Part 13

"Indeed, did I, my lass," said Jim, trying to put a bold face on the matter. Then, they fell to consulting, and it was decided that the escape should be attempted that very night, as soon as the household was at rest. Midnight came, and not a sound save the thunderous snoring of the ogre family was heard within the castle. Dimple waited upon the landing, while Jim glided up to the cupboard where the nightingale was kept. As no one dared so much as lay a finger upon the giant's treasure without his leave, the door had been left unlocked. There sat the lovely birdling upon a jewelled spray, glittering so brilliantly that it shone like a lamp in the darkness. As Jim laid his hand upon it, the bird sent forth a note of silver sweetness, warning her captor to fly with all speed, if he would escape with his life from the vengeance of the ogre.

"I humbly beg your pardon," said Jim, respectfully; "I had no idea that you are a talking creature."

"Oh! I am glad of anything for a change! You must know that I am a fairy, unfortunate enough to have been imprisoned in a shape assumed for a frolic," the bird continued, greatly to Jim's astonishment. "And tired enough I am, of being a plaything for that horrid old monster, who captured me when I had just dressed for a masquerade party, in the plumage that you see. Unluckily, it is my doom to remain a slave to whosoever shall make a prisoner of me whilst I am thus attired and, also, to have to pour forth jewels at his command. You will be a different sort of a master, I am sure."

Jim hurriedly promised the fairy-bird to treat her with kindness, and hastened to place her in Dimple's keeping. They stole past the giant's chamber-door, but the creaking of a board aroused the tyrant, who sprang out of bed, roaring, "Who is there? Answer, or I will grind you to dust beneath my heel!"

Jim made no reply, and lifting in both hands a heavy iron bar with which he had provided himself, hid in an angle of the stairs.

Out rushed the giant, sputtering ferociously, fire shooting from his eyes and nostrils. Jim, under cover of the darkness, dealt him a tremendous blow upon the skull. The monster tottered, and fell crashing down the long flight of stairs, carrying Jim with him to the bottom. Dimple heard a terrible groan, and then all was silent. Feeling her way to the spot, she whispered imploringly, "Jim, dear Jim, speak to me!"

"I'm here, Dimple," said a stifled voice, in reply; "but this old wretch (who is as dead as a door-nail, by-the-way), has fallen atop of me, and I believe he has broken both of my legs. Ha! there, I have freed myself, but it's no use. I can't walk a step. Don't waste time on a cripple like me, lass; but make haste to slip down the rope and escape, before the ogress finds out what has happened."

"Never, dear Jim," cried Dimple, fervently. Just then a sleepy voice was heard above in the chamber of the ogress, inquiring of her husband what was going on below. Quick as thought, Dimple ran up to her.

"Oh, madam!" she said, "such an accident! His lordship has slipped upon the stairs, and sprained his ankle. You are on no account to disturb yourself to come down; but I beg that you will send him the box of magic salve without delay."

In her sleepy state, it did not occur to the ogress to wonder how Dimple, whose presence in the castle had so long been hidden from the giant, should have been chosen as his messenger. She was so anxious to enjoy her nap in peace, that, grunting out an order to Dimple to take the box from the pocket of a gown hanging upon the bed, she turned upon her pillow and was soon snoring as before.

Seizing the magic salve with joyful fingers, Dimple flew back to Jim, and applied it freely to his broken legs. Instantly, Jim sprang to his feet, stronger than before, and the friends prepared for flight. Unfortunately, in the darkness, Dimple had also anointed the dead giant's head, and to their dismay it now began to roar most frightfully.

"Wife, wife, wife, come down and seize these vagabonds!"

The ogress, turning in her sleep, exclaimed,

"Goodness! I know what that means. My husband has got into the pantry, in one of his hungry fits, and can't find enough to satisfy him. Dear me! Suppose he should devour the cook. That would be inconvenient. Coming, my dear, coming!" And springing nervously out of bed, she began to look for her dressing gown and slippers.

"Oh, madam," said Dimple, bursting again into the room. "His lordship is in haste to butcher the nice fat prisoner he has found below, and I beg that you will send him his hunting-knife, which lies upon the table."

