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Young Folks Treasury, Volume 2 (of 12) by Various

V >> Various >> Young Folks Treasury, Volume 2 (of 12)




The King brought Guy to his palace and offered him splendid robes and
great rewards, even to the half of the kingdom. But Guy would have
none of them. "Give me my pilgrim's dress again," he said. And, in
spite of all the King could say, he put off his fine armor and dressed
himself again in his dark pilgrim's robe.

"Tell me at least thy name," said the King, "so that the minstrels
may sing of thy great deeds, and that in years to come the people may
remember and bless thee."

"Bless God, not me," replied Guy. "He it was gave me strength and
power against the giant."

"Then if thou wilt not that the people know," said the King, "tell thy
name to me alone."

"So be it," said Guy. "Walk with me half a mile out of the city, thou
and I alone. Then will I tell thee my name."

So the King in his royal robes, and the pilgrim in his dull, dark
gown, passed together out of the city gate. When they had gone half a
mile, Guy stood still. "Sire," he said, "thou wouldst know my name. I
am Guy of Warwick, thine own knight. Once thou didst love me well, now
I am as thou dost see me."

At first the King could hardly believe that this poor man was really
the great Earl of Warwick, but when he became sure of it he threw his
arms round Guy and kissed him. "Dear friend, we have long mourned for
thee as dead," he cried. "Now thou wilt come with me and help me to
rule, and I will honor thee above all men."

But Guy would not go back. He made the King promise to tell no man who
he was. This he did for the sake of the oath which he had sworn, that
he would never again fight for glory but only for a righteous cause.
Then once more they kissed, and each turned his own way, the King
going sadly back to Winchester.

As he entered the gates the people crowded round him, eager to know
who the pilgrim was. But King Athelstane held up his hand. "Peace," he
said, "I indeed know, but I may not tell you. Go to your homes, thank
God for your deliverance, and pray for him who overcame the giant."




IV

HOW AT LAST GUY WENT HOME


After Guy left the King, he journeyed on towards Warwick. And when he
came to the town over which he was lord and master no one knew him. So
he mixed with the poor men who came every morning to the castle gates
to receive food from the countess.

Guy listened to what those round him said. He heard them praise and
bless Phyllis, calling her the best woman that had ever lived, and his
heart was glad.

Pale and trembling, Guy bent before his wife, to receive food from her
hands. He was so changed that even she did not know him, but she felt
very sorry for the poor man who seemed so thin and worn, so she spoke
kindly to him and gave him more food than the others, and told him to
come every day as long as he lived.

Guy thanked her, and turned slowly away. He remembered that a hermit
lived in a cave not far off, and to him he went. But when he reached
the cave he found it empty. The hermit had been dead many years.

Guy then made up his mind to live in the cave. Every morning he went
to the castle to receive food from Phyllis. But he would only take
the simplest things, often eating nothing but bread and drinking water
from the spring which flowed near.

Every evening Guy could hear Phyllis as she paced to and fro, for
her walk was not far from the hermit's cave. But still some strange
enchantment, as it were, held him dumb, and although he still loved
her, although he knew that she sorrowed and longed for him to return
home, he could not say, "I am here."

At last one day Guy became very ill. He had no longer strength to go
to the castle, so calling a passing countryman to him, he gave him a
ring. It was the ring which Phyllis had given him, and which he had
kept ever with him through all his pilgrimage. "Take this," he said
to the countryman, "and carry it to Fair Phyllis, the Countess of
Warwick."

But the countryman was afraid. "I have never spoken to a great lady,
and I do not know how to address her," he said. "Besides she may be
angry with me, and I shall get into trouble if I carry a ring to the
earl's wife."

"Do not fear," said Guy, "the countess will not be angry; rather will
she reward thee. Tell her to come hastily or I die."

So the countryman took the ring, and, coming to the countess fell upon
his knees. "Lady," he said, "a pilgrim who lives yonder in the forest
sends thee this ring."

Phyllis took the ring, and, as she looked at it, a strange light
came into her eyes. Like one in a dream she passed her hand over
her forehead. "It is mine own lord, Sir Guy," she cried, and fell
senseless to the ground.

The countryman was much frightened, but her ladies ran to the countess
and raised her, and soon she opened her eyes.

"Friend," she said to the countryman, "tell me where is he who gave
thee this ring?"

"He is in the hermit's cave," replied the man, "and he bade me to say
that thou must hasten ere he die."

