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Old Fashioned Fairy Tales by Juliana Horatia Gatty Ewing

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

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"Look you, wife," said he, "this is no time to be saving half a stone
of flour when we may make our fortunes at one stroke. I have heard my
grandfather tell of a man who lent a sack of oats to one of the
fairies, and got it back filled with gold pieces. And as good measure
as he gave of oats so he got of gold;" saying which, the farmer took a
canvas bag to the flour-bin, and began to fill it. Meanwhile the dwarf
sat in the larder window and cried--"We've a big party for supper
to-night; give us good measure, neighbour, and you shall have anything
under the sun that you like to ask for."

When the farmer heard this he was nearly out of his wits with delight,
and his hands shook so that the flour spilled all about the larder
floor.

"Thank you, dear sir," he said; "it's a bargain, and I agree to it. My
wife hears us, and is witness. Wife! wife!" he cried, running into the
kitchen, "I am to have anything under the sun that I choose to ask
for. I think of asking for neighbour Merryweather's estate, but this
is a chance never likely to happen again, and I should like to make a
wise choice, and that is not easy at a moment's notice."

"You will have a week to think it over in," said the dwarf, who had
come in behind him; "I must be off now, so give me my flour, and come
to the hill behind your house seven days hence at midnight, and you
shall have your share of the bargain."

So the farmer tied up the flour-sack, and helped the dwarf with it on
to his back, and as he did so he began thinking how easily the bargain
had been made, and casting about in his mind whether, he could not get
more where he had so easily got much.

"And half a stone of flour is half a stone of flour," he muttered to
himself, "and whatever it may do with thriftless people, it goes a
long way in our house. And there's the bag--and a terrible lot spilled
on the larder floor--and the string to tie it with, which doubtless
he'll never think of returning--and my time, which must be counted,
and nothing whatever for it all for a week to come." And the outlay so
weighed upon his mind that he cleared his throat and began:

"Not for seven days, did you say, sir? You know, dear sir, or perhaps,
indeed, you do not know, that when amongst each other we men have to
wait for the settlement of an account, we expect something over and
above the exact amount. Interest we call it, my dear sir."

"And you want me to give you something extra for waiting a week?"
asked the dwarf. "Pray, what do you expect?"

"Oh, dear sir, I leave it to you," said the farmer. "Perhaps you may
add some trifle--in the flour-bag, or not, as you think fit--but I
leave it entirely to you."

"I will give you something over and above what you shall choose," said
the dwarf; "but, as you say, I shall decide what it is to be." With
which he shouldered the flour-sack, and went his way.

For the next seven days, the farmer had no peace for thinking, and
planning, and scheming how to get the most out of his one wish. His
wife made many suggestions to which he did not agree, but he was
careful not to quarrel with her; "for," he said, "we will not be like
the foolish couple who wasted three wishes on black-puddings. Neither
will I desire useless grandeur and unreasonable elevation, like the
fisherman's wife. I will have a solid and substantial benefit."

And so, after a week of sleepless nights and anxious days, he came
back to his first thought, and resolved to ask for his neighbour's
estate.

At last the night came. It was full moon, and the farmer looked
anxiously about, fearing the dwarf might not be true to his
appointment. But at midnight he appeared, with the flour-bag neatly
folded in his hand.

"You hold to the agreement," said the farmer, "of course. My wife was
witness. I am to have anything under the sun that I ask for; and I am
to have it now."

"Ask away," said the dwarf.

"I want neighbour Merryweather's estate," said the farmer.

"What, all this land below here, that joins on to your own?"

"Every acre," said the farmer.

"Farmer Merryweather's fields are under the moon at present," said the
dwarf, coolly, "and thus not within the terms of the agreement. You
must choose again."

But as the farmer could choose nothing that was not then under the
moon, he soon saw that he had been outwitted, and his rage knew no
bounds at the trick the dwarf had played him.

"Give me my bag, at any rate," he screamed, "and the string--and your
own extra gift that you promised. For half a loaf is better than no
bread," he muttered, "and I may yet come in for a few gold pieces."

"There's your bag," cried the dwarf, clapping it over the miser's head
like an extinguisher; "it's clean enough for a nightcap. And there's
your string," he added, tying it tightly round the farmer's throat
till he was almost throttled. "And, for my part, I'll give you what
you deserve;" saying which he gave the farmer such a hearty kick that
he kicked him straight down from the top of the hill to his own back
door.

"If that does not satisfy you, I'll give you as much again," shouted
the dwarf; and as the farmer made no reply, he went chuckling back to
his hill.




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Copyright (c) 2007. bestextbooks.com. All rights reserved.

President Obama teams up with one of Marvel's greatest heroes, reports Alison Flood
Articles published by guardian.co.uk Books

Murder One closing so did we commit this crime?