"Is that all?" said the ogress, sinking back upon her pillow, greatly relieved. "Take the knife, child; you will find it at my elbow."

Armed with this formidable weapon, a blade so keen that it could split a hair with ease, Dimple returned to Jim, who forthwith pierced his howling enemy through the tongue, nailing him securely to the floor. This was the end of the most wicked monster who had for many grievous years afflicted mankind. All was still, at last, within the castle, when Dimple and Jim, holding fast their well-earned trophies, climbed out of the narrow window and began their perilous descent. The rope hung over the jagged rocks of a precipice rising abruptly from the sea. The sky was dark, and the sound of the hungry waves beneath was far from comforting to the fugitives. When half-way down, they were discovered by one of the vampires keeping watch upon the rampart. Uttering a discordant shriek, the vampire flew straight to the window of his mistress, and gave the alarm.

As soon as the ogress found out the escape of her treacherous cook, her anger knew no bounds. Tearing madly down toward the kitchen, she stumbled over the dead body of her lord, who lay pinned by his own hunting-knife to the floor. Her shrill cries now rent the air, and were echoed by those of the nine young ogresses, who ran out in their night-gowns, looking truly hideous, and cast themselves upon the body of their father.

"My salve, my magic salve, quick!" cried the ogress to her oldest daughter. Then, remembering to whom she had consigned the treasure, she rushed wildly off and, leaning out of the window, seized the rope with a ferocious jerk.

"Fly, my good vampires!" yelled the horrid creature, "and tear me those wretches to shreds before my eyes!"

Now, indeed, the fate of the fugitives seemed sealed. Dimple, clinging to Jim, uttered a cry of terror. But suddenly, a silvery voice came from the bird-fairy hidden in her dress.

"Have no fear, maiden. Set me free, and I promise to save you both from this awful fate."

Dimple gladly complied with the fairy's request. What was their surprise to see this tiny creature, no larger than a veritable nightingale, transform herself into a mighty eagle upon whose outstretched wings the fugitives, seating themselves securely, were at once carried with astonishing speed over sea and land, never slackening until they came in sight of their own beloved country! Rapid as was the flight of the vampires in pursuit, that of the enchanted eagle was far more rapid. The cruel foes were completely distanced, and it may be a satisfaction to you to learn that, flying homeward, in their blind rage and spite, to tell the ogress of the failure of their chase, the vampires ran headlong into a passing thunderbolt, and were instantly killed, their bodies falling upon the castle wall under the very eye of their despairing mistress. As it was impossible to get away from her eyrie except in the vampire chariot, the ogress and her nine daughters lived there for a year and a day, gnashing their teeth over their changed lot; and then they slowly starved to death. Her last moments in life were haunted by memories of Dimple, and the scent of imagined sauces compounded by her clever cook arose tantalizingly to her nostrils. At the very end, a fit of unwonted weakness took possession of the dying ogress, and she was heard to murmur, as if dreaming, "She was the best I ever had. Dear girl! I feel now that I could forgive her everything--my husband's death--her treachery--my children's untimely fate--my own approaching end--could I but taste her batter-pudding ere I die!"

Happily for Dimple, who was a tender and sympathetic soul, she knew nothing of the pangs that rent the spirit of her ancient foe. Our hero and heroine had been set down by the obliging fairy-bird at some little distance from their native village. There, after giving her their thanks, they at once offered to set their captive free without conditions. The fairy-bird, overjoyed at her good fortune, insisted upon singing for them a whole day, and a pile of precious gems then lay heaped at Dimple's feet, far surpassing in value those in the king's own treasury. Dimple and Jim were now rolling in wealth and, being also in possession of the magic salve which cures all maladies, felt reasonably secure of a prosperous future. Bidding the fairy good-by, they proceeded on foot toward the neighboring town, carrying their treasures in some old potato sacks begged from a roadside hut.