Right glad was Phyllis at the thought of seeing Guy again, yet
sorrowful lest she should find him dead. So, calling for her mule,
she mounted and rode speedily towards the cave, the countryman running
before to show the way.

And when they came to the cave Phyllis went in, and kneeling beside
Guy, put her arms round him, crying bitterly. "Dear," he said, "weep
not, for I go where sorrows end." Then

"He kissed her fair and courteously,
With that he died hastily."

There was sorrow through all the land when it was known that Guy, the
great hero, was dead. He was buried with much pomp and ceremony, the
King and Queen, and all the greatest nobles of the land, coming to
the funeral. And Phyllis, not caring to live longer, now that she knew
that Guy was indeed dead, died too, and they were both buried in the
same grave.

Then minstrels sang of Guy's valiant deeds, and of how he had slain
giants and dragons, and of how he might have been an emperor and
a king over many lands, and how he was ever a gentle and courteous
knight.

"Thus endeth the tale of Sir Guy:
God, on his soul have mercy,
And on ours when we be dead,
And grant us in heaven to have stead."

If you ever go to Warwick you will see, in the castle there, Guy's
sword and armor. Wise people will tell you that they never belonged
to Guy, but to some other men who lived much later. Well, perhaps they
are right.

Then, when you are at Warwick, you must go to Guy's Cliff, which is
about a mile and a half away. There, in the chapel, is a statue of
Guy, very old and broken.

You will also see there Fair Phyllis's Walk, the spring from which Guy
used to drink, still called Guy's Well, and the cave where he lived as
a hermit, and where he died.

Upon the walls of the cave is some writing. You will not be able to
read it, for it is Saxon, but it means, "Cast out, Thou Christ, from
Thy servant this burden."

Did Guy, I wonder, or some other, in days of loneliness and despair,
carve these words?

If you ask why Guy did these things--why, when he was happy and had
everything he could desire, he threw away that happiness, and wandered
out into the world to endure hunger, and weariness, and suffering--or
why, when at last he came back and found his beautiful wife waiting
and longing for his return, he did not go to her and be happy again,
I cannot tell you certainly. But perhaps it may be explained in this
way. In those far-off days there was nothing for great men to do but
fight. What they had they had won by the sword, and they kept it
by the sword. So they went swaggering over the world, fighting and
shedding blood, and the more men a knight killed, the more blood he
shed, the greater was his fame. It was impossible for a man to live in
the world and be at peace with his fellows. So when he desired peace
he had to cut himself off from the world and all who lived in it, and
go to live like a hermit in some lonely cave, or wander as a pilgrim
in desolate places. And so it was with Guy.




WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT

ADAPTED BY ERNEST RHYS


In the reign of the famous King Edward III. there was a little boy
called Dick Whittington, whose father and mother died when he was very
young, so that he remembered nothing at all about them, and was left
a ragged little fellow, running about a country village. As poor Dick
was not old enough to work, he was very badly off; he got but little
for his dinner, and sometimes nothing at all for his breakfast; for
the people who lived in the village were very poor indeed, and could
not spare him much more than the parings of potatoes, and now and then
a hard crust of bread.

For all this Dick Whittington was a very sharp boy, and was always
listening to what everybody talked about. On Sunday he was sure to
get near the farmers, as they sat talking on the tombstones in the
churchyard, before the parson came; and once a week you might see
little Dick leaning against the sign-post of the village alehouse,
where people stopped to drink as they came from the next market town;
and when the barber's shop door was open, Dick listened to all the
news that his customers told one another.

In this manner Dick heard a great many very strange things about the
great city called London; for the foolish country people at that time
thought that folks in London were all fine gentlemen and ladies; and
that there was singing and music there all day long; and that the
streets were all paved with gold.

One day a large wagon and eight horses, all with bells at their heads,
drove through the village while Dick was standing by the sign-post. He
thought that this wagon must be going to the fine town of London; so
he took courage, and asked the wagoner to let him walk with him by the
side of the wagon. As soon as the wagoner heard that poor Dick had no
father or mother, and saw by his ragged clothes that he could not be
worse off than he was, he told him he might go if he would, so they
set off together.

I could never find out how little Dick contrived to get meat and drink
on the road; nor how he could walk so far, for it was a long way; nor
what he did at night for a place to lie down to sleep in. Perhaps some
good-natured people in the towns that he passed through, when they
saw he was a poor little ragged boy, gave him something to eat; and
perhaps the wagoner let him get into the wagon at night, and take a
nap upon one of the boxes or large parcels in the wagon.

