Old Fashioned Fairy Tales by Juliana Horatia Gatty Ewing

J >> Juliana Horatia Gatty Ewing >> Old Fashioned Fairy Tales

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

They were all about two feet high, and had aged faces, brown and
withered, like the knots on gnarled trees in hedge bottoms, and they
squinted horribly; but, in spite of their seeming age, they flew round
and round like children.

"Mr. Sheriff! Mr. Sheriff!" cried the judge, "come and see the
dancing. And hear the music, too, which is so lively that it makes the
soles of my feet tickle."

"There is no music, my Lord Judge," said the sheriff, running down the
hill. "It is the wind whistling over the grass that your lordship
hears."

But when the sheriff had put his foot by the judge's foot, he saw and
heard the same, and he cried out, "Quick, Gaoler, and come down! I
should like you to be witness to this matter. And you may take my arm,
Gaoler, for the music makes me feel unsteady."

"There is no music, sir," said the gaoler; "but your worship doubtless
hears the creaking of the gallows."

But no sooner had the gaoler's feet touched the fairy ring, than he
saw and heard like the rest, and he called lustily to the chaplain to
come and stop the unhallowed measure.

"It is a delusion of the Evil One," said the parson; "there is not a
sound in the air but the distant croaking of some frogs." But when he
too touched the ring, he perceived his mistake.

At this moment the moon shone out, and in the middle of the ring they
saw Limping Tim the fiddler, playing till great drops stood out on his
forehead, and dancing as madly as he played.

"Ah, you rascal!" cried the judge. "Is this where you've been all the
time, and a better man than you as good as hanged for you? But you
shall come home now."

Saying which, he ran in, and seized the fiddler by the arm, but
Limping Tim resisted so stoutly that the sheriff had to go to the
judge's assistance, and even then the fairies so pinched and hindered
them that the sheriff was obliged to call upon the gaoler to put his
arms about his waist, who persuaded the chaplain to add his strength
to the string. But as ill luck would have it, just as they were
getting off, one of the fairies picked up Limping Tim's fiddle, which
had fallen in the scuffle, and began to play. And as he began to play,
every one began to dance--the fiddler, and the judge, and the sheriff,
and the gaoler, and even the chaplain.

"Hangman! hangman!" screamed the judge, as he lifted first one leg and
then the other to the tune, "come down, and catch hold of his
reverence the chaplain. The prisoner is pardoned, and he can lay hold
too."

The hangman knew the judge's voice, and ran towards it; but as they
were now quite within the ring he could see nothing, either of him or
his companions.

The farmer's son followed, and warning the hangman not to touch the
ring, he directed him to stretch his hands forwards in hopes of
catching hold of some one. In a few minutes the wind blew the
chaplain's cassock against the hangman's fingers, and he caught the
parson round the waist. The farmer's son then seized him in like
fashion, and each holding firmly by the other, the fiddler, the judge,
the sheriff, the gaoler, the parson, the hangman, and the farmer's son
all got safely out of the charmed circle.

"Oh, you scoundrel!" cried the judge to the fiddler; "I have a very
good mind to hang you up on the gallows without further ado."

But the fiddler only looked like one possessed, and upbraided the
farmer's son for not having the patience to wait three minutes for
him.

"Three minutes!" cried he; "why, you've been here three months and a
day."

This the fiddler would not believe, and as he seemed in every way
beside himself, they led him home, still upbraiding his companion,
and crying continually for his fiddle.

His neighbours watched him closely, but one day he escaped from their
care and wandered away over the hills to seek his fiddle, and came
back no more.

His dead body was found upon the downs, face downwards, with the
fiddle in his arms. Some said he had really found the fiddle where he
had left it, and had been lost in a mist, and died of exposure. But
others held that he had perished differently, and laid his death at
the door of the fairy dancers.

As to the farmer's son, it is said that thenceforward he went home
from market by the high-road, and spoke the truth straight out, and
was more careful of his company.

"I WON'T."

"Don't Care"--so they say--fell into a goose-pond; and "I won't" is
apt to come to no better an end. At least, my grandmother tells me
that was how the Miller had to quit his native town, and leave the tip
of his nose behind him.

