Part 8

Well, they lived along, and Fair Ellen served her stepmother well. She served her with foot and she served her with hand. Everything that she could do for her she did, but the stepmother hated her worse and worse, and a powerful wicked witch was she.

Now it chanced that Angus Mac Pherson had to go on a far journey, and he would be away a long time. He said good-by to his wife and his daughter and then he started out, and no one was left in the house but those two alone.

After he had been gone a little while the stepmother said, "Come, Fair Ellen, we are both sad and down-hearted. Let us go out and walk upon the cliffs where the wind blows and the sun shines."

Fair Ellen was ready enough to go, so they set out together.

They walked along and they walked along until they came to Estmere Crag, and always as they walked the stepmother's lips moved as though she were talking to herself, but no word did she utter.

"What is that you say?" asked Fair Ellen.

"'Tis a rhyme I learned when I was young," said the stepmother. "I was but minding myself of it."

After awhile they reached the top of the crag, and the sea was far, far below them. Then the stepmother turned to Fair Ellen.

"Blue of eyes and fair of speech," she cried; "you have crossed my path, and none may do that and have good come of it. You have crossed my path with your beauty, but with your beauty you shall cross it no longer."

Fair Ellen stood and looked at her, and her heart grew cold within her, and she could stir neither hand nor foot.

The stepmother raised her hand and touched her. "A loathly worm you shall be," she cried. "You shall dwell under Estmere Crag and the salt sea shall be your home, and bonowed[1] shall ye never be, till Kempion, the king's own son, shall come to the crag and thrice kiss thee."

Then the witch turned and walked down the crag, and back to her own home.

But the Fair Ellen was changed in her shape so that even her own father would have feared her. Her shape grew long, her breath was fire, and she became a scaly dragon. Down over Estmere Crag she swung, and deep in a cavern she hid herself, and the smoke rose from the cavern and everyone was afraid.

Now it was not long that she had been there when word came to the king's palace that such a beast was in the land, and that all the country was wasted because of her. But none dared to go out against her because she was so terrible.

But Kempion, the king's own son, was as brave a prince as ever lived. Handsome he was, too, and straight and tall.

Now when he heard of the great beast his heart rose within him, and he swore that he would go out to slay it, and Segramore, his brother, said that he would go with him.

They built themselves a bonny boat, for they could best come to the beast's lair by sea, and they two set out together; they two and no other, for everyone else was afraid to go with them.

They sailed out and on and around, and so they came within sight of Estmere Crag, and there lay the great worm stretched in and out among the rocks. It was a gruesome sight, and with every breath it breathed, the crag was lit up as if by fire.

Kempion and his brother had scarce come within a mile of the land when the beast saw them, and raised itself. It opened its mouth and fire and flame poured forth. It swung its head to and fro and the sea was lashed into foam.

"Keep further out," cried Kempion to his brother. "Keep further out, for this beast has sure gone mad at the sight of us; a little more and it will set fire to all the land."

Then Segramore kept the boat off, and Kempion bent his arbalest bow and aimed an arrow at the head of the beast. He bent his bow, but the arrow stayed, for when he saw the eyes of the beast they were the eyes of a sorrowing maid, and they seemed to pierce to his very soul.

Nevertheless he kept his bow still bent and he called to it across the water, "Now, by my soul, unless you swear to me that you will quit my land, with this same shaft will I shoot you dead."

Then the worm made answer,

"Out of my rocks I will not rise Nor leave the land for fear of thee Till over Estmere Crag ye come And on my mouth three times kiss me."

Then Kempion was like one distraught. He threw down his bow and bade his brother row back to the land. "I will go over the crag to you, beast," he cried, "though I go to my death at the same time."

Segramore begged and pleaded with him, but he would not listen. As soon as they came to the shore he leaped from the boat and all unarmed set out for Estmere Crag.

Up and up he climbed, and it was a dizzy height. Far, far below was the blue sea, and half way up from it the cavern where the beast made its lair. Kempion could see it there now, twisted among the rocks.

