He has stolen the two fat chickens and thought it wiser to disappear.”

“What! stolen my chickens!” cried the priest.

“Hallo! Hallo!” he shouted as loud as ever he could, “at least leave me one.”

Of course the priest meant one chicken, but his cousin, thinking that it was a question of his ears, shouted back:

“No, no, I prefer to keep them both.”

THE WONDERFUL FISH

THE WONDERFUL FISH

Amid the sand-hills in Flanders not far from La Panne there lived a fisherman named Tintelentyn. He was very poor; he worked from morning till night and very often spent half the night wading in the water with his shrimping-net.

He had not been able to save enough money to build a little house. Meanwhile he and his idle wife, Susie Grill, lived in an old bathing-machine which they had received in exchange for some shrimps.

Fisherman Tintelentyn was a good man and never complained of his hard lot. His wife, on the contrary, who considered she had married beneath her, lay in the grass in front of the machine day after day bemoaning her fate and reproaching the Almighty for not giving her the riches enjoyed by her friends and acquaintances.

Poor Tintelentyn received the full brunt of her bad temper. In spite of his hard work she reproached him with being stupid and lazy.

Susie Grill being in a temper, the good man, despite an unfavourable tide, took up his nets and went to the sea. He cast his nets in despair. He was doomed to disappointment, for on drawing in his nets he only found some shells, seaweed, and starfish; not a single shrimp nor even a little crab.

He was very downhearted and perplexed, when suddenly he saw something red shining in one of his nets. On closer examination he saw that the red thing was alive; it was a fish, which seemed to be looking at him with its silvery eyes.

“Poor little fish,” the good man said in pitying tones, “I am sorry to have caught you. You are too pretty and too rare to fry. However, I dare not throw you back into the sea, for Susie Grill will be so angry if I return empty-handed.”

Imagine Tintelentyn’s amazement when the pretty fish, which he held in the hollow of his hand, stood up on its tail and began to speak in a piping voice:

“Little fisherman Tintelentyn, Do not fry my bright red skin. I beg you throw me back into the sea, And all you may wish you shall have from me.”

Without hesitation and with never a thought of reward, the fisherman threw the strange fish into the waves. He was about to cast his nets for the second time when he saw his wife coming towards him with her arms akimbo. She immediately began to rail against him:

“Tintelentyn, you stupid man, What shall we put in the frying-pan If you throw back into the sea The only fish you caught for me; If you prefer poverty all your life, You can go and find another wife.”

At first the poor man was too much astonished to answer. When he recovered, he tried to excuse himself, telling her that the fish he had caught was no ordinary fish, that he had looked at him so sadly and had implored him so gently and with promises of reward to give him his freedom. His wife became still more furious. “What!” she cried, “that fish would have made our fortune. You had only to make a wish and we should have been saved from this misery. You have thrown this wonderful fish back into the sea without even asking for a good catch of shrimps. You are an ass! Cast back your nets and wish for a large and beautiful house with turrets, such as the wealthy live in. It must have marble steps and be well furnished. If you do not catch the fish again, I shall run away and you will never see me again.”

When the good man drew in his nets again, he found the red fish. When he let it wriggle in the palm of his hand, it again looked at him with pleading eyes and spoke in a very piping voice:

“Little fisherman Tintelentyn, Do not fry my bright red skin. I beg you throw me back into the sea, And all you may wish you shall have from me.”

The fisherman cast a frightened glance towards his wife, who was seated on the dry sand. Then with much hesitation he said:

“O little fish so red and fine, You shall live, O little fish mine; But Susie Grill my wife desires A lovely house with lofty towers, Everything of the best must be, O little fish, will you help me?”

The fish stood up on its tail and said:

“Susie Grill, she is neither mad nor shy, What she has wished for is now close by.”

The fisherman threw the fish back into the sea and turned homewards. Oh! how wonderful! There on the highest sand-hill, where the bathing-machine had stood, was a beautiful house. He could hardly wait to collect his nets, he was so anxious to know whether this time his wife would receive him more amiably.