Dick, however, got safe to London, and was in such a hurry to see the
fine streets paved all over with gold, that I am afraid he did not
even stay to thank the kind wagoner; but ran off as fast as his legs
would carry him, through many of the streets, thinking every moment
to come to those that were paved with gold; for Dick had seen a guinea
three times in his own little village, and remembered what a deal of
money it brought in change; so he thought he had nothing to do but to
take up some little bits of the pavement, and should then have as much
money as he could wish for.

Poor Dick ran till he was tired, and had quite forgot his friend the
wagoner; but at last, finding it grow dark, and that every way he
turned he saw nothing but dirt instead of gold, he sat down in a dark
corner and cried himself to sleep.

Little Dick was all night in the streets; and next morning, being very
hungry, he got up and walked about, and asked everybody he met to give
him a halfpenny to keep him from starving; but nobody stayed to answer
him, and only two or three gave him a halfpenny; so that the poor boy
was soon quite weak and faint for the want of victuals.

At last a good-natured looking gentleman saw how hungry he looked.
"Why don't you go to work, my lad?" said he to Dick. "That I would,
but I do not know how to get any," answered Dick. "If you are willing,
come along with me," said the gentleman, and took him to a hay-field,
where Dick worked briskly, and lived merrily till the hay was made.

After this he found himself as badly off as before; and being almost
starved again, he laid himself down at the door of Mr. Fitzwarren,
a rich merchant. Here he was soon seen by the cook, who was an
ill-tempered creature, and happened just then to be very busy
preparing dinner for her master and mistress; so she called out to
poor Dick: "What business have you there, you lazy rogue? there is
nothing else but beggars; if you do not take yourself away, we will
see how you will like a sousing of some dish-water; I have some here
hot enough to make you jump."

Just at that time Mr. Fitzwarren himself came home to dinner; and when
he saw a dirty ragged boy lying at the door, he said to him: "Why do
you lie there, my boy? You seem old enough to work; I am afraid you
are inclined to be lazy."

"No, indeed, sir," said Dick to him, "that is not the case, for I
would work with all my heart, but I do not know anybody, and I believe
I am very sick for the want of food."

"Poor fellow, get up; let me see what ails you."

Dick now tried to rise, but was obliged to lie down again, being too
weak to stand, for he had not eaten any food for three days, and
was no longer able to run about and beg a halfpenny of people in the
street. So the kind merchant ordered him to be taken into the house,
and have a good dinner given him, and be kept to do what dirty work he
was able to do for the cook.

Little Dick would have lived very happy in this good family if it had
not been for the ill-natured cook, who was finding fault and scolding
him from morning to night, and besides, she was so fond of basting,
that when she had no meat to baste, she would baste poor Dick's head
and shoulders with a broom, or anything else that happened to fall
in her way. At last her ill-usage of him was told to Alice, Mr.
Fitzwarren's daughter, who told the cook she should be turned away if
she did not treat him kinder.

The ill-humor of the cook was now a little amended; but besides this
Dick had another hardship to get over. His bed stood in a garret,
where there were so many holes in the floor and the walls that every
night he was tormented with rats and mice. A gentleman having given
Dick a penny for cleaning his shoes, he thought he would buy a cat
with it. The next day he saw a girl with a cat, and asked her if she
would let him have it for a penny. The girl said she would, and at the
same time told him the cat was an excellent mouser.

Dick hid his cat in the garret, and always took care to carry a part
of his dinner to her; and in a short time he had no more trouble with
the rats and mice, but slept quite sound every night.

Soon after this, his master had a ship ready to sail; and as he
thought it right that all his servants should have some chance for
good fortune as well as himself, he called them all into the parlor
and asked them what they would send out.

They all had something that they were willing to venture except
poor Dick, who had neither money nor goods, and therefore could send
nothing.

For this reason he did not come into the parlor with the rest; but
Miss Alice guessed what was the matter, and ordered him to be called
in. She then said she would lay down some money for him, from her
own purse; but the father told her this would not do, for it must be
something of his own.

When poor Dick heard this, he said he had nothing but a cat which he
bought for a penny some time since of a little girl.

"Fetch your cat then, my good boy," said Mr. Fitzwarren, "and let her
go."