Out swung the great beast and around it came, the fiercest beast that ever was seen. The hair rose on Kempion's head and he shut his eyes, for it was near him now. It came close and the fire was all about him, but it did not burn him. Then he kissed it.

He kissed it and the mouth was cold.

Out it swung and again it came.

"Out of my lair I will not rise, I will not leave for fear of thee, Oh, Kempion, you dear king's son, Till on the mouth you thrice kiss me."

Then Kempion kissed the beast again and its lips were warm. The third time he kissed it, and its mouth was the mouth of a woman.

Then Kempion looked, and before him stood the most beautiful maid he had ever seen. Slim as a reed she was, and very fair, for her eyes were as blue as the sky, and her hair as bright as gold, and it fell all about her, and down to her knees like a mantle.

Then Kempion took his cloak and wrapped it about her. "You are my own true love," he said, "and other maid I will marry none, for never have I seen such beauty and gentleness before."

So he carried her up from Estmere Crag, and home to the palace of the king.

There, all was sorrow and mourning, for they thought that Kempion was surely dead. But when they saw him come into the hall, and saw the beautiful bride he had brought with him, all their sorrow was turned into rejoicing.

When they had heard how the young prince had broken the enchantment that had held Fair Ellen the old king turned to her. "Tell me, oh, my daughter," he said, "was it mermaid in the sea, or was it werewolf in the wood, or some wicked man or wicked woman that wrought this cruel spell on thee?"

"It was not werewolf in the wood, it was not mermaid in the sea, but it was my wicked stepmother that wrought this cruel spell on me."

Then said the king, "Punished shall she surely be; she shall be taken to the top of Estmere Crag, and thrown over into the sea, for such wickedness shall pollute my land no longer. But you, Fair Ellen, shall be the bride of my own dear son Kempion, and the half of all I have shall be yours and his forever."

FOOTNOTE:

[1] Bonowed--ransomed or rescued.

BUTTERCUP

(_From the Norse_)

THERE was once a poor woman who I had one son, a little boy so fat and round, and with such bright yellow hair that he was called Buttercup. The house where they lived was upon the edge of a lonely forest, and upon the other side of this forest lived a wicked old witch.

One day when the woman was baking she heard Sharptooth, her dog, begin to bark. "Run, Buttercup, and see who is coming," she said.

Buttercup ran and looked out. "Oh, Mother, it is an old witch with her head under one arm and a bag under the other."

"Come, quick," cried the mother, "and hide yourself in the dough trough so that she may not see you."

Buttercup jumped into the dough trough and his mother shut the lid, so that no one would have known he was there.

Then in a moment there was a knock at the door, and the old witch opened it and looked in. She had put her head on where it belonged now, and she looked almost like any old woman.

"Good-day, daughter," said she.

"Good-day, mother," answered the woman.

"May I come in and rest my bones a bit?"

The woman did not want her to come in, but neither did she like to say no. "Come in, in heaven's name."

The old witch entered and sat down on the settle, and then she began to look and peer about the room.

"Have you no children?" she asked.

"Yes, I have one son."

"And how do you call him?"

"I call him Buttercup."

"Is he at home?"

"No; his father takes him out with him when he goes hunting."

The old witch looked greatly disappointed. "I am sorry Buttercup is not at home, for I have a sweet little knife--a beautiful silver knife, and it is so sharp that it will cut through anything. If he were only here I would give it to him."

When Buttercup in the dough trough heard this he opened the lid and looked out. "Peep! peep! here I am!" he cried.

"That is a lucky thing," said she, and she looked well satisfied. "But the knife is at the bottom of my bag and I am so old and stiff that you will have to crawl in yourself and get it."

Buttercup was willing, so into the bag he crawled. Then the old witch closed it and flung it over her shoulder, and away she went so fast that the good mother could neither stop her nor follow her.

The old witch went on and on through the forest, but after a while she began to feel very tired.

"How far is it to Snoring?" she asked of Buttercup in the bag.

"A good two miles," answered Buttercup.

