Part 10

“Then if you are not mad,” replied the wife, “I think your grandfather was! It is only the best poison that is good for rats and mice, and they shall have it soon, now that I am in the house.” But the ploughman caressed his wife and begged her to let him keep his promise to his grandfather, and the wife held her peace, not liking to seem bad-tempered on her wedding-day. After a bit she got used to her husband putting down little bits of food, as he said, for the rats and mice, and though she always declared she was going to poison them, she did not try to do so, as her husband seemed grieved when she talked about it.

Thus things went on very happily for some months, when the wife began to think that her clothes were getting very old, and that she must have some new ones. So she took plenty of money and went into the neighbouring town, and came home with new dresses, and hats, and bonnets, and very pretty she looked in them, and her husband was very much pleased with them. But that evening after his wife was gone to bed, as the ploughman was finishing his pipe in the kitchen, he suddenly heard a deep voice from the hole, which called out just as it had done months before, “Stop, I am coming up.”

For an instant the ploughman quaked with fear, then he saw something no bigger than a black beetle creeping through the hole, and it came in front of his chair, and he heard the voice, which was not so loud this time, say—

“That will do, now I am going to begin to grow a little,” and it began to grow, and grow, and grow, till it was about eight inches high, and the ploughman saw it was the little black woman. “There,” she said, speaking quite quietly, “that is a nice useful size, that will do. Now I have something to say to you, and you will have to attend very carefully. I consider that you are breaking your compact. In the first place, you married without asking my leave, and, as I told you, I don’t like women in the house, but I will say nothing about that, as we had not spoken about it before, but how can you explain about all the fine clothes that your wife fetched home to-day? She has taken them to her room and not given one to me!”

“Nay,” cried the ploughman, “they are my wife’s clothes, not mine.”

“Nonsense,” said the gnome, “you gave her the money for them. Now understand that whatever she buys for herself in the future, she must buy the same for me. Two of everything: dresses, hats, gloves, whatever she has, I must have too, and be sure that mine are quite as good as hers.”

“But how am I to manage that?” cried the ploughman; “how can I explain it to her without telling her that you are there?”

“That is your business,” said the gnome. “All I say is that I must have the things if I am to remain in your house. You can tell her what you please. So now you know, and see that you do as I tell you,” and suddenly the little figure shrunk up till it was about the size of a black beetle, and then disappeared down the hole without another word.

The ploughman rubbed his head, and wondered what he could do. He did not at all want to tell his wife about the little gnome, for he was sure she would not like it, but at the same time he did not want the gnome to leave his house and take away his luck.

A few days after, his wife told him she was going to the shoemaker’s to buy herself some smart new shoes, and the ploughman thought of the gnome, and knew he must do as she had told him. So he said to his wife, “Wife, when you get those shoes for yourself, I wish you would get a pair just like them for my cousin who has written to me to ask me for a present. I should like to send her some nice boots and shoes as she is very poor, so I shall be very much obliged if you will get two pairs of whatever you may get for yourself that I may send her one.”

The wife wondered very much, for she did not know the ploughman had any cousin; however, she went into the town, and brought home two pairs of smart red shoes with bows on the top.

When she had gone to bed at night, the ploughman took one pair and laid it by the hole in the same place where he had put the food, and it disappeared just as the food did without his seeing where it went. “Now,” thought he, “when she sees I am quite honest, perhaps the ugly little gnome will be content, and let us go on in peace.”

So time went on, and the ploughman and his wife lived very happily and quietly, till one evening a pedlar came round with a tray holding all sorts of pretty things to sell. The ploughman’s wife went to the door, and looked at the things: then she bought a pretty comb for her hair, but she would not show it to her husband, as she meant to wear it before him as a surprise next day.

But that evening after his wife had gone to bed, as the ploughman sat finishing his pipe by the fire, he heard the voice from the hole calling as loudly as ever, “Stop! I am coming up.” Again the ploughman quaked with fear, and then he saw coming through the hole something no bigger than a black beetle, and again the voice said in a lower tone, “Now I will begin to grow a little,” and presently the tiny black thing had swelled into the ugly little black woman with the face like india-rubber.

