Part 12

“You shall not have the worst of the bargain,” said the old woman; “here is something that is worth the having,” and she gave him a little black stone about as big as a bean. Then off she went with what he had given her.

“See, now,” said the rich brother, “that is why you are so poor as hardly to be able to make both ends meet in the world.”

“That may be so, or may not be so,” said the poor brother; “all the same, mercy is better than greed.”

How the elder did laugh at this, to be sure! “Why, look,” says he, “here I am riding upon a grand horse with my pockets full of gold and silver money, and there you are astride of a beast that can hardly hobble along the road, and with never a copper bit in your pocket to jingle against another.”

Yes; that was all true enough; nevertheless, the younger brother stuck to it that mercy was better than greed, until, at last, the other flew into a mighty huff.

“Very well,” says he, “I will wager my horse against yours that I am right, and we will leave it to the first body we meet to settle the point.”

Well, that suited the poor brother, and he was agreed to do as the other said.

So by and by they met a grand lord riding along the road with six servants behind him; and would he tell whether mercy or greed were the best for a body in this world?

The rich lord laughed and laughed. “Why,” said he, “greed is the best, for if it were otherwise, and I had only what belonged to me, I should never be jogging along through the world with six servants behind me.”

So off he rode, and the poor brother had to give up his horse to the other, who had no more use for it than I have for five more fingers. “All the same,” says the poor brother, “mercy is better than greed.” Goodness! what a rage the rich brother fell into, to be sure! “There is no teaching a simpleton,” said he; “nevertheless, I will wager all the money in my purse against your left eye that greed is better than mercy, and we will leave it to the next body we meet, since you are not content with the other.”

That suited the younger brother well enough, and on they jogged until they met a rich merchant driving a donkey loaded with things to sell. And would he judge between them whether mercy or greed were the best for a body?

“Poof!” says the merchant, “what a question to ask! All the world knows that greed is the best. If it were not for taking the cool end of the bargain myself, and leaving the hot end for my neighbor to hold, it is little or nothing that I should have in the world to call my own.” And off he went whither he was going.

“There,” says the rich brother, “now perhaps you will be satisfied;” and he put out the poor man’s left eye.

But no, the other still held that mercy was better than greed; and so they made another wager of all the rich man had in the world against the poor man’s right eye.

This time it was a poor ploughman whom they met, and would he tell whether mercy or greed were the best?

“Prut!” said he, “any simpleton can tell that greed is the best, for all the world rides on the poor man’s shoulders, and he is able to bear the burden the least of all.”

Then the rich man put out the poor man’s right eye; “for,” says he, “a body deserves to be blind who cannot see the truth when it is as plain as a pikestaff.”

But still the poor man stuck to it that mercy was the best. So the rich man rode away and left him in his blindness.

As all was darkness to his eyes, he sat down beside the road at the first place he could find, and that was underneath the gallows where three wicked robbers had been hung. While he sat there two ravens came flying, and lit on the gallows above him. They began talking to one another, and the younger brother heard what they said, for he could understand the speech of the birds of the air and of the beasts of the field, just as little children can, because he was innocent.

And the first raven said to the second raven, “Yonder, below, sits a fellow in blindness, because he held that mercy was better than greed.”

And the second raven said to the first, “Yes, that is so, but he might have his sight again if he only knew enough to spread his handkerchief upon the grass, and bathe his eyes in the dew which falls upon it from the gallows above.”

And the first raven said to the second, “That is as true as that one and one make two; but there is more to tell yet, for in his pocket he carries a little black stone with which he may open every door that he touches. Back of the oak-tree yonder is a little door; if he would but enter thereat he would find something below well worth the having.”

That was what the two ravens said, and then they flapped their wings and flew away.

As for the younger brother, you can guess how his heart danced at what he heard. He spread his handkerchief on the grass, and by and by, when night came, the dew fell upon it until it was as wet as clothes on the line. He wiped his eyes with it, and when the dew touched the lids they were cured, and he could see as well and better than ever.

By and by the day broke, and he lost no time in finding the door back of the oak-tree. He touched the lock with the little black stone, and the door opened as smoothly as though the hinges were greased. There he found a flight of steps that led down into a pit as dark as a beer vault. Down the steps he went, and on and on until, at last, he came to a great room, the like of which his eyes had never seen before. In the centre of the room was a statue as black as ink; in one hand it held a crystal globe which shone with a clear white light, so that it dazzled one’s eyes to look upon it; in the other hand it held a great diamond as big as a hen’s egg. Upon the breast of the statue were written these words in letters of gold:

“WHAT THOU DESERVEST THAT THOU SHALT HAVE.”

On three sides of the room sat three statues, and at the feet of each statue stood a heavy chest:

The first statue was of gold, and over its head were written these words:

“WHO CHOOSES HERE TAKES THE BEST THAT THE EARTH HAS TO GIVE.”