It all came of his being allowed to say "I won't" when he was quite a
little boy. His mother thought he looked pretty when he was pouting,
and that wilfulness gave him an air which distinguished him from other
people's children. And when she found out that his lower lip was
becoming so big that it spoilt his beauty, and that his wilfulness
gained his way twice and stood in his way eight times out of ten, it
was too late to alter him.

Then she said, "Dearest Abinadab, do be more obliging!"

And he replied (as she had taught him), "I won't."

He always took what he could get, and would neither give nor give up
to other people. This, he thought, was the way to get more out of life
than one's neighbours.

Amongst other things, he made a point of taking the middle of the
footpath.

"Will you allow me to pass you, sir?--I am in a hurry," said a voice
behind him one day.

"I won't," said Abinadab; on which a poor washerwoman, with her
basket, scrambled down into the road, and Abinadab chuckled.

Next day he was walking as before.

"Will you allow me to pass you, sir?--I am in a hurry," said a voice
behind him.

"I won't," said Abinadab. On which he was knocked into the ditch; and
the Baron walked on, and left him to get out of the mud on whichever
side he liked.

He quarrelled with his friends till he had none left, and he
quarrelled with the tradesmen of the town till there was only one who
would serve him, and this man offended him at last.

"I'll show you who's master!" said the Miller. "I won't pay a penny of
your bill--not a penny."

"Sir," said the tradesman, "my giving you offence now, is no just
reason why you should refuse to pay for what you have had and been
satisfied with. I must beg you to pay me at once."

"I won't," said the Miller, "and what I say I mean. I won't; I tell
you, I won't."

So the tradesman summoned him before the Justice, and the Justice
condemned him to pay the bill and the costs of the suit.

"I won't," said the Miller.

So they put him in prison, and in prison he would have remained if his
mother had not paid the money to obtain his release. By and by she
died, and left him her blessing and some very good advice, which (as
is sometimes the case with bequests) would have been more useful if it
had come earlier.

The Miller's mother had taken a great deal of trouble off his hands
which now fell into them. She took in all the small bags of grist
which the country-folk brought to be ground, and kept account of them,
and spoke civilly to the customers, big and little. But these small
matters irritated the Miller.

"I may be the slave of all the old women in the country-side," said
he; "but I won't--they shall see that I won't."

So he put up a notice to say that he would only receive grist at a
certain hour on certain days. Now, but a third of the old women could
read the notice, and they did not attend to it. People came as before;
but the Miller locked the door of the mill and sat in the
counting-house and chuckled.

"My good friend," said his neighbours, "you can't do business in this
way. If a man lives by trade, he must serve his customers. And a
Miller must take in grist when it comes to the mill."

"Others may if they please," said the Miller; "but I won't. When I
make a rule, I stick to it."

"Take advice, man, or you'll be ruined," said his friends.

"I won't," said the Miller.

In a few weeks all the country-folk turned their donkeys' heads
towards the windmill on the heath. It was a little farther to go, but
the Windmiller took custom when it came to him, gave honest measure,
and added civil words gratis.

The other Miller was ruined.

"All you can do now is to leave the mill while you can pay the rent,
and try another trade," said his friends.

"I won't," said the Miller. "Shall I be turned out of the house where
I was born, because the country-folk are fools?"

However, he could not pay the rent, and the landlord found another
tenant.

"You must quit," said he to the Miller.

"That I won't," said the Miller, "not for fifty new tenants."

So the landlord sent for the constables, and he was carried out,
which is not a dignified way of changing one's residence. But then it
is not easy to be obstinate and dignified at the same time.

His wrath against the landlord knew no bounds.

"Was there ever such a brute?" he cried. "Would any man of spirit hold
his home at the whim of a landlord? I'll never rent another house as
long as I live."

"But you must live somewhere," said his friends.

"I won't," said the Miller.

He was no longer a young man, and the new tenant pitied him.

"The poor old fellow is out of his senses," he said. And he let him
sleep in one of his barns. One of the mill cats found out that there
was a new warm bed in this barn, and she came and lived there too, and
kept away the mice.

One night, however, Mrs. Pussy disturbed the Miller's rest. She was in
and out of the window constantly, and meowed horribly into the
bargain.

"It seems a man can't even sleep in peace," said the Miller. "If this
happens again, you'll go into the mill-race to sing to the fishes."

The next night the cat was still on the alert, and the following
morning the Miller tied a stone round her neck, and threw her into the
water.