“Listen to me,” she said, “and know that I am beginning to feel very angry. You are beginning to cheat me. To-day your wife bought herself a brand-new comb from a pedlar at the door, and never got one for me. To-morrow evening I must have that comb. I don’t care how you get it, but have it I must.”

The ploughman scratched his head and was sore perplexed. “What on earth am I to do?” he cried, “for my wife will think me very cruel if I take away all the pretty little things she buys for herself.”

“I can’t help that,” answered the gnome. “I have got to have that comb by this time to-morrow night, and I warn you if you begin to deceive me, just as if I were an ordinary human being, I shall pretty soon take myself off,” and with that the gnome disappeared through the hole in an instant.

Next morning at breakfast the wife came down with the new comb in her hair, and said to her husband, “See, husband, I bought this of the pedlar yesterday, and he tells me they are quite the newest fashion, and all the great ladies in town are wearing them.”

“Well,” quoth the ploughman, “such a fashion may be all very well for the great ladies who have scarce any hair of their own, but, for my own part, I had rather see your beautiful hair just as it is without any adornment.”

At this the wife pouted, and was very cross. “’Tis too bad of you to say that. I thought you would like your wife to wear all the new fashions, and be smart like other folks.”

“Nay,” cried the ploughman, “my wife is much prettier than other folks, and she looks prettiest of all when she has little to adorn her. If any of these great ladies had hair like yours you may be sure they would pretty soon throw away any combs or caps or pins, so that nothing but their hair should be seen.”

When her husband was gone, the wife went to her glass and looked at herself, and took out the comb and then put it in, and tried it every way. “’Tis true, for sure,” said she, “my hair is very beautiful, and maybe it looks best done up as I used to wear it, still it seems a pity not to use the comb when I have bought it.” So when her husband came back, she said to him, “I believe you are right, husband, and it suits me better not to have anything in my hair, but maybe if you are wanting to send a present to that cousin of yours, you would like to send her that comb. It would save buying anything fresh.”

On this the ploughman laughed to himself, but he thanked his wife very much and put the comb in his pocket. In the evening after the wife had gone to bed, the ploughman took it, and put it down by the hole, and then went on smoking his pipe without waiting to see if it disappeared. But in a few minutes he heard the voice crying, “Stop! I am coming up,” and saw again the gnome come through the hole and then begin to grow as before. “Now this is too bad,” cried the ploughman. “What can you want now? Here I have just given you the comb you wanted, and nothing else new has come into the house.” “On the contrary,” answered the gnome, “I consider that you have brought a great many new things into the house since I came to live here, and I mean now to have my choice of some of them, since I do not find that you are honest enough to offer them to me. To begin with, I want your wife’s hair. I have been trying mine with that comb, and I find I can’t make it do at all, and so I mean to have your wife’s.”

“My wife’s!” gasped the ploughman. “You must be mad!”

“Mad or not mad,” replied the gnome, “I mean to have it, and, moreover, it is my due. You married without consulting me, and if I kept you to your bargain, I should have a great deal that I have not got. Certainly your wife has the best head of hair in the house, so you must cut it off near her head and bring it all to me.”

“But whatever shall I say to my wife?” cried the ploughman in distress.

“That is your look-out, not mine,” said the gnome. “Anyhow you have got to give it to me. But as the thought of it seems to annoy you I will give you a week to get it in.”

The ploughman sat and thought and thought, and very sad did he feel at thinking of all his wife’s beautiful hair being given away to the little gnome.

Next day he took his horse and cart, and told his wife he had to go for a long drive on business to a big town, a long way off. It was quite the biggest town in that neighbourhood, and many very fine people lived there. At first the wife wanted to go too, but her husband said it was too far and she would be too tired, as he could not be back till very late at night.

