Part 5

“Well, I do declare!” cried Wry-Face. “I should like to know what _you_ have to do with my fine garden.”

The potato replied, “I jumped here from the cart of One-Eye, the potato wife, and it is quite certain that unless I am taken back to her immediately, I shall start again, growing and growing and growing.”

“Dear potato, you must not start growing again,” cried Wry-Face, in a great way. “To-night I am so tired, I cannot do anything, but if you will but wait till to-morrow I will take you back to One-Eye, the potato wife—I will, indeed.”

At first the potato would not listen to this at all; but after a while it said, “Well, well, I will wait till to-morrow. But remember, if you do not carry me home to One-Eye, the potato wife, to-morrow, I shall grow into a potato _tree_, without a doubt.”

So Wry-Face carried the potato into his house, and stored it in his bin. But he never noticed the spell which Oh-I-Am had placed by his door.

“I am so tired, I can scarcely yawn,” said Wry-Face. “It is quite time for me to have my supper and go to bed.”

So he fetched the apple pie from the pantry and set it upon the table, and presently he sat down to his meal.

And he forgot for a moment how tired he was, thinking how delightful it was to sit down to a supper of apple pie.

Then he lifted his knife and fork to cut off a large piece, but alas, the fork stuck fast. As for the knife, it would not move either, not an inch. Wry-Face began to weep.

“Alack, what has happened to my apple pie?” cried he, and his tears fell, round as round.

Then he got upon his feet, and he caught hold of the knife and fork and pulled and pulled and pulled. And with the last pull the top of the apple pie came off, sticking to the knife and fork, and Wry-Face saw that within the pie there was not one piece of apple, but—a big brown potato!

Wry-Face wept again with horror at the sight.

“I should like to know,” cried he, “what _you_ are doing in my fine apple pie?”

The brown potato replied, as cool as cool, “I am one of the potatoes belonging to One-Eye, the potato wife, and I turned the apples out, that I might hide here awhile. But this I must tell you, Wry-Face, unless you take me home to the potato wife immediately, here, in this pie dish, I intend to remain.”

“Alas!” cried Wry-Face, “to-night I am so tired I could never find One-Eye; but if you will but wait till to-morrow, I will carry you home to the potato wife—I will, indeed.”

At first the potato would not agree to this at all, but after a while it said, “Very well, I will wait till to-morrow. But remember, my Wry-Face, if you do not carry me home to One-Eye to-morrow, I will creep into every pie you make; and you will die at last of starvation without a doubt.”

So Wry-Face stored the potato in the potato bin and went supperless to bed. And he knew nothing of the spell which Oh-I-Am had placed by his door.

Now he got into bed, and thought he would go to sleep; but oh, how hard the mattress was! Wry-Face lay this way, then that, but no matter which way he lay, he found a great hump just beneath him which was as hard as hard, and as nobbly as could be.

Wry-Face tossed and tossed till it was nearly morning; and his bones were so sore that he could lie no longer.

Then he pulled the mattress from the bed and cut a great hole in it, and when he had searched and searched he found in the middle of the mattress—a big brown potato!

“This,” cried Wry-Face, “is why I have not slept the whole night through!” And he wept like anything.

But the potato was as cool as cool.

“I belong,” it said, “to One-Eye, the potato wife; and let me tell you, my little gnome, unless you take me to her immediately, I shall climb into your mattress again, and there I shall remain.”

“Alas,” cried Wry-Face, “I have tossed about for hours and hours and am too tired to do anything. But if you will wait till to-morrow, dear potato, I will carry you to One-Eye, the potato wife—I will, indeed.”

At first the potato was unwilling to listen to this, but after a while it said, “Very well, then, I will wait till the morning. But this much I know, my Wry-Face, if you do not carry me then to One-Eye, the potato wife, I shall get into your mattress and you shall roll again _every night_.”

So Wry-Face put the potato in the bin. When he had done that he went to bed, and slept and slept.

When the sun was shining he awoke, and he remembered that he had to carry the potatoes back to One-Eye, the potato wife; and he was as cross as anything.