"Oh, spare the poor thing, there's a good soul," said a bystander.

"I won't," said the Miller. "I told her what would happen."

When his back was turned, however, the bystander got Pussy out, and
took her home with him.

Now the cat was away, the mice could play; and they played hide-and
seek over the Miller's nightcap.

It came to such a pass that there was no rest to be had.

"I won't go to bed, I declare I won't," said the Miller. So he sat up
all night in an arm-chair, and threw everything he could lay his hands
on at the corners where he heard the mice scuffling, till the place
was topsy-turvy.

Towards morning he lit a candle and dressed himself. He was in a
terrible humour; and when he began to shave, his hand shook and he cut
himself. The draughts made the flame of the candle unsteady too, and
the shadow of the Miller's nose (which was a large one) fell in
uncertain shapes upon his cheeks, and interfered with the progress of
the razor. At first he thought he would wait till daylight. Then his
temper got the better of him.

"I won't," he said, "I won't; why should I?"

So he began again. He held on by his nose to steady his cheeks, and
he gave it such a spiteful pinch that the tears came into his eyes.

"Matters have come to a pretty pass, when a man's own nose is to stand
in his light," said he.

By and by a gust of wind came through the window. Up flared the
candle, and the shadow of the Miller's nose danced half over his face,
and the razor gashed his chin.

Transported with fury, he struck at it before he could think what he
was doing. The razor was very sharp, and the tip of the Miller's nose
came off as clean as his whiskers.

When daylight came, and he saw himself in the glass, he resolved to
leave the place.

"I won't stay here to be a laughing-stock," said he.

As he trudged out on to the highway, with his bundle on his back, the
Baron met him and pitied him. He dismounted from his horse, and
leading it up to the Miller, he said:

"Friend, you are elderly to be going far afoot. I will lend you my
mare to take you to your destination. When you are there, knot the
reins and throw them on her shoulder, saying, 'Home!' She will then
return to me. But mark one thing,--she is not used to whip or spur.
Humour her, and she will carry you well and safely."

The Miller mounted willingly enough, and set forward. At first the
mare was a little restive. The Miller had no spurs on, but, in spite
of the Baron's warning, he kicked her with his heels. On this, she
danced till the Miller's hat and bundle flew right and left, and he
was very near to following them.

"Ah, you vixen!" he cried. "You think I'll humour you as the Baron
does. But I won't--no, you shall see that I won't!" And gripping his
walking-stick firmly in his hand, he belaboured the Baron's mare as if
she had been a donkey.

On which she sent the Miller clean over her head, and cantered back to
the castle; and wherever it was that he went to, he had to walk.

He never returned to his native village, and everybody was glad to be
rid of him. One must bear and forbear with his neighbours, if he hopes
to be regretted when he departs.

But my grandmother says that long after the mill had fallen into ruin,
the story was told as a warning to wilful children of the Miller who
cut off his nose to spite his own face.

THE MAGIC JAR.

There was once a young fellow whom fortune had blessed with a good
mother, a clever head, and a strong body. But beyond this she had not
much favoured him; and though able and willing to work, he had often
little to do, and less to eat. But his mother had taught him to be
contented with his own lot, and to feel for others. Moreover, from her
he inherited a great love for flowers.

One day, when his pockets were emptiest, a fair was held in the
neighbouring town, and he must needs go as well as the rest, though he
had no money to spend. But he stuck a buttercup in his cap, for which
he had nothing to pay, and strode along as merrily as the most.

Towards evening some of the merrymakers became riotous; and a party of
them fell upon an old Jew who was keeping a stall of glass and china,
and would smash his stock. Now as the Jew stood before his booth
beseeching them to spare his property, up came the strong young man,
with the flower still unwithered in his cap, and he took the old Jew's
part and defended him. For from childhood his mother had taught him to
feel for others.

So those who would have ill-treated the old Jew now moved off, and the
young man stayed with him till he had packed up his wares.

Then the Jew turned towards him and said, "My son, he who delivers the
oppressed, and has respect unto the aged, has need of no reward, for
the blessing of Him that blesseth is about him. Nevertheless, that I
may not seem ungrateful, choose, I pray thee, one of these china jars;
and take it to thee for thine own. If thou shalt choose well, it may
be of more use to thee than presently appears."