Dick went upstairs and brought down poor puss, with tears in his eyes,
and gave her to the captain; for he said he should now be kept awake
again all night by the rats and mice.

All the company laughed at Dick's odd venture; and Miss Alice, who
felt pity for the poor boy, gave him some money to buy another cat.

This, and many other marks of kindness shown him by Miss Alice made
the ill-tempered cook jealous of poor Dick, and she began to use him
more cruelly than ever, and always made game of him for sending his
cat to sea. She asked him if he thought his cat would sell for as much
money as would buy a stick to beat him.

At last poor Dick could not bear this usage any longer, and he thought
he would run away from his place; so he packed up his few things, and
started very early in the morning, on All-hallow's, which is the first
of November. He walked as far as Holloway; and there sat down on a
stone, which to this day is called Whittington's stone, and began to
think to himself which road he should take as he went onwards.

While he was thinking what he should do, the bells of Bow Church,
which at that time had only six, began to ring, and he fancied their
sound seemed to say to him:

"Turn again, Whittington,
Lord Mayor of London."

"Lord Mayor of London!" said he to himself. "Why, to be sure, I would
put up with almost anything now, to be Lord Mayor of London, and ride
in a fine coach, when I grow to be a man! Well, I will go back, and
think nothing of the cuffing and scolding of the old cook, if I am to
be Lord Mayor of London at last."

Dick went back, and was lucky enough to get into the house, and set
about his work, before the old cook came downstairs.

The ship, with the cat on board, was a long time at sea; and was at
last driven by the winds on a part of the coast of Barbary, where the
only people were the Moors, that the English had never known before.

The people then came in great numbers to see the sailors, who were
of different color to themselves, and treated them very civilly; and,
when they became better acquainted, were very eager to buy the fine
things that the ship was loaded with.

When the captain saw this, he sent patterns of the best things he had
to the King of the country; who was so much pleased with them, that
he sent for the captain to the palace. Here they were placed, as it is
the custom of the country, on rich carpets marked with gold and silver
flowers. The King and Queen were seated at the upper end of the room;
and a number of dishes were brought in for dinner. They had not
sat long, when a vast number of rats and mice rushed in, helping
themselves from almost every dish. The captain wondered at this, and
asked if these vermin were not very unpleasant.

"Oh, yes," said they, "very destructive; and the King would give
half his treasure to be freed of them, for they not only destroy his
dinner, as you see, but they assault him in his chamber and even in
bed, so that he is obliged to be watched while he is sleeping for fear
of them."

The captain jumped for joy; he remembered poor Whittington and his
cat, and told the King he had a creature on board the ship that would
despatch all these vermin immediately. The King's heart heaved so high
at the joy which this news gave him that his turban dropped off his
head. "Bring this creature to me," says he; "vermin are dreadful in
a court, and if she will perform what you say, I will load your ship
with gold and jewels in exchange for her." The captain, who knew his
business, took this opportunity to set forth the merits of Mrs Puss.
He told his majesty that it would be inconvenient to part with her,
as, when she was gone, the rats and mice might destroy the goods in
the ship--but to oblige his Majesty he would fetch her. "Run, run!"
said the Queen; "I am impatient to see the dear creature."

Away went the captain to the ship, while another dinner was got ready.
He put puss under his arm, and arrived at the place soon enough to see
the table full of rats.

When the cat saw them, she did not wait for bidding, but jumped out of
the captain's arms, and in a few minutes laid almost all the rats and
mice dead at her feet. The rest of them in their fright scampered away
to their holes.

The King and Queen were quite charmed to get so easily rid of such
plagues, and desired that the creature who had done them so great
a kindness might be brought to them for inspection. Upon which the
captain called: "Pussy, pussy, pussy!" and she came to him. He then
presented her to the queen, who started back, and was afraid to touch
a creature who had made such a havoc among the rats and mice. However,
when the captain stroked the cat and called: "Pussy, pussy," the Queen
also touched her and cried "Putty, putty," for she had not learned
English. He then put her down on the queen's lap, where she, purring,
played with her Majesty's hand, and then sung herself to sleep.

The King, having seen the exploits of Mrs. Puss, and being informed
that her kittens would stock the whole country, bargained with the
captain for the whole ship's cargo, and then gave him ten times as
much for the cat as all the rest amounted to.

The captain then took leave of the royal party, and set sail with
a fair wind for England, and after a happy voyage arrived safe in
London.