Barack Obama is teaming up with Spider-Man in a new comic from Marvel, which will see the future president exchanging a fist-bump with Peter Parker's alter ego.

The five-page story takes place in Washington DC on inauguration day, when one of Spidey's oldest enemies, the Chameleon, attempts to stop Obama's swearing-in ceremony. Fortunately, Peter Parker is covering the event as a photographer, and jumps in to save the day.

"Ya hear that, Chameleon? The president-elect here just appointed me ... secretary of shuttin' you up," Spider-Man says as he thwacks the Chameleon in the face. "I hope this doesn't ruin the inauguration for you," he tells Obama, as the Chameleon is led away by security officials. "Honestly, I'm more upset by the Chameleon's shockingly deficient understanding of the electoral process," Obama replies.

Spidey then cedes the limelight to Obama. "This is your day, after all, and I know it wouldn't look good to be seen palling around with me," he says, in a nod to Sarah Palin's comment that the then presidential candidate had been "palling around with terrorists".

The story, written by Zeb Wells and illustrated by Todd Nauck and Frank D'Armata, will appear as a bonus feature in Amazing Spider-Man 583, which goes on sale on 14 January.

"When we heard that president-elect Obama is a collector of Spider-Man comics, we knew that these two historic figures had to meet in our comics' Marvel Universe," said Marvel's editor-in-chief Joe Quesada. "A Spider-Man fan moving into the Oval Office is an event that must be commemorated in the pages of Amazing Spider-Man."

In October, graphic novel biographies of Obama and his then rival John McCain were published by IDW. April will see Michelle Obama appearing in the Female Force comic book series.

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Poetry Workshop creature features

For many years my local corner shop displayed a large sign in its window telling local residents to "use us or lose us!" It always looked a rather toothless threat to me. After all, if I didn't use them, what difference would it make to me if they weren't there? And surely a corner shop, one that had been there for years, would have enough customers to survive without recourse to such apocalyptic warning? But it didn't and was soon converted into flats.

This community shop was destroyed not so much by the pressures of the supermarkets or people's commuting patterns, but simply by customer apathy. It's something to think about as crime writers and readers across the world mourn the imminent passing of Maxim Jakubowski's celebrated Charing Cross Road bookshop in London, Murder One.

Apathy is a strange word to connect to a bookstore that thrives on passion. It's noticeable when you walk through the door, when you speak to the friendly, knowledgeable staff, when you look at the shelves and see the vast range of titles on offer. This isn't your regular kind of bookstore: the first time I visited spent a whole lunch break looking up and down, from floor to ceiling from table to table; it was an hour that changed my perception of both crime writing and of bookselling.

Murder One was – and for a few weeks will remain – a shop that took crime seriously. Not in the sense that it intellectualised it, or made unsubstantiated claims for its importance, but in the way that it treated crime writing with the respect it was due. With a genre that has so many off-shoots, branches and sub-genres, it took a shop of Murder One's calibre to show just how diverse, interesting and mentally stimulating crime could be – far more than the guilty pleasure I had, until then, considered it.

Thanks to judicious recommendations, enticing table displays and hours of foraging among the stacks, I discovered writers that I would never have picked up, let alone read. You could always get the latest blockbuster, but delve a little deeper and you'd find books that were not stocked anywhere else, novels that, like the perfect crime, were hidden from public view. The Martin Beck novels by Sjöwall & Wahlöö – probably my favourite sequence of novels in any genre – were introduced to me via Murder One, as were Kem Nunn, Sue Grafton, and Henning Mankell. It's also the staff of Murder One who piqued my interest in the inimitable Fred Vargas, and I can't thank them enough for the introduction.

Inclusive and without snobbery, Murder One amply demonstrated that the best bookshops are places not just of commerce, but of community; places that make feel you belong. It's the kind of store that bibliophiles dream about: well-stocked, well-staffed and shabby enough to lose days browsing within. It's just unfortunate that such shops don't have enough paying customers to keep them afloat, or that these customers visit all too infrequently – something of which I'm certainly guilty.

These kinds of shops are facing a long, bloody battle – and one which, without significant reinforcements, they are likely to lose. As we hear of the travesty of another brilliant independent going down, we'll mourn the loss, wring our hands and damn Amazon and the supermarkets and Waterstone's. Yet perhaps the most important detail we'll probably keep under wraps: the last time we actually spent any money there.

Murder One closing its doors for the final time is undoubtedly a .38 shell for independent bookshops, but whether it's body blow or a warning shot all depends upon us, the consumers. No one, no matter how iconic or established, can exist on fond memories alone: just ask Woolworths. Use these shops now, because it doesn't take a master sleuth to deduce what will happen if we don't.

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