Jim sold a few of the stones, and with the proceeds purchased magnificent garments for Dimple and himself; then, hiring a train of servants to attend them, the two travellers returned to their own village, seated upon cushions of pale blue velvet in a crystal chariot drawn by six milk-white horses, with gold and silver harness.

At the approach of this splendid procession, all the people of the neighborhood came flocking from their houses to see the grand prince and princess, who had done them so much honor. To their astonishment, the chariot stopped directly in front of the miller's cottage, and out sprang the beautiful princess, trailing her silks and satins along the garden path, and, with a scream of delight, throwing her fair arms around the poor old dusty miller, who sat mournfully upon his deserted door-stone, rapt in thought. In a voice that all recognized, Dimple cried:

"Father, don't you know me? I am your loving child."

Next to be astonished was Jim's mother, a lone widow, who sat at her spinning-wheel as usual, thinking of the boy she had lost so many months before. When Jim appeared before her in all his bravery, the poor old thing nearly went into hysterics of delight--she had not hesitated for one moment in recognizing the face that had never left her thoughts.

Directly afterward, all the villagers were requested to proceed in a body to the church, where a splendid wedding was held. Everyone agreed that Dimple made the prettiest bride that had ever stepped from the old church porch, and no one could dispute the fact that Jim was the proudest of bridegrooms.

The newly married pair built a superb palace in a park near their native village, and also two smaller palaces for Jim's mother and Dimple's father. A large share of their wealth was spent in beautifying the homes of their friends; and, in time, the hamlet came to be known as the "Happy Valley," so prosperous and fertile had it grown. No sickness came near these fortunate villagers; and none of them ever died--thanks to the free use made by Dimple of her inexhaustible ointment.

At last reports, neither Jim nor Dimple had confided to anyone the true story of their life in the giant's castle. When people expressed curiosity as to the source of such wonderful wealth, Jim always roguishly said that Dimple had made it all by good cooking. This report, getting abroad, had the effect of inducing the girls of that country, far and wide, to go into their kitchens and learn all they could of the most useful of arts; which, perhaps, had as much as Dimple's magic salve to do with the health and contentment of the inhabitants of Happy Valley!

MISS PEGGY AND THE FROG.

(_An old nursery tale told from memory._)

Once there lived a widow, whose only child was a pretty girl named Peggy. Peggy loved to play by the water-side with her young companions, and one day a large frog hopped out of the water and sat gazing at her with a loving smile.

"What a queer frog!" cried Peggy.

"I _am_ a queer frog," he remarked, to her surprise. "Go back, Miss Peggy, and tell your mother that I want to marry you."

Peggy ran to fetch her mother to see the talking frog. When the mother came, the frog dived down into the water and brought up in his mouth a rich gold chain and a jewelled ring.

"This will I give the mother, and much beside," he said, laying the chain at the mother's feet; "and this ring with many like it is for my bride, if Peggy will marry me."

"Say yes, Peggy," whispered the mother, who was a covetous woman. "Of course you can't marry a frog, but you may get the gold and jewels all the same."

Peggy burst out crying, but her mother nudged and poked her in the side till she said "yes," in a very sobbing voice.

The frog bowed politely, laid the gold chain and the ring at their feet, dived down, and immediately brought up gold cups and silver dishes, with many rare jewels set into them. Peggy's mother gasped for joy as he heaped all these riches on the grassy bank. She ran up to the house, and found a basket which would hold them. While she was gone, the frog said nothing, but stood looking at Peggy and sighing from time to time. Peggy sat under a tree, and cried and sobbed. At last the frog spoke:

"Don't forget your bridegroom, Miss Peggy. This day year I shall come to fetch you," and he hopped into the water with a splash.

Peggy's mother sold one of the cups for a large sum of money, and furnished their house all new. She bought gay clothes for herself and Peggy, and went to church quite regularly, since she had so much finery to show. Peggy forgot all about her promise to the frog, and the year passed by rapidly.

On the appointed day, however, the widow and Peggy were sitting at the table when they heard a knock at the door. They peeped out, and saw, to their dismay, the frog, dressed in a green and gold suit, and carrying a jewelled sword. Peggy gave a scream, and ran and hid in the cupboard, while the mother tripped to the door, and bade her strange guest good morning.