“Well, I suppose I must,” he said. And when he had had his breakfast, he went to his cupboard to get a sack.

Then he found that his sack was full of pearls which he had gathered together for Heigh-Heavy, the giant, whose daughter, So-Small, he wished to marry.

So he thought, “First of all I will carry the pearls to Heigh-Heavy, for that is more important.” And away he went with the sack upon his back. And he never saw the spell which Oh-I-Am had placed beside his door.

When he reached the Most Enormous House of Heigh-Heavy, the Giant, there the giant was sitting in his parlor lacing his shoes.

So Wry-Face cried out in a gay little voice, “Here I am, Heigh-Heavy, here I am. And here is a bag of pearls which I have brought you in exchange for your beautiful daughter, So-Small.”

When Heigh-Heavy heard this, he stopped lacing his shoes, and said, “You must bring me in exchange for my daughter So-Small as many pearls as will cover my palm.”

Then Wry-Face ran forward and he tipped up the sack; and, standing high upon his toes, he shook out all that it held into the hand of Heigh-Heavy, the Giant.

Now all that it held was—one brown potato!

Wry-Face the gnome stared and stared and stared, his eyes growing rounder and rounder; but he had no time to weep, on account of Heigh-Heavy the giant who had fallen into a rage terrible to see.

“Now there is one thing quite certain,” said Heigh-Heavy, “and that is that you shall never marry my daughter So-Small, for, my Wry-Face, I will turn you into a brown potato, and a brown potato you shall remain your whole life through.”

When Wry-Face heard this terrible threat he took to his heels, and ran from the Most Enormous House of Heigh-Heavy, the giant. He ran, and ran, till his coat was torn and his ears were red; and he never rested till he reached his cottage door, and got inside.

Heigh-Heavy laughed till he cried to see the little gnome run. “He will play no tricks on _me_!” said he. And he went in and shut the door.

But Wry-Face said to himself, as he carried the potatoes, weeping, to the potato-wife:

“I will never play a trick on _anyone_ again, not as long as I live!”

CHANTICLEER

Once upon a time a widow and her two daughters lived in a little cottage near a grove. They were so poor that it took the most careful managing to earn a humble living. Their meals were very simple; indeed, they often had nothing but milk and brown bread, and once in a while a bit of bacon and an egg or two.

Around the cottage was a henyard, fenced in with sticks and a dry ditch, and here the old widow kept a handsome rooster called Chanticleer. His match for crowing could not be found; his voice was merrier than the merry organ heard in the church on Mass days, and the wonder of it was one could tell the hour of the day by his crowing! His comb was redder than fine coral, and all notched like a castle wall. His bill was black and shone like jet, his legs and his toes were like azure, his nails whiter than the lily flower, and his feathers the color of burnished gold.

Chanticleer lived a happy life. He had with him seven plump wives, all very much like him in color, but by far the cheeriest companion among them was Demoiselle Partlet, who was not only beautiful but also wise and courteous. Chanticleer loved her dearly. What joy it was to hear them sing together at sunrise,

“My love is far away.”

Early one morning when Chanticleer and his seven hens sat on the perch, Partlet, who was beside her lord, heard a loud groan. “My dear,” she said, astonished and alarmed, “what can be the matter with you? For shame, to wake us all up in this way!”

“Madam,” replied the rooster, “do not be anxious about me. It was only a dream, but it has frightened me almost beyond words. I thought I was roaming up and down the yard, when suddenly I saw a beast somewhat like a hound ready to spring at me. He was between yellow and red in color, his tail and ears were tipped with black, his nose was small and his eyes glowed like fire. I almost died of fright! That is what made me groan.”

“Fie for shame!” retorted Partlet. “Do you admit to your love that anything could fill your heart with fear? Alas! Alas! You know that dreams mean nothing. Let me explain what causes them. Overeating creates too much black humor, and in consequence one is likely to dream that black bears, or black bulls, or even _devils_ will catch him. Then again, if one has too much red humor he may dream of arrows, of fire with red blazes, or of great and small whelps that will bite. I could go on, but further talk is unnecessary. Dearest, when we fly down from these rafters I will point out to you herbs and berries that will cure you; also for a day or two you shall have a light diet of worms. Cheer up, I say, and in a little while all will be well. Should this occur again, remember the words of the wise Cato: ‘Take no heed of dreams!’”