"Two miles! That is a long way. I'll just lie down and sleep a bit, and do you keep as still as a mouse in the bag, or it will be the worse for you."

She tied the mouth of the bag up tight, and then she fell fast asleep, and snored till the leaves shook overhead.

When he heard that, Buttercup took from his pocket a little dull old knife that his father had given him, and managed to cut a slit in the sack and crawl out. Then he found a gnarly stump of a fir tree and put that in the bag in his place and ran away home to his mother, and all this while the old witch never stirred.

After a time, however, she began to stretch her bones and look about her. "Eh! Eh!" she sighed, "that was a good sleep I had, but now we'll be journeying on again."

She slung the bag on her back, but the sharp points of the root kept sticking into her at every step. "That boy looked plump and soft enough," she muttered to herself, "but now he seems all elbows and knees." Then she cried to the stump, "Hey! there, you inside the bag, do not stick your bones into me like that. Do you think I am a pin cushion?"

The stump made no answer for it could not, and besides it had not heard, and the old witch hobbled on muttering and grumbling to herself.

When she reached her house her ugly, stupid witch daughter was watching for her from the window. "Have you brought home anything to eat?" she called.

"Yes, I have brought home a fine plump boy," said the witch, and she threw the bag down on the floor and began rubbing her bruises. "I'm half dead with carrying him, too."

"Let me see," cried the daughter, and she untied the mouth of the sack and looked in. "A boy!" she cried. "This is no boy, but only an old stump of a fir tree."

"Stupid you are, and stupid you will be," cried the witch. "I tell you it is a boy and a good fat boy at that."

"I tell you it is not," said the girl.

"I tell you it is." The old witch took up the sack and looked into it, and there, sure enough, was only an old stump that she had broken her back carrying home. Then she was in a fine rage. "How he got away I don't know, but never mind! I'll have him yet whether or no."

So the next morning while the good woman on the other side of the forest was making her beds she heard Sharptooth begin to bark.

"Run, Buttercup, and see who is coming," she called.

"Mother, it is the same old woman who was here yesterday."

"Quick! Jump into the clock case, and do not dare to so much as stir a finger until she has gone."

Buttercup ran and hid himself in the clock case, and presently there was a knock at the door and the old witch looked into the room.

"Good morning, daughter."

"Good morning, mother."

"May I come in and rest my poor old bones for a minute?"

"Come in, in heaven's name."

The old witch came in and sat down as near the dough trough as she dared.

"Daughter, I have journeyed far and I would be glad of a bit of bread to eat even if it is only the crust."

Well, she might have that and welcome, so the good woman went to the dough trough to get a piece, for that was where she kept it. No sooner had she opened the lid than the old witch was close behind her, looking over her shoulder, and she was disappointed enough when she found that no Buttercup was there.

However, she sat down again with the piece of bread in her hand and began to munch and mumble it, though she had no liking for such dry food as that.

"Is your little boy Buttercup at home to-day?" she asked.

"No. He has gone with his father to catch some trout for dinner."

"That is a pity," said the old witch, "for I brought a present for him in my bag. I brought him a silver fork, and it is such a dear little, pretty little fork that every bite it carries to your mouth tastes better than what the king himself has to eat."

When Buttercup heard that he could no longer keep still in the clock case. He must have that pretty little fork. "Peep! peep!" he cried, "here I am in the clock case." And he opened the door and jumped out.

"That is well," said the old witch, "but I am too old and stiff to bend over and you must crawl into the sack yourself to get the fork."

Before his mother could stop him Buttercup was in the sack, and the old woman had closed the mouth of it, had swung it over her shoulder and was out of the house and off. There was no use in running after her; she went so fast.

After while she was well in the forest, and then she did not hurry so.

"How far is it to Snoring now, you in the bag?" she asked.

"Oh, a mile and a half at least."

"That is a long way for old bones," said the witch. "I'll just sit down and rest a bit; but mind you, no tricks to-day, for I shall stay wide awake this time."

So she sat down by the road with her back against a tree. Then first she yawned, and next she nodded, and then she was asleep and snoring so that the very rocks around were shaken.