One morning Mr. Fitzwarren had just come to his counting-house and
seated himself at the desk, when somebody came tap, tap, at the door.
"Who's there?" said Mr. Fitzwarren. "A friend," answered the other;
"I come to bring you good news of your ship Unicorn." The merchant,
bustling up instantly, opened the door, and who should be seen waiting
but the captain and factor, with a cabinet of jewels, and a bill of
lading, for which the merchant lifted up his eyes and thanked heaven
for sending him such a prosperous voyage.

They then told the story of the cat, and showed the rich present
that the king and queen had sent for her to poor Dick. As soon as the
merchant heard this, he called out to his servants,

"Go fetch him--we will tell him of the same;
Pray call him Mr. Whittington by name."

Mr. Fitzwarren now showed himself to be a good man; for when some
of his servants said so great a treasure was too much for Dick, he
answered: "God forbid I should deprive him of the value of a single
penny."

He then sent for Dick, who at that time was scouring pots for the
cook, and was quite dirty.

Mr. Fitzwarren ordered a chair to be set for him, and so he began to
think they were making game of him, at the same time begging them not
to play tricks with a poor simple boy, but to let him go down again,
if they pleased, to his work.

"Indeed, Mr. Whittington," said the merchant, "we are all quite
in earnest with you, and I most heartily rejoice in the news these
gentlemen have brought you; for the captain has sold your cat to the
King of Barbary, and brought you in return for her more riches than I
possess in the whole world; and I wish you may long enjoy them!"

Mr. Fitzwarren then told the men to open the great treasure they had
brought with him; and said: "Mr. Whittington has nothing to do but to
put it in some place of safety."

Poor Dick hardly knew how to behave himself for joy. He begged his
master to take what part of it he pleased, since he owed it all to his
kindness. "No, no," answered Mr. Fitzwarren, "this is all your own;
and I have no doubt but you will use it well."

Dick next asked his mistress, and then Miss Alice, to accept a part
of his good fortune; but they would not, and at the same time told him
they felt great joy at his good success. But this poor fellow was too
kind-hearted to keep it all to himself; so he made a present to the
captain, the mate, and the rest of Mr. Fitzwarren's servants; and even
to the ill-natured old cook.

After this Mr. Fitzwarren advised him to send for a proper tradesman
and get himself dressed like a gentleman; and told him he was welcome
to live in his house till he could provide himself with a better.

When Whittington's face was washed, his hair curled, his hat cocked,
and he was dressed in a nice suit of clothes, he was as handsome and
genteel as any young man who visited at Mr. Fitzwarren's; so that Miss
Alice, who had once been so kind to him, and thought of him with pity,
now looked upon him as fit to be her sweetheart; and the more so, no
doubt, because Whittington was now always thinking what he could do to
oblige her, and making her the prettiest presents that could be.

Mr. Fitzwarren soon saw their love for each other, and proposed to
join them in marriage; and to this they both readily agreed. A day for
the wedding was soon fixed; and they were attended to church by the
Lord Mayor, the court aldermen, the sheriffs, and a great number of
the richest merchants in London, whom they afterwards treated with a
very rich feast.

History tells us that Mr. Whittington and his lady lived in great
splendor, and were very happy. They had several children. He was
Sheriff of London, also Mayor, and received the honor of knighthood by
Henry V.

The figure of Sir Richard Whittington with his cat in his arms, carved
in stone, was to be seen till the year 1780 over the archway of the
old prison of Newgate, that stood across Newgate Street.




TOM HICKATHRIFT

ADAPTED BY ERNEST RHYS


Long before William the Conqueror, there dwelt a man in the Isle of
Ely, named Thomas Hickathrift, a poor laboring man, but so strong that
he was able to do in one day the ordinary work of two. He had an only
son, whom he christened Thomas, after his own name. The old man put
his son to good learning, but he would take none, for he was none of
the wisest, but something soft, and had no docility at all in him.
God calling this good man, the father, to his rest, his mother, being
tender of him, kept him by her hard labor as well as she could;
but this was no easy matter, for Tom would sit all day in the
chimney-corner, instead of doing anything to help her, and although at
the time we were speaking of he was only ten years old, he would eat
more than four or five ordinary men, and was five feet and a half
in height, and two feet and a half broad. His hand was more like a
shoulder of mutton than a boy's hand, and he was altogether like a
little monster; but yet his great strength was not known.

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