The second statue was of silver, and over its head was written these words:

“WHO CHOOSES HERE TAKES WHAT THE RICH MAN LOVES.”

The third statue was of dull lead, and over its head was written:

“WHO CHOOSES HERE TAKES WHAT HE SHOULD HAVE.”

The man touched the chest at the feet of the golden statue with the little black stone. And—click! clack!—up flew the lid, and the chest was full of all kinds of precious stones.

“Pugh!” says the younger brother; “and if this is the best that the world has to give, it is poor enough.” And he shut down the lid again.

He touched the chest at the feet of the silver statue with his little black stone, and it was full of gold and silver money.

“Pish!” says he; “and if this is what the rich man loves, why, so do not I.” And he shut down the lid again.

Last of all he touched the chest at the feet of the leaden statue.

In it was a book, and the letters on it said that whoever read within would know all that was worth the knowing. Beside the book was a pair of spectacles, and whoever set them astride of his nose might see the truth without having to rub the glasses with his pocket-handkerchief. But the best of all in the chest was an apple, and whoever ate of it would be cured of sorrow and sickness.

“Hi!” said the younger brother, “but these are worth the having, for sure and certain.” And he put the spectacles upon his nose and the apple and the book in his pocket. Then off he went, and the spectacles showed him the way, although it was as crooked as sin and as black as night.

So by and by he came out into the blessed sunlight again, and at the same place where he had gone in.

Off he went to his own home as fast as his legs could carry him, and you can guess how the rich brother stared when he saw the poor brother back in that town again, with his eyesight as good as ever.

As for the poor brother, he just turned his hand to being a doctor; and there has never been one like him since that day, for not only could he cure all sickness with his apple, but he could cure all sorrow as well. Money and fame poured in on him; and whenever trouble lit on his shoulders he just put on his spectacles and looked into the business, and then opened the book of wisdom and found how to cure it. So his life was as happy as the day was long; and a body can ask for no more than that in this world here below.

One day the rich brother came and knocked at the other’s door. “Well, brother,” says he, “I am glad to see you getting along so well in the world. Let us let bygones be bygones and live together as we should, for I am sorry for what I did to you.”

Well, that suited the younger brother well enough; he bore no malice against the other, for all that had been done had turned out for the best. All the same, he was more sure than ever now that mercy was better than greed.

The elder brother twisted up his face at this, as though the words were sour; all the same, he did not argue the question, for what he had come for was to find why the world had grown so easy with the other all of a sudden. So in he came, and they lit their pipes and sat down by the stove together.

He was a keen blade, was the elder brother, and it was not long before he had screwed the whole story out of the other.

“Dear, dear, dear!” said he, “I only wish I could find a black pebble like that one of yours.”

“It would do you no good if you had it,” said the younger brother, “for I have brought away all that is worth the having. All the same, if you want my black pebble now you are welcome to it.”

Did the elder brother want it! Why, of course he wanted it, and he could not find words enough to thank the younger.

Off he went, hot-foot, to find the door back of the oak-tree; “For,” said he to himself, “I will bring something back better worth the having than a musty book, an old pair of spectacles, and a red apple.”

He touched the door with the black stone, and it opened for him just as it had for the younger brother.

Down the steps he went, and on and on and on, until by and by he came to the room where the statues were. There was the black statue holding out the crystal ball and the diamond as big as a hen’s egg, and there sat the golden statue and the silver statue and the leaden statue, just as they had sat when the younger brother had been there, only there was nothing in the chest at the feet of the leaden statue.

The rich brother touched the lock of the chest in front of the silver statue. Up flew the lid, and there lay all the gold and silver money.

“Yes,” says he, “that is what the rich man loves, sure enough. Nevertheless, there may be something else that is better worth the having.” So he let the money lay where it was.

He touched the chest in front of the golden statue. Up flew the lid, and he had to blink and wink his eyes because the precious stones dazzled them so.

“Yes,” says he, “this is the best the world has to give, and there is no gainsaying that; all the same, there may be something better worth the having than these.”

So he looked all about the room, until he saw the golden letters on the breast of the black statue that stood in the middle. First he read the words:

“WHAT THOU DESERVEST THAT THOU SHALT HAVE.”

And then he saw the great diamond that the statue held in its left hand.

“Why,” said he, “it is as plain as daylight that I deserve this precious stone, for not being so simple as my brother, and taking what I could find without looking for anything better.”

So up he stepped and took the diamond out of the statue’s hand.

Crash!—and all was darkness, darker than the darkest midnight; for, as quick as a wink, the black statue let the crystal globe of light fall from its right hand upon the stone floor, where it broke into ten thousand pieces.

And now the rich brother might wander up and wander down, but wander as he chose he could never find his way out of that place again, for the darkness shut him in like a blanket.

So, after all, mercy and temperance were better in the long run than greed and covetousness, in spite of what the great lord and the rich merchant and the poor ploughman had said.

Maybe I have got this story twisted awry in the telling; all the same, Tommy Pfouce says that it is a true-enough story, if you put on your spectacles and look at it from the right side.

Five O’clock·

_Pussy-Cat_, _Pussy-Cat_ what do you dream, Sleeping out there in the _Sun_? The _Red Cow_ and _White Cow_ are out in the _Lane_; I guess that the _Milking_ is done. [Sidenote: ☾’s pl. Const.] [Sidenote: ☉ K.P. ⊕]

_Pussy-Cat_, _Pussy-Cat_ open your _Eyes_, And see what your _Kitten_’s about; She’s found a great _Rat-Hole_ that’s close to the _Step_, And is watching for him to come out.

XVII.

There were three brothers left behind when the father died. The two elder, whose names were John and James, were as clever lads as ever ate pease with a fork.

As for the youngest, his name was Caspar, he had no more than enough sense to blow his potatoes when they were hot. Well, when they came to divide things up between themselves, John and James contrived to share all of the good things between them. As for Caspar, “why, the little black hen is enough for him,” says John and James, and that was all the butter he got from that churn.

“I’ll take the little black hen to the fair,” says Caspar, “and there I’ll sell her and buy me some eggs. I’ll set the eggs under the minister’s speckled hen, and then I’ll have more chicks. Then I’ll buy me more eggs and have more chicks, and then I’ll buy me more eggs and have more chicks, and after that I’ll be richer than Uncle Henry, who has two cows and a horse, and will marry my sweetheart into the bargain.” So off he went to the fair with the black hen under his arm, as he had promised himself to do.

“There goes a goose to the plucking,” says John and James, and then they turned no hairs grey by thinking any more about the case.

As for him, why, he went on and on until he came to the inn over the hill not far from the town, the host of which was no better than he should be, and that was the long and the short of it.

“Where do you go with the little black hen, Caspar?” says he.

“Oh,” says Caspar, “I take it to the fair to sell it and buy me some eggs. I’ll set the eggs under the minister’s speckled hen, and then I’ll have more chicks. Then I’ll buy me more eggs and have more chicks, and then I’ll buy me more eggs and have more chicks, and after that I’ll be richer than Uncle Henry, who has two cows and a horse, and will marry my sweetheart into the bargain.”

Prut! And why should Caspar take his hen to the fair? That was what the landlord said. It was a silly thing to tramp to the river for water before the well was dry at home. Why, the landlord had a friend over yonder who would give ten pennies to one that he could get at the fair for his black hen. Now, had Caspar ever heard tell of the little old gentleman who lived in the old willow-tree over yonder?

No, Caspar had never heard tell of him in all of his life. And there was no wonder in that, for no more had anybody else, and the landlord was only up to a bit of a trick to get the little black hen for himself.

But the landlord sucked in his lips—“_tsch_”—so! Well, that was a pity, for the little old gentleman had said, time and time again, that he would give a whole bagful of gold and silver money for just such a little black hen as the one that Caspar carried under his arm.

Dear, dear! How Caspar’s eyes did open at this, to be sure. Off he started for the willow-tree. “Here’s the little black hen,” said he, “and I’ll sell her for a bagful of gold and silver money.” But nobody answered him; and you may be sure of that, for there was nobody there.

“Well,” says Caspar, “I’ll just tie the hen to the tree here, and you may pay me to-morrow.” So he did as he had said, and off he marched. Then came the landlord and took the hen off home and had it for his supper; and there was an end of that business.

An end of that business? No, no; stop a bit, for we will not drive too fast down the hill. Listen: there was a wicked robber who had hidden a bag of gold and silver money in that very tree; but of that neither Caspar nor the landlord knew any more than the chick in the shell.

“Hi!” says Caspar, “it is the wise man who gets along in the world.” But there he was wrong for once in his life, Tommy Pfouce tells me.

“And did you sell your hen?” says John and James.

Oh, yes; Caspar had done that.

And what had he got for it?

Oh, just a bag of gold and silver money, that was all. He would show it to them to-morrow, for he was to go and get it then from the old gentleman who lived in the willow-tree over yonder by the inn over the hill.

When John and James heard that they saw as plain as the nose on your face that Caspar had been bitten by the _fool dog_.

But Caspar never bothered his head about that; off he went the next day as grand as you please. Up he marched to the willow-tree, but never a soul did he find there; for why, there was nobody.

Rap! tap! tap! He knocked upon the tree as civil as a beggar at the kitchen door, but nobody said, “Come in!”

“Look,” says he, “we will have no dilly-dallying; I want my money and I will have it,” and he fetched a kick at the tree that made the bark fly. But he might as well have kicked my grandfather’s bedpost for all the good he had of it. “Oh, very well!” says he, and off he marched and brought the axe that stood back of the stable door.

Hui! how the chips flew! for Caspar was bound to get to the bottom of the business. So by and by the tree lay on the ground, and there was the bag of gold and silver money that the wicked robber had hidden. “So!” says Caspar, “better late than never!” and off he marched with it.

By and by whom should he meet but John and James. Bless me, how they stared! And did Caspar get all of that money for one little black hen?

Oh, yes; that he had.

And where did he get it?

Oh! the little old man in the willow-tree had paid it to him.

So, good! that was a fine thing, and it should be share and share alike among brothers; that was what John and James said, and Caspar did not say “No;” so down they all sat on the grass and began counting it out.

“This is mine,” said John.

“And this is mine,” said James.

“And this is mine,” said John.

“And this is mine,” said James.

“And where is mine?” says Caspar. But neither of the others thought of him because he was so simple.

Just then who should come along but the rogue of a landlord. “Hi! and where did you get all that?” says he.

“Oh,” says Caspar, “the little old man in the willow-tree paid it to me for my little black hen.”

Yes, yes, the landlord knew how much of that cake to eat. He was not to have the wool pulled over his eyes so easily. See, now, he knew very well that thieving had been done, and he would have them all up before the master mayor for it. So the upshot of the matter was that they had to take him in to share with them.

“This is mine,” says the landlord.

“And this is mine,” says John.

“And this is mine,” says James.

“And where do I come in?” says poor Caspar. But nobody thought of him because he was so simple.

Just then came along a company of soldiers—tramp! tramp! tramp!—and there they found them all sharing the money between them, except Caspar.

“Hi!” says the captain, “here are a lot of thieves, and no mistake!” and off he marched them to the king’s house, which was finer than any in our town, and as big as a church into the bargain.

And how had they come by all that money? that was what the king would like to know.

As for the three rogues, they sang a different tune now than they had whistled before.

“It’s none of mine, it’s his,” said the landlord, and he pointed to John.

“It’s none of mine, it’s his,” said John, and he pointed to James.

“It’s none of mine, it’s his,” said James, and he pointed to Caspar.

“And how did you get it?” says the king.

“Oh!” says Caspar, “the little old man in the willow-tree gave it to me for my little black hen;” and then he told the whole story without missing a single grain.

Beside the king sat the princess, who was so serious and solemn that she had never laughed once in all her life. So the king had said, time and time again, that whoever should make her laugh should have her for his wife. Now, when she heard Caspar’s story, and how he came in behind all the rest, so that he always had the pinching, like the tail of our cat in the crack of the door, she laughed like everything, for she could not help it. So there was the fat in the fire, for Caspar was not much to look at, and that was the truth. Dear, dear, what a stew the king was in, for he had no notion for Caspar as a son-in-law. So he began to think about striking a bargain. “Come,” says he to Caspar, “how much will you take to give up the princess instead of marrying her?”

Well, Caspar did not know how much a princess was worth. So he scratched his head and scratched his head, and by and by he said that he would be willing to take ten dollars and let the princess go.

At this the king boiled over into a mighty fume, like water into the fire. What! did Caspar think that ten dollars was a fit price for a princess!

Oh, Caspar had never done any business of this kind before. He had a sweetheart of his own at home, and if ten dollars was too much for the princess he would be willing to take five.

Sakes alive! what a rage the king was in! Why, I would not have stood in Caspar’s shoes just then—no, not for a hundred dollars. The king would have had him whipped right away, only just then he had some other business on hand. So he paid Caspar his five dollars, and told him that if he would come back the next day he should have all that his back could carry—meaning a whipping.

As for Caspar and his brothers and the rogue of a landlord, they thought that the king was talking about dollars. So when they had left the king’s house and had come out into the road again, the three rogues began to talk as smooth and as soft as though their words were buttered.

See, now, what did Caspar want with all that the king had promised him; that was what they said. If he would let them have it, they would give him all of their share of the money he had found in the willow-tree.

“Ah, yes,” says Caspar, “I am willing to do that. For,” says he to himself, “an apple in the pocket is worth three on the tree.” And there he was right for once in his life.

Well, the next day back they all tramped to the king’s house again to get what had been promised to Caspar.

So! Caspar had come back for the rest, had he?

Oh, yes, he had come back again; but the lord king must know that he had sold all that had been promised to him to these three lads for their share of the money he had found in the willow-tree over yonder.

“Yes,” says the landlord, “one part of what has been promised is mine.”

“And one part of it is mine,” says John.

“Stop a bit, brother,” says James; “remember, one part of it is mine too.”

At this the king could not help laughing, and that broke the back of his anger.