"I am sorry, but Peggy is from home to-day," she said.

"Oh! never mind. I will come in and wait awhile," answered the frog; and in he hopped cheerfully, and took a seat at the table. Peggy's mother was too angry to offer him food, but the frog helped himself and ate out of Peggy's plate. He stayed and he stayed, and all the time Peggy crouched in the cupboard, cramped and hungry. He stayed till night came; and at last poor Peggy, falling asleep, burst open the cupboard door, and tumbled out upon the floor.

The frog ran to pick her up, before her mother could get there.

"You are a little late, my dear," he said politely. "But I can see very well in the dark, so we may set out at once, for my palace in the pond."

In vain did the widow beg and plead. The frog would not give Peggy up, until the poor girl herself went down on her knees and implored him to let her off for another year. At length he promised to go, if she would be ready to marry him that day year. Peggy said "yes," and off went her suitor, after having laid a purse of gold in the widow's lap.

"It might have been worse, Peggy, so cheer up," said the woman, clapping the purse in her pocket. "A year is a long time, and perhaps he will forget you."

Vain hope! That day year, Peggy was spinning beside her mother, when the frog knocked at the door. This time, he was dressed in blue and silver, and his hat had a waving plume; but he looked more hideous than before.

Peggy gave a jump, and ran up the garret stairs, and thence out upon the roof of the cottage, where she clung to the chimney in despair. The mother opened the door, and said she was sorry Peggy was from home. The frog replied that he did not mind, but would wait for Miss Peggy to return.

He sat in Peggy's chair; and this time he would not eat, but only sighed and sighed. Presently it began to rain and hail, and thunder and lighten dreadfully; and poor Peggy on the roof was frightened out of her life. She crept into the chimney, and soon a great clap of thunder sent her flying down into the room where her frog-lover sat.

"You have an odd way of coming into the house, my dear," the frog said; "but I don't mind, if you are ready to go now. It rains hard, but I am used to water, and you must become so; so come along."

He offered her his arm, but Peggy cried and implored to be let off. She went down on her knees to him, and at last he went away, giving her another purse and another year of freedom.

Next year, the widow and Peggy barred and double-locked their doors. The frog appeared, dressed in white and gold, but it was of no use for him to knock and call. No answer came, and he went off sadly. Peggy and her mother rejoiced at getting rid of the persistent suitor, and sat down to supper merrily, without, however, unlocking their door.

Presently, they heard a noise, and looking out saw a great army of frogs coming up the hill, The frogs formed themselves into a column and, aiming for the window, jumped through the glass, and landed on the floor. They seized Peggy, and very gently carried her out of the door and down the hill. Peggy fainted, and knew nothing till they stopped on the edge of the pond. The widow came running down the hill just in time to see the frogs plunge into the water with her child.

Peggy sank--down, down--until she reached a beautiful grotto, where, on a throne of coral and shells, sat her frog-lover. He looked at her reproachfully, and said:

"If you had not three times deceived me, Peggy, I should not have carried you off in this way. Now that you are here, try to be resigned to me, and say that you will be my wife."

"Never, never," screamed Peggy; "you are so horrible to look at with your goggle eyes."

The goggle eyes filled with tears as Peggy spoke, and the frog shook his head mournfully.

"I see that it is of no use," he said sorrowfully, and ordered Peggy to be taken to a beautiful sea-garden, where she lived and amused herself for a long time, gradually forgetting all about her home on land. Every evening the frog came and talked to Peggy through a wall of white coral; and in time, she grew so fond of listening to his voice, that if he was a minute late she would cry for him to come.

Once when it was rather dark, the frog asked Peggy if she could bear to look at him again. Peggy said yes, and he appeared before her. Somehow he did not seem so ugly as before, and when, in a trembling voice, he invited her to sit upon his knee, she at once did so. Instantly his leg broke with a loud snap; and, as poor Peggy sprang to her feet in great remorse, she beheld, instead of her frog suitor, a beautiful young prince, holding out his arms to her!