Thereupon the young man examined the jars, which were highly
ornamented with many figures and devices; but he chose one that was
comparatively plain; only it had a bunch of flowers painted on the
front, round which was a pretty device in spots or circles of gold.

Then said the Jew, "My son, why have you chosen this jar, when there
are others so much finer?"

The young man said, "Because the flowers please me, and I have a love
for flowers."

Then said the Jew, "Happy is he whose tastes are simple! Moreover,
herein is a rare wisdom, and thou hast gained that which is the most
valuable of my possessions. This jar has properties which I will
further explain to thee. It was given to me by a wise woman, subject
to this condition, that I must expose it for sale from sunrise to
sunset at the yearly fair. When I understood this I took counsel with
myself how I should preserve it; and I bought other china jars of more
apparent value, and I marked them all with the same price. For I said
within myself, 'There is no man who does not desire to get as much as
he can for his money, therefore, from its contrast with these others,
my jar is safe.' And it was even so; for truly, many have desired to
buy the jar because of the delicate beauty of the flowers, if I would
have sold it for less than others which seemed more valuable."

"Many times it has been almost gone, but when I have shown the others
at the same price, my customers have reviled me, saying, 'Dog of a
Jew, dost thou ask as much for this as for these others Which are
manifestly worth double?' and they have either departed, cursing me,
and taking nothing; or they have bought one of the more richly
decorated jars at the same price. For verily in most men the spirit of
covetousness is stronger than the love of beauty, and they rather
desire to get much for their money, than to obtain that which is
suitable and convenient."

"But in thee, O young man! I have beheld a rare wisdom. To choose that
which is good in thine eyes, and suitable to thy needs, rather than
that which satisfieth the lust of over-reaching; and lo! what I have
so long kept from thousands, has become thine!"

Then the young man wished to restore to the Jew the jar he valued so
highly, and to choose another.

But the Jew refused, saying, "A gift cannot be recalled. Moreover, I
will now explain to thee its uses. Within the jar lies a toad, whose
spit is poison. But it will never spit at its master. Every evening
thou must feed it with bread and milk, when it will fall asleep; and
at sunrise in the morning it will awake and breathe heavily against
the side of the jar, which will thus become warm. As it warms the
flowers will blossom out, and become real, and full of perfume, and
thou wilt be able to pluck them without diminishing their number.
Moreover, these twelve round spots of gold will drop off, and become
twelve gold pieces, which will be thine. And thus it will be every
day. Only thou must thyself rise with the sun, and gather the flowers
and the gold with thine own hands. Furthermore, when the jar cools,
the flowers and gilding will be as before. Fare thee well."

And even as he spoke the Jew lifted the huge crate of china on to his
back, and disappeared among the crowd.

All came about as the Jew had promised. As he had twelve gold pieces a
day, the young man now wanted for nothing, besides which he had fresh
flowers on his table all the year round.

Now it is well said, "Thy business is my business, and the business of
all beside;" for every man's affairs are his neighbours' property.
Thus it came about that all those who lived near the young man were
perplexed that he had such beautiful flowers in all seasons; and
esteemed it as an injury to themselves that he should have them and
give no explanation as to whence they came.

At last it came to the ears of the king, and he also was disturbed.
For he was curious, and fond of prying into small matters; a taste
which ill becomes those of high position. But the king had no child to
succeed him; and he was always suspecting those about him of plotting
to obtain the crown, and thus he came to be for ever prying into the
affairs of his subjects.

Now when he heard of the young man who had flowers on his table all
the year round, he desired one of his officers to go and question him
as to how he obtained them. But the young man contrived to evade his
questions, and the matter was at rest for a while.

Then the king sent another messenger, with orders to press the young
man more closely; and because the young man disdained to tell a lie,
he said, "I get the flowers from yon china jar."

Then the messenger returned, and said to the king, "The young man says
that he gets the flowers from a certain china jar which stands in his
room."

Then said the king, "Bring the contents of the jar hither to me." And
the messenger returned and brought the toad.

But when the king laid hold upon the toad, it spat in his face; and he
was poisoned and died.

Then the toad sat upon the king's mouth, and would not be enticed
away. And every one feared to touch it because it spat poison. And
they called the wise men of the council; and they performed certain
rites to charm away the toad, and yet it would not go.