“Thank you for your excellent advice, my dear,” replied Chanticleer. “I know that Cato had much wisdom, but I can give you examples of other very wise men who did not agree with him. Do you not remember the story of Daniel in the Old Testament? Did he think dreams mean nothing? Also read the story of Joseph and you will see that a dream held warnings of future things. Recall for a moment Pharaoh, King of Egypt, his baker and his butler! See what they thought about the meaning of dreams. Wonderful stories on this subject I could point out to you, so do not be surprised that this dream of mine makes me anxious. But now, my dearest Partlet, let us talk about merrier things, for, when I see the beauty of your face and the lovely scarlet hue about your eyes, all my fears leave me. I am so full of joy and comfort in your company that I forget dreams.”

Daybreak had come and the rooster and his seven wives flew down from the perch. “Cluck! Cluck!” he called gayly when he found a tidbit in the yard. Behold Chanticleer in all his glory! Brave as a lion, he roamed proudly on his tiptoes up and down the henyard, never dreaming that an enemy was watching him with cunning interest.

Now it happened that a wicked fox had lived for three years in the grove near the cottage. All this time he had been watching his chance to fall upon the handsome rooster. During the night of Chanticleer’s dream, the fox had pushed slyly through the hedge into the garden and had carefully hidden himself among the vegetables.

The sun was shining gloriously! Partlet and her sisters were bathing merrily in the warm sand! Gallant Chanticleer, singing merrier than a mermaid, was watching a butterfly flitting about in the sunshine among the herbs when suddenly his eye caught sight of the fox lying low among the leaves! Terror seized him. The song died in his throat. “Cok! Cok!” he gasped. In a moment he would have fled, but the fox began right away to speak to him in a very persuasive tone.

“Gentle sir, I hope you are not afraid of me, your own good friend. Certainly I should be worse than a fiend if I harmed you. Indeed I did not come here to spy upon you, but, pardon me, to hear your glorious voice. No angel in heaven could sing sweeter than you do. How well I remember my lord, your father, and my lady, your honorable mother. They have been guests at my house many times. Shall I ever again hear a voice as beautiful as your father’s when he greeted the sunrise! I remember exactly how he looked. He stood on his tiptoes, shut his eyes tightly, stretched out his long slender neck and then poured forth his glorious song. He was indeed a wonder. Also, he was very wise and careful. I have heard it said that no one could surpass him in song or wisdom. I wonder, kind sir, if your voice is as beautiful as your father’s. For sweet charity’s sake, will you not sing one song for me and let me compare the two voices?”

How could Chanticleer refuse one so kind and courteous? He began to flap his wings. He stood on tiptoe. He closed his eyes. He stretched his long, slender neck and began to crow. Snap! In a twinkling the fox seized Chanticleer by the throat, swung him across his back, and was off to the woods with him.

Never was there such a commotion! The hens screamed and cried pitifully. Partlet shrieked at the top of her voice. This brought the widow and her daughters to the door, and then they saw the wicked fox with Chanticleer across his back making for the wood. “Help! Help! A fox! A fox!” they cried, and started after him as fast as they could go. Men snatched up sticks and joined them. The dog Coll ran yelping and barking. Malkin started with the distaff in her hand. The cow and the calf ran. The hogs, frightened at the loud barking of the dogs and the screaming of the people, set up a squealing like fiends and followed in the chase. The ducks quacked as if they were being murdered, the geese in terror took flight over the tree tops. The hideous deafening noise started a swarm of bees forth from their hive. Soon other people followed with horns of brass, wood, and bone. They blew, they bellowed, they cried, they screamed, they whooped, they shrieked, and made such a bedlam that it seemed the very heavens would fall. And on ran the fox with the rooster on his back.

Now Chanticleer in all his breathless terror was rapidly turning over in his mind how he could help his friends to rescue him. Controlling his fright as best he could, he said,

“Sir, if I were you, I’d scoff at these followers. Say to them, ‘Turn back you proud churls! A plague upon you! The rooster is mine and I’ll soon be where I can eat him.’”

“In faith,” replied the fox, “I’ll do what you say.” As soon as the fox opened his mouth, Chanticleer flew high up into a tree which stood near. Now the fox saw his mistake, but was not ready to give up.

“Alas, alas, Chanticleer,” he began, “I’ve done you a great wrong. I seized you and carried you entirely too roughly. Forgive me for frightening you. Come now, fly down a moment and let me explain.”

“No thank you,” crowed Chanticleer. “Your flattery will not catch me a second time, and make me sing again with my eyes closed. For no good can come to anyone who closes his eyes when they should be open.”

“Bad luck to the one who talks when he should hold his peace,” grumbled the fox.

THE JACKAL AND THE ALLIGATOR

A little Jackal, who was very fond of crabs and bits of fish and whatever else he could find, went down to the riverside one morning in search of something for his dinner. He ran up and down the bank, here and there, but he could find nothing to eat. At last, near some tall bulrushes and under clear, shallow water he saw a little crab who was sidling along as fast as his legs could carry him. The little jackal was so very hungry that, without looking, he put his paw into the water after the crab. “Snap!” A great big alligator who lived in the river, had the paw in his jaws.

“Oh, dear,” thought the little jackal, “a big alligator has my paw in his mouth. In another minute he will drag me down under the water and swallow me. What can I do?” Then a thought came to the little jackal, “I’ll fool that old alligator and get away from him.” So he called out in a very cheerful voice, “Clever Alligator! Clever Alligator! To catch hold of that bulrush root for my paw! I hope you will find it very tender.”

The old alligator was so hidden among the bulrushes that he could scarcely see anything. On hearing the little jackal call out he said to himself, “Dear me, I thought I had caught hold of the jackal’s paw; but there he is calling out in a cheerful voice. I suppose I have made a mistake.” So saying he opened his mouth and let the little jackal go.

The jackal ran away as fast as he could. When he was at a safe distance he called out, “O wise Alligator! O wise Alligator! So you let me go again.” The alligator was very angry, but the little jackal had run too far away to be caught.

The next day the jackal returned to the riverside to get his dinner as before. The old alligator was nowhere to be seen, but the little jackal thought it best not to take any chances, so he called out, “Wherever I go to look for my dinner, I search for the nice little fat crabs that come peeping up through the mud. Then I put my paw down and catch them. I wish I could see one now.”

The old alligator was down in the mud at the bottom of the river, and he heard every word the jackal said. He thought to himself, “Aha! I’ll just show the tip of my nose up through the mud. He’ll take it for a little fat crab and put his paw in to catch me. As soon as he does so, I’ll gobble him up!” So he popped the little point of his nose out of the mud and waited. No sooner did the jackal see the tip of the alligator’s nose than he called out, “O Friend Alligator, so there you are. No dinner for me here, thank you.” And off he ran and fished for his dinner a long, long way from that place. The old alligator snapped his jaws again and again. He was very angry at missing his dinner a second time, and he made up his mind not to let the jackal escape again.

The following day, the little jackal went down to the waterside as usual to look for crabs. He was rather afraid to go too near the river’s edge, for he felt sure the old enemy was hiding somewhere. So he stayed back at a safe distance and called out,

“Where are all the little crabs gone? There is not one here and I am very hungry. When I don’t see them on the shore or peeping up through the mud I see them blowing bubble, bubble, bubble, and all the little bubbles go pop! pop! pop!” The old alligator lying low in the mud heard this and he said to himself, “I can fool that little jackal easy enough _this_ time. I’ll pretend to be a little crab.” Then he began to blow, puff, puff! Bubble, bubble, bubble! And all the great bubbles rushed to the top of the river, and burst there, and the water whirled and whirled round and round just above the place where the old alligator lay hidden. It didn’t take the jackal long to know who was underneath those bubbles, and off he ran, as fast as he could go, calling out,

“Thank you, kind Alligator, thank you, thank you! Indeed it is very kind of you to show me just where you are.”

The old alligator was furious at being deceived by the little jackal once more. “Next time I will be very cunning,” he said. So, for a long time he waited and waited for the jackal, to come to the riverside, but the jackal never returned.

“I shall be caught and eaten by that wicked old alligator some day if I am not careful. I must content myself to do without crabs.” He went no more to the river, but stayed in the jungle and ate wild figs and roots which he dug up with his paws.

When the alligator found this out he was angry again, and he determined to try to catch the jackal on land. So he crawled over the ground to a place where the largest of the wild fig trees grew. He made a great heap of the fallen figs and hid himself under it, and there he waited for the jackal. No sooner did the cunning little animal spy the great pile of figs than he thought, “Oh, ho, that looks much like my friend the alligator. I’ll see.” So he called out,

“The little wild figs I like best always tumble down from the tree, and roll here and there as the wind drives them. That great heap of figs is quite still. They can not be good figs. I will not eat one of them.”

The old alligator thought, “Oh, ho! How suspicious this jackal is. I will make the figs roll about a little, then he will come and eat them.”

So the great beast shook himself and all the little figs went roll, roll, roll, this way and that, farther than the most blustering wind could have driven them. The jackal knew who was under the heap. Away he scampered, calling back, “Thank you, Mr. Alligator, for letting me know you are there! I should scarcely have guessed it.” The alligator hearing this was so angry that he ran after the jackal, but the jackal ran away too quickly to be caught.

The old alligator was now in a rage. “I will not let him make fun of me another time and then run away out of my reach. I will show him I can be more cunning than he thinks,” he declared.

Early the next morning he crawled as fast as he could till he came to the little jackal’s den. The jackal was away, and so he crept in and hid himself to wait until the little animal should return. By and by the jackal came home. He looked all about the place, for the ground around his house was torn up as though some very heavy animal had been crawling there.

“Dear me,” he said. Then he saw that the earth on each side of the door of his den had been knocked down as if something very big had tried to squeeze through it.

“I certainly will not go inside until I know who has gone in there.” So he called out, “Little house, why do you not give me an answer when I call? You always call out to me if all is safe and right. Is anything wrong that you do not speak?”

Then the alligator who was inside thought, “I must pretend to be the little house and call out. He will not come in unless he thinks all is right in here.” So he called out in as pleasant a voice as he could, “Sweet little Jackal.” When the little jackal heard that he was frightened indeed.

“So that dreadful old alligator is in my house. I must try to kill him if I can, or he will certainly make an end of me some day.”

Then he answered, “Thank you, my dear little house. I like to hear your pretty voice. I am coming in a minute, but first I must collect some firewood to cook my dinner.” As fast as he could, he gathered all the dry branches and bits of sticks and piled them up close to the mouth of the den. The old alligator inside kept as quiet as a mouse, but he could not help laughing a little to himself, “So I have deceived that little jackal at last. In a few minutes he will run in here, and then, won’t I snap him up!”

When the jackal had gathered as many sticks as he could find, he ran back and placed the sticks all round the outside of his den. Then he set fire to them. The great fire blazed up, and the smoke filled the den and smothered that wicked old alligator.

FINN AND THE FAIRY SHOEMAKER

Finn O’Shea’s grandmother knew more about fairies than anyone else in the village. One afternoon when the sun was shining on the tops of the Nine Hills, which rose up a few fields beyond the edge of the village, Finn and his grandmother were coming home from a walk. Suddenly the old woman darted forward and picked up the tiniest bit of a gray feather. Her sharp eyes had spied it under the shadow of a foxglove.

“What is it, Granny?” asked Finn.

“An owl’s feather, lad. It fell out of one of their wee red caps,” said she, laughing quietly. “They had a fine revel in the fields last night, my boy, for it was Midsummer Eve. That is the time when the wee folks are gayest, you know.”

“I wish I could see them dancing,” said Finn.