The prince told her he had been bewitched by a frog godmother, who condemned him to remain in that horrid shape until a young girl could be found who would either consent to marry him or sit upon his knee. Peggy was very glad to have such an ending of her adventure. So they were married at once, and were then very happy. When they went back for a wedding visit to Peggy's mother, they found she had taken all the gold and silver and moved away to a distant country; and they never saw the wicked woman more.

THE LEPERHAUN: _A Legend of the Emerald Isle._

Once upon a time, by the glimmer of the nursery-fire, a little girl sat listening to the tales told by her buxom Irish nurse. The details of most of these--notably of one very thrilling legend of the Banshee, who has ever since seemed to float upon the wind that blows after nightfall--have passed from memory; but the good old story of Molly Jones and the Leperhaun remains, and, as best I can, I reproduce it here.

In a comfortable farm-house upon the outskirts of a small village in Ireland, lived a farmer with his six sons. He was a prosperous man, and, besides having better cows, pigs, and potatoes than any other man in the county, was said to keep a tidy bit of money laid away in bank. Only one maid-servant did the work of the house, and she had lived there for many a year. At last she died, and the farmer looked about him for a girl to take her place. The wages were high, and a strapping lass named Mary Jones made up her mind that she was the right person for the situation. The farmer liked her looks, and engaged her on the spot.

"Now, Molly, lass," said the master, when he had finished taking her around the house, and showing her how neat and convenient everything was; "you see what you've got to do, and that's the end of it. Nobody in this house, who works well, has ever cause to want for encouragement, for _there's hands to help them that aren't too curious_! The main thing you'd better guard against is takin' notes and askin' questions."

Molly protested that she was innocent of the inheritance of Mother Eve; and the farmer went on with his directions.

"On the first night of every month the family goes early to bed, and it will be your business to see that the hearth is well swept, and fresh turf laid upon the fire, and to collect around it all the worn or broken shoes about the house. The last thing before you leave the room, be sure to set before the fire a nice bowl of mealy potatoes bursting from their jackets, a couple of herrings broiled to a turn, and a jug of sweet buttermilk--and, whatever you do, never forget the salt!"

Molly, though burning with curiosity, courtesied, and said nothing. All went well till the first night of the coming month. "When the family was retiring, the farmer whispered:

"Remember, Molly! Be abed and asleep before the clock strikes twelve; and _don't forget the salt_."

Molly tidied her kitchen, swept the hearth, arranged around it all the worn and broken shoes in the house, her own Sunday pair included; and, after setting a nice little meal, covered with a white cloth, near the fire, wound up the clock and went to bed. Next morning what was her surprise to find not only all the boots and shoes neatly mended, but the empty jug and platter washed and restored to their places, while a beautiful fire was blazing merrily! She dared not ask any questions of the farmer or his sons, and no one appeared in the least surprised by what had occurred. That month her work went so easily that Molly thought it child's play. Her bread was baked brown and light, her potatoes were a triumph, her churning was done sooner than anybody's in the place, and her linen was hung out to dry by sunrise on Monday mornings. For a month or two Molly never failed to set her kitchen in order, as before, for the mysterious guest. But one night she was in a hurry, and forgot the salt. Next morning the boots were mended, but the fire was scattered on the hearth, ashes lay all about her neat kitchen, and the dishes were left unwashed. This excited Molly's curiosity anew and, when the next time came, she did everything as usual, but, instead of going to bed, hid behind the kitchen clock. Punctually as the clock struck twelve, out popped from behind a big stone in the chimney-place a queer little dwarf dressed all in red. Apparently he suspected something, for he sniffed and peered into the darkness of the kitchen. Molly held her breath through fear, and the dwarf proceeded to blow up the fire and warm himself before sitting down to supper. Then, uncovering his cup and platter, and finding that all was to his taste, he smacked his lips, and made an excellent repast. When it was over, he whipped out of his bag some shoemaker's tools, and went to work to patch and mend the shoes, with twinkling fingers. In an hour's time all was finished and, after putting the room to rights, the dwarf took his leave.