Next morning, when they sat at breakfast, he told his wife all he had heard and seen in the big town, and then he added, “And all the very fine ladies there have now the funniest fashion.”

“And what is that?” asked his wife; “pray tell me, for I love to hear the new fashions.”

“Why,” said the ploughman, “’tis with their hair. Instead of wearing it long, they have it cut quite close all round their heads, because they say it looks smarter now.”

“Well, I do call that a silly fashion,” said the wife; “they can’t have had much hair to consent to have had it cut off.”

“No, indeed,” said her husband, “and yet with some of them, they look very smart and pretty with their little curly heads.”

“Much like boys, I should think,” said the wife scornfully.

“No, not quite that, either,” said the ploughman, “more like the pictures of angels in the old churches, and they say it is the great thing for it to curl up all round the head, and when it does that of itself, they are very proud of it.”

“Well, then, some of them might be very proud of mine,” said the wife, “for it’s as curly as may be, and if I were to cut it short would be all in tiny curls.”

When her husband had gone to his work, the ploughman’s wife could do nothing but think of the strange new fashion of which her husband had told her. “I wonder how it would suit me,” she thought, and when he came in to dinner she said to him—

“Husband, is it really true that all those fine ladies looked very pretty and smart with their hair short?”

“Ay, that they did,” he said; “I was quite surprised to see them, and I heard they said ’twas a wonderful saving of trouble, and that their hair could never grow untidy.”

“That is true,” said the wife, “yet I should be sorry to cut mine off.”

“No need that you should,” said the ploughman, “and there are not many folks up here to see if we are in the fashion or not. All the same, you are sure to look prettier than the town ladies any way, whichever way your hair is done, for your face is prettier.”

But when her husband had gone away again the wife went to her glass with the scissors in her hand. “As my husband says,” she quoth, “it would be a wonderful saving of trouble, and then it would be very nice to let all the women round see that I could be in the fashion before they. I wonder how it would look?” and she snipped off a big bit. “Here goes,” she cried; “after all ’tis best to follow the fashions, whatever they are,” and she went on cutting till, when her husband came in, he found her with her hair all cut off beside her.

“There, husband,” cried she, “do I look like the smart ladies in town?”

“Ay, that you do,” he answered, “only ten times prettier; but as for all that beautiful hair, you must just give it to me, for it is so beautiful I would not let it be lost for anything,” and he took up all the heap of fine gold hair and tied it together with a bright ribbon.

The wife looked at herself in the glass, and thought she really looked very nice with little curls all round her head, and though the ploughman grieved over it in his heart, yet he was glad he had got her hair, and thought, “Now at last that miserable little gnome will be content, and leave me alone.” So that evening, when his wife was gone to bed, he took the bunch of hair and laid it near the hole, and it disappeared, and he knew the gnome had it.

So for a time all went on quietly with the ploughman, and he hoped he should not hear more of the gnome, but one evening, after his wife had gone to bed and he was in the kitchen smoking his pipe alone, he heard the hated voice shouting, “Stop! I am coming up,” and then he saw the little black thing like a black beetle coming through the hole, and all happened just as before.

“Well, what do you want now?” cried the ploughman when he saw the ugly little woman in front of him. “I have given you my wife’s hair, and surely you ought to be content.”

“Not at all,” said the gnome, “for I have tried on her hair, and I find it does not suit my complexion. I have never seen her myself, and I don’t think you any judge, but I heard you telling her that her face was prettier than any of the town ladies. In that case you have no right to keep it for yourself. I must have your wife’s face.”

“My wife’s face!” screamed the ploughman, “I think you must be mad. How can I give you my wife’s face? And what would you do with it?”

“Wear it,” answered the gnome; “and all you have to do is to fetch your wife in here this day week, and tell her what I wish; and I will come up and scrape off as much of her face as I want.”

“Why, it would kill her,” cried the ploughman.