But after three days, the master of the toad came to the palace, and
without saying who he was, he desired to be permitted to try and get
the toad from the corpse of the king.

And when he was taken into the king's chamber, he stood and beckoned
to the toad, saying, "The person of the king and the bodies of the
dead are sacred, wherefore come away."

And the toad crawled from the king's face and came to him, and did not
spit at him; and he put it back into the jar.

Then said the wise men, "There is no one so fit to succeed to the
kingdom as this man is; both for wisdom of speech and for the power of
command."

And what they said pleased the people; and the young man was made
king. And in due time he married an amiable and talented princess, and
had children. And he ruled the kingdom well and wisely, and was
beloved till his death.

Now when, after the lapse of many years, he died, there was great
grief among the people, and his body was laid out in his own room, and
the people were permitted to come and look upon his face for the last
time.

And among the crowd there appeared an aged Jew. And he did not weep as
did the others; but he came and stood by the bier, and gazed upon the
face of the dead king in silence. And after a while he exclaimed, and
said:

"Oh, wonderful spectacle! A man, and not covetous. A ruler, and not
oppressive. Contented in poverty, and moderate in wealth. Elect of the
people, and beloved to the end!"

And when he had said this, he again became silent, and stood as one
astonished.

And no one knew when he came in, nor perceived when he departed.

But when they came to search for the china jar, it was gone, and could
never afterwards be found.

THE FIRST WIFE'S WEDDING-RING.

Many years ago, there lived a certain worthy man who was twice
married. By his first wife he had a son, who soon after his mother's
death resolved to become a soldier, and go to foreign lands. "When one
has seen the world, one values home the more," said he; "and if I live
I shall return."

So the father gave him a blessing, and his mother's wedding-ring,
saying, "Keep this ring, and then, however long you stay away, and
however changed you may become, by this token I shall know you to be
my true son and heir."

In a short time the father married again, and by this marriage also he
had one son.

Years passed by, and the elder brother did not return, and at last
every one believed him to be dead. But in reality he was alive, and
after a long time he turned his steps homewards. He was so much
changed by age and travelling that only his mother would have known
him again, but he had the ring tied safe and fast round his neck. One
night, however, he was too far from shelter to get a bed, so he slept
under a hedge, and when he woke in the morning the string was untied
and the ring was gone. He spent a whole day in searching for it, but
in vain; and at last he resolved to proceed and explain the matter to
his father.

The old man was overjoyed to see him, and fully believed his tale, but
with the second wife it was otherwise. She was greatly displeased to
think that her child was not now to be the sole heir of his father's
goods; and she so pestered and worked upon the old man by artful and
malicious speeches, that he consented to send away the new-comer till
he should have found the first wife's wedding-ring.

"Is the homestead I have taken such care of," she cried, "to go to the
first vagrant who comes in with a brown face and a ragged coat,
pretending that he is your son?"

So the soldier was sent about his business; but his father followed
him to the gate, and slipped some money into his hand, saying, "God
speed you back again with the ring!"

It was Sunday morning, and the bells were ringing for service as he
turned sadly away.

"Ding, dong!" rang the bells, "ding, dong! Why do you not come to
church like others? Why are you not dressed in your Sunday clothes,
and wherefore do you heave such doleful sighs, whilst we ring merrily?
Ding, dong! ding, dong!"

"Is there not a cause?" replied the soldier. "This day I am turned out
of home and heritage, though indeed I am the true heir."

"Nevertheless we shall ring for your return," said the bells.

As he went, the sun shone on the green fields, and in the soldier's
eyes, and said, "See how brightly I shine! But you, comrade, why is
your face so cloudy?"

"Is there not good reason?" replied he. "This day I am turned out of
home and heritage, and yet I am the true heir."

"Nevertheless I shall shine on your return," said the sun.

Along the road the hawthorn hedges were white with blossom. "Heyday!"
they cried, "who is this that comes trimp tramp, with a face as long
as a poplar-tree? Cheer up, friend! It is spring! sweet spring! All is
now full of hope and joy, and why should you look so sour?"

"May I not be excused?" said the soldier. "This day I am turned out,
of home and heritage, and yet I am the true heir."

"Nevertheless we shall blossom when you return," said the hedges.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8