Proud as a peacock she awaited him on the marble steps:

“Well, Grilly,” he asked, “are you pleased with me?”

“Listen,” she replied, “it is true I now live in a beautiful house with turrets, a marble staircase and rooms exquisitely furnished, but I have no money. Go back to the sea ... catch the fish again and ask him to give us as much money as the richest man on the coast between Ostend and Dunkirk. Woe betide you if you return without it!”

The good man again returned to the sea, and when he had caught the fish and the latter again asked for his freedom, the fisherman answered, much embarrassed at asking yet another favour:

“O little fish so red and fine, You shall live, O little fish mine; But Susie Grill my wife Wants to lead an easy life, Heaps of silver and gold. You will think her very bold. But little fish, never mind, O little fish to her be kind.”

Again the fish arose and replied:

“Susie Grill is neither shy nor bold, She shall have riches and wealth untold.”

When Tintelentyn returned, he found his wife in her bedroom seated before a large chest overflowing with gold. She counted it without ceasing, arranging it in piles of a hundred on the table. Before the chest was another brimful of silver. She told her husband that she was going to Bruges the next morning to buy a coach and four and to engage a staff of servants. Her _chef_ was to be a master of his art, he must out-rival the Count of Flanders’ _chef_.

“Well, are you happy now, little wife?” Tintelentyn murmured.

“Well, to be truthful, no,” his wife replied. “I have mentioned the Count of Flanders’ _chef_. How foolish I am, as we can have anything we desire--why should I not wish to be the Countess of Flanders? Now I know for what purpose I was born. I shall sit on the throne. I shall be a queen. Go back as quickly as you can to the sea. Tell the fish what I wish, and do not forget to add that you will accept some high position at my court.”

When the fisherman cast his net, he noticed that the sky was overcast on the horizon. The waves became more angry than before and a strong breeze was blowing. However, he soon caught the fish and said to him:

“O little fish, so red and fine, I’ll not harm you, little fish mine; But Susie Grill, O little fish, Has yet once more another wish. Fish, dear little fish, I beg you help me, Now Countess of Flanders she would be.”

Standing up on his tail the fish replied:

“If Susie Grill thinks it her destiny Countess of Flanders she shall be.”

Tintelentyn could hardly believe his eyes, when instead of arriving at the house he lived in up to an hour ago he found himself in front of a palace, with pointed towers so high that they seemed to disappear into the clouds. He saw knights and ladies going in and coming out, and grooms in rich liveries. He dared not go in dressed in his ragged fisherman’s clothes. Suddenly his wife appeared at an open window with a crown on her head and a sceptre in her hand. She signed to him to approach:

“My man,” she said with great importance, “I am not dissatisfied with what you have done. I even feel disposed to reward you handsomely. I require a cup-bearer. Well, I will appoint you to this post on condition that you return

once again to the sea and obtain me yet another great honour.”

“Good gracious, wife,” exclaimed the good man, “are you not overwhelmed with honours? You are richer than the richest man between Ostend and Dunkirk, you hold the title of Countess of Flanders, you wear a crown and sceptre, what more can you possibly desire?”

“You are an innocent,” laughed Susie Grill. “Is there not a sky above my head, and is there not a God who reigns in the sky? Go quickly to the sea, catch the red fish. Ask him to make me as powerful as God. If you dare to return without obtaining my wish, you will be hanged.”

This time Tintelentyn did not hurry. He felt as though his legs were weighted with lead. He stumbled along as though he had been drinking. The sea was rougher than he had ever seen it. A storm was coming up from the west. The wind whistled among the sand-hills, driving the sand before it. Distant thunder rolled and lightning flashed. For the last time the red fish let himself be caught.

“Little Fisherman Tintelentyn, Do not fry my bright red skin.”

He spoke roughly, as though in warning.

“O Tintelentyn, O Tintelentyn, Do not commit this awful sin.”

But the poor fisherman, thinking of the rope which awaited him, said in a trembling voice: