Chapter 4

She reached her room with gasping breath,--behold, another terror! Upon the key within her hand; she saw a ghastly stain; She rubbed it with her handkerchief, she washed in soap and water, She scoured it with sand and stone, but all was done in vain! For when one side, by dint of work, grew bright, upon the other (It was bewitched, you know,) came out that ugly spot again!

And then, unlooked-for, who should come next morning, bright and early, But old Blue-beard himself who hadn't been away a week! He kissed his wife, and, after a brief pause, said, smiling blandly: "I'd like my keys, my dear." He saw a tear upon her cheek, And guessed the truth. She gave him all but one. He scowled and grumbled: "I want the key to the _small room_!" Poor thing, she could not speak!

He saw at once the stain it bore while she turned pale and paler, "You've been where I forbade you! Now you shall go there _to stay_! Prepare yourself to die at once!" he cried. The frightened lady Could only fall before him pleading: "Give me time to pray!" Just fifteen minutes by the clock he granted. To her chamber She fled, but stopped to call her sister Anne by the way.

"O, sister Anne, go to the tower and watch!" she cried, "Our brothers Were coming here to-day, and I have got to die! Oh, fly, and if you see them, wave a signal! Hasten! hasten!" And Anne went flying like a bird up to the tower high. "Oh, Anne, sister Anne, do you see anybody coming?" Called the praying lady up the tower-stairs with piteous cry.

"Oh Anne, sister Anne, do you see anybody coming?" "I see the burning sun," she answered, "and the waving grass!" Meanwhile old Blue-beard down below was whetting up his cutlass, And shouting: "Come down quick, or I'll come after you, my lass!" "One little minute more to pray, one minute more!" she pleaded-- To hope how slow the minutes are, to dread how swift they pass!

"Oh Anne, sister Anne, do you see anybody coming?" She answered: "Yes I see a cloud of dust that moves this way." "Is it our brothers, Anne?" implored the lady. "No, my sister, It is a flock of sheep." Here Blue-beard thundered out: "I say, Come down or I'll come after you!" Again the only answer: "Oh, just one little minute more,--one minute more to pray!"

"Oh, Anne, sister Anne, do you see anybody coming?" "I see two horsemen riding, but they yet are very far!" She waved them with her handkerchief; it bade them, "hasten, hasten!" Then Blue-beard stamped his foot so hard it made the whole house jar; And, rushing up to where his wife knelt, swung his glittering cutlass, As Indians do a tomahawk, and shrieked: "How slow you are!"

Just then, without, was heard the beat of hoofs upon the pavement, The doors flew back, the marble floors rang to a hurried tread. Two horsemen, with their swords in hand, came storming up the stairway, And with one swoop of their good swords they cut off Blue-beard's head! Down fell his cruel arm, the heavy cutlass falling with it, And, instead of its old, ugly blue, his beard was bloody red!

Of course, the tyrant dead, his wife had all his vast possessions; She gave her sister Anne a dower to marry where she would; The brothers were rewarded with commissions in the army; And as for Blue-beard's wife, she did exactly as she should,-- She wore no weeds, she shed no tears; but very shortly after Married a man as fair to look at as his heart was good.

[Color Plate:]

The little brown owl sits up in the Tree, And if you look well His big eyes you may see. He says Whit a whoo, when the night grows dark, And he hears the dogs and the little foxes bark.

THE SLEEPING PRINCESS

Versified by Clara Doty Bates

The ringing bells and the booming cannon Proclaimed on a summer morn That in the good king's royal palace A Princess had been born.

The towers flung out their brightest banners, The ships their streamers gay, And every one, from lord to peasant, Made joyful holiday.

Great plans for feasting and merry-making Were made by the happy king; And, to bring good fortune, seven fairies Were bid to the christening.

And for them the king had seven dishes Made out of the best red gold, Set thickly round on the sides and covers With jewels of price untold.

When the day of the christening came, the bugles Blew forth their shrillest notes; Drums throbbed, and endless lines of soldiers Filed past in scarlet coats.

And the fairies were there the king had bidden, Bearing their gifts of good-- But right in the midst a strange old woman Surly and scowling stood.

They knew her to be the old, old fairy, All nose and eyes and ears, Who had not peeped, till now, from her dungeon For more than fifty years.

Angry she was to have been forgotten Where others were guests, and to find That neither a seat nor a dish at the banquet To her had been assigned.

Now came the hour for the gift-bestowing; And the fairy first in place Touched with her wand the child and gave her "Beauty of form and face!"

Fairy the second bade, "Be witty!" The third said, "Never fail!" The fourth, "Dance well!" and the fifth, "O Princess, Sing like the nightingale!"

The sixth gave, "Joy in the heart forever!" But before the seventh could speak, The crooked, black old Dame came forward, And, tapping the baby's cheek,

"You shall prick your finger upon a spindle, And die of it!" she cried. All trembling were the lords and ladies, And the king and queen beside.

But the seventh fairy interrupted, "Do not tremble nor weep! That cruel curse I can change and soften, And instead of death give sleep!

"But the sleep, though I do my best and kindest, Must last for an hundred years!" On the king's stern face was a dreadful pallor, In the eyes of the queen were tears.

"Yet after the hundred years are vanished,"-- The fairy added beside,-- "A Prince of a noble line shall find her, And take her for his bride."

But the king, with a hope to change the future, Proclaimed this law to be: That, if in all the land there was kept one spindle, Sure death was the penalty.

The Princess grew, from her very cradle Lovely and witty and good; And at last, in the course of years, had blossomed Into full sweet maidenhood.

And one day, in her father's summer palace, As blithe as the very air, She climbed to the top of the highest turret, Over an old worn stair

And there in the dusky cobwebbed garret, Where dimly the daylight shone, A little, doleful, hunch-backed woman Sat spinning all alone.

"O Goody," she cried, "what are you doing?" "Why, spinning, you little dunce!" The Princess laughed: "'Tis so very funny, Pray let me try it once!"

With a careless touch, from the hand of Goody She caught the half-spun thread, And the fatal spindle pricked her finger! Down fell she as if dead!

And Goody shrieking, the frightened courtiers Climbed up the old worn stair Only to find, in heavy slumber, The Princess lying there.

They bore her down to a lofty chamber, They robed her in her best, And on a couch of gold and purple They laid her for her rest,

The roses upon her cheek still blooming, And the red still on her lips, While the lids of her eyes, like night-shut lilies, Were closed in white eclipse.

Then the fairy who strove her fate to alter From the dismal doom of death, Now that the vital hour impended, Came hurrying in a breath.

And then about the slumbering palace The fairy made up-spring A wood so heavy and dense that never Could enter a living thing.

And there for a century the Princess Lay in a trance so deep That neither the roar of winds nor thunder Could rouse her from her sleep.

Then at last one day, past the long-enchanted Old wood, rode a new king's son, Who, catching a glimpse of a royal turret Above the forest dun

Felt in his heart a strange wish for exploring The thorny and briery place, And, lo, a path through the deepest thicket Opened before his face!

On, on he went, till he spied a terrace, And further a sleeping guard, And rows of soldiers upon their carbines Leaning, and snoring hard.

Up the broad steps! The doors swung backward! The wide halls heard no tread! But a lofty chamber, opening, showed him A gold and purple bed.

And there in her beauty, warm and glowing, The enchanted Princess lay! While only a word from his lips was needed To drive her sleep away.

He spoke the word, and the spell was scattered, The enchantment broken through! The lady woke. "Dear Prince," she murmured, "How long I have waited for you!"

Then at once the whole great slumbering palace Was wakened and all astir; Yet the Prince, in joy at the Sleeping Beauty, Could only look at her.

She was the bride who for years an hundred Had waited for him to come, And now that the hour was here to claim her, Should eyes or tongue be dumb?

The Princess blushed at his royal wooing, Bowed "yes" with her lovely head, And the chaplain, yawning, but very lively, Came in and they were wed!

But about the dress of the happy Princess, I have my woman's fears-- It must have grown somewhat old-fashioned In the course of so many years!

JACK AND JILL.

Little boys, sit still-- Girls, too, if you will-- And let me tell you of Jack and Jill; For I think another Such sister and brother Were never the children of one mother!

For an idle lad, As he was, Jack had No traits, after all, that were very bad. He, was simply Jack, With the coat on his back Patched up in all colors from gray to black.

Both feet were bare; And I do declare That he never washed his face; and his hair Was the color of straw-- You never saw Such a crop--as long as the moral law!

When he went to school, It was the rule (Though 'twas hard to say he was really a fool) To send him at once, So thick was his sconce, To the block that was kept for the greatest dunce.

And Jill! no lass Scarce ever has Made bigger tracks on the country grass; For her only fun Was to romp and run, Bare-headed, bare-footed, in wind and sun.

Wherever went Jack, Close on his track, With hair unbraided and down her back, Loud-voiced and shrill, She followed, until No one said "Jack" without saying "Jill."

But to succeed In teaching to read Such a harum-scarum, was work indeed! And I'm forced to tell That her way to spell Her name was with only a single 'l.'

Yet they were content. One day they were sent To the hill for water, and they went. They did not drown, But Jack fell down, With a pail in his hand, and broke his crown!

And Jill, who must go And always do Exactly as Jack did, tumbled too! Just think, if you will, How they rolled down hill-- Straw-headed Jack and bare-footed Jill!

But up Jack got, And home did trot, Nor cared whether Jill was hurt or not; While his poor bruised knob Did burn and throb, Tear falling on tear, sob following sob!

He could run the faster, So a paper plaster Had bound up the sight of his disaster Before Jill came; And the thoughtful dame, For a break in _her_ head, had fixed the same.

But Jill came in, With a saucy grin At seeing the plight poor Jack was in; And when she saw That bundle of straw (His hair) bound up with a cloth, and his jaw

Tied up in white, The comical sight Made her clap her hands and laugh outright! The dame, perplexed And dreadfully vexed, Got a stick and said, "I'll whip her next!"

How many blows fell I will not tell, But she did it in earnest, she did it well, Till the naughty back Was blue and black, And Jill needed a plaster as much as Jack!

The next time, though, Jack has to go To the hill for water, I almost know That bothering Jill Will go up the hill, And if _he_ falls again, why, of course _she_ will!

LITTLE BO-BEEP.

What was Bo-Peep? Can anyone guess? Why, little Bo-Peep was a shepherdess! And she dressed in a short white petticoat, And a kirtle of blue, with a looped-up look, And a snowy kerchief about her throat, And held in her hand a crook.

What eyes she had, the little Bo-Peep! They had tears to laugh with, and tears to weep. So fringy, and shy, and blue, and sweet, That even the summer skies in color, Or the autumn gentians under her feet, Less tender were and duller.

Now, a shepherdess ought to watch her sheep; But the careless little girl, Bo-Peep, Was hunting for late wild strawberries, The sweetest her tongue had ever tasted; They were few in number, and small in size, Too good, though, to be wasted.

And in that way the little Bo-Peep, The first she knew, had lost her sheep! To the top of the nearest knoll she ran, The better to look the pasture over; She shaded her face, and called, "Nan! Nan!" But none of them could discover.

About and about went little Bo-Peep; Her feet grew tired, the hills were steep; And in trying her fears to overcome She sighed, "I don't know where to find 'em. But let 'em alone, and they'll come home, And bring their tails behind 'em!"

So down sat trustful little Bo-Peep, And in a minute was fast asleep! Arm over her head, and her finger-ends All red with the fruit she had been eating; While her thoughts were only of her lost friends, And she dreamed she heard them bleating.

'Twas a happy dream for little Bo-Peep; As she lay on the grass, her flock of sheep, With scatter and clatter and patter of feet, Came hastening from all ways hither, thither; First one would bleat, then another would bleat, Then "b-a-a--a-a!" all together!

But ah, it was only while Bo-Peep Was tired enough to stay asleep That her flock was with her; for when she woke, Rubbing her eyes to see the clearer, She found that her dream was all a joke, And they were nowhere near her.

Tearful and sorrowful grew Bo-Peep! Down from her lashes the tears would creep; But she started out, as there was need, Before it should be too dark to find them; She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed, For they'd left their tails behind them!

Did she laugh or cry, our little Bo-Peep, To see such a comical crowd of sheep? There were plenty of bodies, white and fat; And plenty of wide mouths, eating, eating; Plenty of soft wool, and all that: And plenty of noisy bleating;

Yet all of them stood, and tried to keep At a little distance from Bo-Peep! They knew her voice, and were very glad To have her come with her crook to find them, But they felt so strangely because they had Not a single tail behind them.

The innocent-faced old mother-sheep, Who bleated and stamped to greet Bo-Peep, With their tails shorn close, were odd enough; But the very oddest of all was when a Group of the lambs went galloping off, All legs, and hadn't any!

Though sorry enough was little Bo-Peep That the tails were lost from her pretty sheep, She murmured, "I'll find them easily, And there's very little good in crying!" So away she went, and at last, in a tree, She saw them hung a-drying!

She piled them up in a great white heap, And the best she could do, poor little Bo-Peep! Was to try to fasten them where they grew-- Or that was, at least, what she intended,-- But if she did it I never knew, For now my story is ended!

[Color Plate:]

Buz, Buz, Buz--says the Great buzzing Bee. Go away butterfly--this flower is for me. Why? Why? Why? says the little butterfly, If you may sit on this flower, why may'nt I?

HOP-O-MY-THUMB

Once on a time there was a fagot-maker, And he had seven sons. Who could be aught but poor to feed and shelter So many little ones?

For all were merely lads; not one was able To earn the crust of bread, Though scant it might be, coarse and black and humble, With which he must be fed.

And, worst of all, the youngest one was puny, So odd, and still, and slight, That father, mother, and the other brothers, Thought him not over bright.

So small he was when he was born, so tiny Since then he had become, That--for he was no bigger than your finger-- They called him Hop-o'-my-Thumb.

Now at this time, for days and days together, There fell no drop of rain; The corn shrunk on the stalks; and in the sunshine Rustled the shriveled grain;

As if a fire had swept across the meadows They shriveled in the drouth; And what this meant for the poor fagot-maker Was famine, without doubt.

One night he sat before a smouldering fire, His head bowed down with grief, Trying with those weak wits of his to compass Some scheme for their relief.

His wife above the feeble embers hovered, And wrung her toil-hard hands; She knew there was no help for their starvation, No hope in making plans.

At last he spoke: "Ah, bad luck to the trying, I cannot find them food! To-morrow morning with me to the forest I'll take the little brood!

"I cannot bear to watch this piece meal starving, So, while they run and play, Or gather fagots for me, or pick berries To eat, I'll come away!"

"Oh!" groaned the wife, "I'm sure the wolves will eat them, Poor dears--poor little dears! Yet do as you think best--we all must perish!" Then went to bed in tears.

Meanwhile, though all the rest were sleeping soundly, Hop-o'-my-Thumb had heard, And at the thought of wolves and woods, in terror His little heart was stirred;

And so he lay and planned; and early dressed him, And ran with all his might Down to the river, where he filled his pockets With pebbles small and white.

And, as they started for the wood, he lingered Somewhat behind, and when They came to dismal places, dropped in secret A pebble now and then.

Thick grew the trees; 'twas twilight in their shadows, Although broad day without; But gay the laddies at the fagot-picking Went scampering about,

And chattering like a flock of busy sparrows; Till, having hungry grown, They turned to ask their mother for their dinner, And found they were alone!

Then all but Hop-o'-my-Thumb wailed out affrighted. "Don't cry so hard!" said he. "I'll find the path, if you'll but keep together And try to follow me!"

By the white stones strewn on the dead pine needles, Though night had fallen, he soon Led the way out, and spied their humble cottage, Low lying 'neath the moon.

They hurried near, and, pausing at the window, Hop-o'my-Thumb climbed up, And peeped within; his father and his mother Were just about to sup.

Some one had paid them two gold guineas On an old debt; and when They went for beef for two, they were so hungry They bought enough for ten.

Quick as a flash the ravenous seven went rushing Pell-mell into the house, Nor left, of the fine roast upon the table, Enough to feed a mouse.

It all went well long as the money lasted. When that was gone, once more The father planned to take them to the forest, And leave them as before.

Hop-o'-my-Thumb, who heard again the plotting, Crept from his trundle-bed, But in the place of pebbles in his pockets Put only crumbs of bread.

Again they went, through brier and through thicket, Into the darksome wood; Again he dropped his clues along the pathway Behind him when he could.

But when once more they found themselves deserted, And little Hop-o'-my-Thumb Felt sure to lead them out, he found the finches Had eaten every crumb!

Then what to do! They wandered hither, thither, For hours in dread and fear, Until at last they saw, with fitful glimmer, A feeble light appear.

It shone but faintly, like a single candle, But, trudging towards the ray, They reached a house and knocked; the door was opened After a brief delay,

And a kind woman asked them what they wanted. They said: "To stay all night." "Run, run away! The faster you run the better!" She answered in affright.

"An Ogre lives here, cruel and bloody minded! He eats up little boys! Run, run! I hear him coming from the mountains, I know him by the noise!"

"But we can't run, we are so faint and tired!" Hop-o'-my-Thumb began-- "'Tis all the same whether the wolves shall eat us, Or your good gentleman."

And so she took them in, fed them, and hid them All underneath her bed; And in a minute more they heard approaching, Tramp! tramp! an awful tread!

It was the Ogre coming home; his supper Was steaming nice and hot,-- Two calves upon a spit, ten rabbits roasting, A whole sheep in the pot.

He banged the door wide open, sniffed and snorted, Then, in a dreadful voice, Roared out, while his poor wife stood by and trembled, "I smell seven little boys!"

In vain she told him 'twas the mutton scorching; The veal had browned too fast; He searched the house, peering around and under, And reached the bed at last,

Then dragged them one by one out, fairly shouting At little Hop-o'my-Thumb, Saying the lads would make, towards a dinner, Six mouthfuls and one crumb.

"O, leave them till to-morrow!" cried the woman; "You've meat enough to-night." "Well, so I have," he said, "I'll wait a little. Ah! ugh! they're plump and white."

Now it so chanced the Ogre had seven daughters, And all slept in one bed, In a large room, and each wore for a nightcap A gold crown on her head.

And Hop-o'-my-Thumb, when all the house was quiet, Into their chamber crept, And the gold head-bands for himself and brothers Stole from them while they slept.

Wicked and sly it was; he knew the Ogre Would, no doubt, rise at dawn, And, being but half awake, would kill the children Who had no night-caps on.

And, sure enough, he did! He was so drowsy, And fogs so veiled the sun, That, whetting up a huge, broad-bladed dagger, He slew them, every one.

Then Hop-o'-my-Thumb, awakening his brothers, Whispered: "Make haste and fly!" Without a word they did as they were bidden, In twinkling of an eye,