“Not at all,” said the gnome, “neither would it hurt her, for she would scarcely feel my little knife; the only thing is, that when I have done, her skin will be rather black and shrivelled like my own, but as mine has been good enough for me all these years, it will surely be good enough for a common human woman. Anyhow, now you know. I must have your wife’s complexion to wear with her hair, or else I go at once. And as it will be you who have broken the compact, I shall take all your wealth with me.” And repeating in a deep voice, “Remember, this day week at twelve o’clock,” the gnome grew small, and disappeared through the hole.

Next day the ploughman was very miserable, and whenever he looked at his wife felt inclined to burst into tears. The wife, not knowing what was amiss, tried to cheer him, and asked if he were ill. But he shook his head, and told her “no,” and had not the courage to tell her the truth. Thus things went on, the ploughman growing sadder and sadder every day, till the evening before that on which the gnome had told him he must bring his wife to meet her. The ploughman was scarce able to check his sobs before his wife, and at last she came into the kitchen, and there found him crying outright.

When she saw this, she kneeled down by him, and said, “Husband, you surely do not think me a good wife, for a good wife shares all her husband’s troubles. Tell me what troubles you. Two heads are better than one, and perhaps I can help you.”

Then the ploughman told her all about the hated gnome, and how he had found it in a field, and how he had promised to give it some of the best of everything, and now how it wanted her face.

At first the wife would scarcely believe it, and then she cried, “But if ’tis such a little creature why not pick it up and strangle it, or let me put my foot on it, while it is no bigger than a black beetle.”

“Nay, do not think of such a thing,” said her husband, “for it is ill to play tricks with fairy folk, and most likely she would kill us outright.”

“But part with my face I never will,” cried the wife.

“Then we will let her go and take with her the house and all our wealth, and be contented to live in my old cottage again, and be quite poor folk,” said her husband.

On hearing this the wife burst into tears, and wept more bitterly than her husband, for she would not stop at all. It was in vain for him to try to cheer her and tell her that poor folk could be quite as happy as rich ones. She declared she could never be happy poor. Then when he said if she would let her face go, he would love her just as much or more without it, she cried that she could never be happy with a dreadful shrivelled black skin like a monkey’s. All that night she cried, and when morning came her skin was all red, and her eyes could scarce be seen, so swelled were their lids, but still she cried on all day, and her husband said nothing to comfort her, because he did not know what to say. By the time it grew dark, her face was so swelled and sore that she could not bear to touch it, and she had cried herself almost blind, but still the tears were rolling down. When the time came for the clock to strike twelve, her husband took her hand and led her to the kitchen, and there she sat with her face in her hands sobbing. Just as the clock struck, they heard the voice like thunder shouting, “Stop! I am coming up,” and the wife peeped between her fingers and saw the little thing no bigger than a black beetle come through the hole and then grow, and grow, and grow, till it was like an ugly little black woman near a foot high. And when she saw how hideous it was she thought, “Never, never will I consent to have a skin like that—not for millions of pounds.”

The gnome did not speak to her, but said to the ploughman, “So you have brought your wife. That is a good thing, if you wish me to remain with you. So now tell her to take down her hands and let me see this face you make such a fuss about. I have my knife all ready.”

And the ploughman saw that she had in her hand a tiny knife, which did not look as if it could hurt any one.

“Wife, wife,” groaned the ploughman, “what shall we do?”

Then the wife looked up out of her swollen eyes, and was just going to speak, when the gnome gave a shriek. “What?” she cried, “that face! Do you mean to say that is what you think so pretty, and that I am going to change my beautiful, dry, black skin for that swollen red mass? No, indeed. You must be mad. It is a good thing that I saw it in time. I shall leave the house at once.”

“Nay,” cried the ploughman, “but it is you who are breaking your compact this time.”

But the gnome made no reply, but scuttled down through the hole as fast as it could, and the ploughman and his wife burst out laughing for joy. And that was the last they ever saw of it, and it must have gone right away, but they knew it had left some of its luck behind it, as they both lived happily for the rest of their days.

THE END

_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay._

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