When Buttercup heard that, he whipped out his little knife and cut a slit in the sack and crawled out. Then he put a great heavy stone in the sack and ran away home as fast as his legs would carry him.

After while the old witch began to stretch and yawn. "Well, it's time to be journeying on if we would reach Snoring by daylight," she said, and she did not know she had been asleep at all. She picked up the bag, and whew! but it was heavy. "This boy is fat enough to break a body's back," said she. "He ought to make good eating." But at every step the stone bounced against her ribs till she was black and blue. "Hi! there, you inside the sack, can't you keep a little quieter?" she asked. But the stone made no answer, for it could not.

After a time the old witch reached her house, and her fat ugly daughter came running to meet her.

"Did you catch the same boy?" asked the girl.

"The very same, and fatter than ever," answered the witch, and she threw the bag down on the floor, bump!

"Oh, let me see him." And the witch girl put her hand on the bag.

"Let it alone!" screamed the witch mother. "If you go goggling at him again you'll turn him into a stick or a stone or something, as you did before. Put on a kettle of water, and as soon as it is hot I'll empty him into it."

The witch girl did as she was told, and every time she went past the sack she gave it a poke with her foot. "The boy may be fat," she said, "but he's tough enough to break a body's teeth in the eating."

When the water began to boil she called her mother, and the old witch picked up the sack intending to empty Buttercup into the pot, but instead the great stone rolled into it, ker-splash! and the boiling water flew all about. It flew on the old witch and burned her so that she stamped about the kitchen gnashing her teeth with rage. The fat daughter was so frightened she ran out and hid in the stable until all was quiet again. "Never mind!" said the old witch. "I'll have the boy to-morrow for sure." So the next day she took up the bag and started off for the third time through the forest.

The good mother was scrubbing her pans when Sharptooth began to bark outside. "Run, Buttercup, and see who is coming now."

"Mother, it is the same old witch who has been here twice before."

"Quick, quick! Hide in the cellar way, and try not to breathe until she has gone."

Buttercup ran and hid himself in the cellar way, and he was scarcely there before there was a knock at the door and the old witch pushed it open and looked in.

"May I come in and rest a bit?"

"Come in, in heaven's name."

The old witch stepped in and looked all about her.

"I would like to know what time it is."

"Well, look for yourself; there stands the clock."

The old witch went close to it and took the chance to peep inside the case, but no little boy was there. Then she sat down near the door.

"Is your little boy Buttercup at home to-day?"

The mother said, "No, he has gone to the mill with his father."

"That is a pity," said the old witch, "for I have a pretty little spoon in my bag that I meant to give to him, and it is such a smart little spoon that if you do but stir your porridge with it, it changes it into something so delicious that the princess herself would be glad to eat it."

When Buttercup in the cellar way heard that he wanted the spoon so badly that he could stay hidden no longer. "Peep! peep! Here I am," said he.

"I am glad of that," said the witch, "for I had no wish to take the spoon home again; but you will have to crawl into the sack yourself to get it, for I am too old and stiff."

In a moment Buttercup was in the sack, and in another moment the old witch had swung it over her back and was making off as fast as her legs would carry her. This time she neither stayed nor stopped, but went straight on home, and flung the sack on the floor with Buttercup in it.

"Did you get him this time?" asked the girl.

"Yes, I did," said the old witch, "and there he is, as plump as any young chicken. Now I'll be off to ask the guests, and do you put him in the pot and make a nice stew of him."

As soon as she had gone the witch girl opened the sack and told Buttercup to come out. "Now put your head on the block, Buttercup," she said, "so that I may chop it off."

"But I do not know how," said Buttercup.

"Stupid! It is easy enough; anyone would know how to do that."

"Then show me how, and I will hold the ax for you."

The stupid witch girl put her head on the block, and as soon as she did that, Buttercup cut it off. He put the head on the pillow of the bed and drew the coverlid up about it and then it looked exactly as though the witch girl were lying there asleep, but the body of her he popped into the pot of boiling water. Then he climbed up on the roof and took the fir tree stump and the stone with him.

And now home came the old witch again and all her troll friends with her, and they were an ugly looking set all together.

They went stamping into the house and the old witch began to bawl for her daughter, but there was no answer. She looked about her and spied the head there on the pillow with the covers drawn up about it. "So there you are!" cried the old witch. "Well, if you are too lazy to get up and eat your dinner, you will have to be content with what we leave." Then she picked up a big spoon and tasted the broth.

"Good, by my troth, Is Buttercup broth,"

said she, and smacked her lips.

"Good, by my troth, Is witch daughter broth,"

sang Buttercup out on the roof.

"Who was that?" asked the witch.

"Oh, it was only a bird singing outside," said her husband, and he took the spoon himself and tasted the broth.

"Good, by my troth, Is Buttercup broth,"

said he.

"Good, by my troth, Is witch daughter broth,"

sang Buttercup on the roof.

"There certainly is someone outside there mocking at us," said the old witch, and she ran out to see.

As soon as she came out Buttercup threw the stump down on her and killed her, and that was the end of her.

The witch's husband waited for a time, and when she did not come back he went to call her, but as soon as he stepped outside Buttercup rolled the big stone down on him, and that was an end of him.

The friends who had come to share the broth waited and waited for the witch and her husband to come back, but after a time, as they did not, the guests grew impatient and came out to look for them. When they saw the two lying there dead they never stopped for the broth, but ran away as fast as they could go, and for all I know they may be running still.

But Buttercup climbed down from the roof, and hunted round in the house until he found where the witch kept her money chest all full of gold and silver money. Then he filled the sack with as much as he could carry, and started home again. When he reached there you may guess whether or not his mother was glad to see him. Then there was no more poverty for them, for the money in the sack was enough to make them rich for all their lives.

THE SUN AND THE MOON

(_From Turkish Legends_)

ONCE upon a time the Sun made up his mind that he would like to get married. Far and near he journeyed, all over the round world and looked upon many fair maidens and princesses, but not one was beautiful enough to be his bride.

As he came home after his wanderings, he looked up at a window of the palace, and there sat his sister, the beautiful Helen, looking out. Her face, like the Sun's, was ruddy; her hair like his was as shining as gold. There was no one in all the world to compare with her in beauty.

"Come down and greet me, beautiful Helen," he cried, "for you and you only are worthy to be my bride."

But when the fair Helen heard this she was horrified. "Such a thing must not be," said she. "A brother may not marry his sister, for that would be an offense to heaven."

The Sun, however, would not listen to her; he was determined to make her his bride, and to this end he summoned the best workmen from all over the world, some to make magnificent robes, some to prepare a feast, and gold and silver smiths and dealers in precious stones.

The beautiful Helen, however, wept and wept with grief.

Now there was in the palace of the Sun an old nurse who had nursed both him and his sister, and when she saw how, day after day, the beautiful Helen was melting away with grief, she said to her: "Why should you be so sad? You know how I love you, and that I have much knowledge of magic. If you asked me perhaps I might help you."

"Oh, my dear nurse, do but save me from this marriage and you can ask of me nothing that I will not give you."

"Leave it to me; leave it to me," said the old woman. "Are you not my nursling?"

So the next time the Sun came to see his sister the old woman changed her into a little cake, and hid her under the ashes as if to bake.

In came the Sun and looked about him. "Good nurse, I am tired and hungry," said he. "Have you nothing here for me to eat?"

"There is bread and wine yonder on the shelf."

"Nay, I know of something that suits me better than that," said the Sun, and he uncovered the white cake that lay among the ashes and made as though to eat it.

"Oh, my brother, spare me!" cried the cake.

"What!" cried the Sun, pretending to be very much surprised. "Can it be that this is not a cake at all, but the beautiful Helen, who has taken this form?"

Then Helen was obliged to take her own form again, and so beautiful did she appear with the silvery ashes powdering her golden hair that the Sun was more determined upon the marriage than ever.

After he had gone, Helen began to reproach the nurse because her magic had been of so little avail.