Part 30

“But all the same”, said Boots; “if I may have leave to sleep on the Princess’ bed to-night, outside the quilt, she shall have my tap. I’ll not do her any harm; but, if she’s afraid, she may set eight men to watch in her room.”

“Oh, no!” said the Princess, “there was no need of that, she knew him now so well”; and so Boots lay outside the Princess’ bed that night. But if she hadn’t slept much the two nights before, she had less sleep that night; for she couldn’t shut her eyes the livelong night, but lay and looked at Boots, who lay alongside her outside the quilt.

So, when she got up in the morning, and they were going to row Boots back to the island, she begged them to hold hard a little bit; and in she ran to the king, and begged him so prettily to let her have Boots for a husband, she was so fond of him, and, unless she had him, she did not care to live.

“Well, well!” said the king, “you shall have him if you must; for he who has such things is just as rich as you are.”

So Boots got the Princess and half the kingdom—the other half he was to have when the king died; and so everything went smooth and well; but as for his brothers, who had always been so bad to him, he packed them off to the Beggars’ island.

“There”, said Boots, “perhaps they may find out which is best off, the man who has his pockets full of money, or the man whom all women fall in love with.”

Nor, to tell you the truth, do I think it would help them much to wander about upon the Beggars’ island pulling pieces of money out of their pockets; and so, if Boots hasn’t taken them off the island, there they are still walking about to this very day, eating cheese-parings and the scrapings of the porridge-pots.

THE THREE BILLY-GOATS GRUFF

Once on a time there were three Billy-goats, who were to go up to the hill-side to make themselves fat, and the name of all three was “Gruff”.

On the way up was a bridge over a burn they had to cross; and under the bridge lived a great ugly Troll, with eyes as big as saucers, and a nose as long as a poker.

So first of all came the youngest billy-goat Gruff to cross the bridge.

“Trip, trap; trip, trap!” went the bridge.

“WHO’S THAT tripping over my bridge?” roared the Troll.

“Oh! it is only I, the tiniest billy-goat Gruff; and I’m going up to the hill-side to make myself fat”, said the billy-goat, with such a small voice.

“Now, I’m coming to gobble you up”, said the Troll.

“Oh, no! pray don’t take me. I’m too little, that I am”, said the billy-goat; “wait a bit till the second billy-goat Gruff comes, he’s much bigger.”

“Well! be off with you”, said the Troll.

A little while after came the second billy-goat Gruff to cross the bridge.

“TRIP, TRAP! TRIP, TRAP! TRIP, TRAP!” went the bridge.

“WHO’S THAT tripping over my bridge?” roared the Troll.

“Oh! it’s the second billy-goat Gruff, and I’m going up to the hill-side to make myself fat”, said the billy-goat, who hadn’t such a small voice.

“Now, I’m coming to gobble you up”, said the Troll.

“Oh, no! don’t take me, wait a little till the big billy-goat Gruff comes, he’s much bigger.”

“Very well! be off with you”, said the Troll.

But just then up came the big billy-goat Gruff.

“TRIP, TRAP! TRIP, TRAP! TRIP, TRAP!” went the bridge, for the billy-goat was so heavy that the bridge creaked and groaned under him.

“WHO’S THAT tramping over my bridge?” roared the Troll.

“IT’S I! THE BIG BILLY-GOAT GRUFF”, said the billy-goat, who had an ugly hoarse voice of his own.

“Now, I’m coming to gobble you up”, roared the Troll.

Well, come along! I’ve got two spears, And I’ll poke your eyeballs out at your ears; I’ve got besides two curling-stones, And I’ll crush you to bits, body and bones.

That was what the big billy-goat said; and so he flew at the Troll and poked his eyes out with his horns, and crushed him to bits, body and bones, and tossed him out into the burn, and after that he went up to the hill-side. There the billy-goats got so fat they were scarce able to walk home again; and if the fat hasn’t fallen off them, why they’re still fat; and so:

Snip, snap, snout, This tale’s told out.

WELL DONE AND ILL PAID

Once on a time there was a man, who had to drive his sledge to the wood for fuel. So a Bear met him.

“Out with your horse”, said the Bear, “or I’ll strike all your sheep dead by summer.”

“Oh! heaven help me then”, said the man; “there’s not a stick of firewood in the house; you must let me drive home a load of fuel, else we shall be frozen to death. I’ll bring the horse to you to-morrow morning.”

Yes! on those terms he might drive the wood home, that was a bargain; but Bruin said, “if he didn’t come back, he should lose all his sheep by summer”.

So the man got the wood on the sledge and rattled homewards, but he wasn’t over pleased at the bargain you may fancy. So just then a Fox met him.

“Why, what’s the matter?” said the Fox; “why are you so down in the mouth?”

“Oh, if you want to know”, said the man; “I met a Bear up yonder in the wood, and I had to give my word to him to bring Dobbin back to-morrow, at this very hour; for if he didn’t get him, he said he would tear all my sheep to death by summer.”

“Stuff, nothing worse than that”, said the Fox; “if you’ll give me your fattest wether, I’ll soon set you free; see if I don’t.”

Yes! the man gave his word, and swore he would keep it too.

“Well, when you come with Dobbin to-morrow for the bear”, said the Fox, “I’ll make a clatter up in that heap of stones yonder, and so when the bear asks what that noise is, you must say ’tis Peter the Marksman, who is the best shot in the world; and after that you must help yourself.”

Next day off set the man, and when he met the Bear, something began to make a clatter up in the heap of stones.

“Hist! what’s that?” said the Bear.

“Oh! that’s Peter the Marksman, to be sure”, said the than; “he’s the best shot in the world. I know him by his voice.”

“Have you seen any bears about here, Eric?” shouted out a voice in the wood.

“Say, no!” said the Bear.

“No, I haven’t seen any”, said Eric.

“What’s that then, that stands alongside your sledge?” bawled out the voice in the wood.

“Say it’s an old fir-stump”, said the Bear.

“Oh, it’s only an old fir-stump”, said the man.

“Such fir-stumps we take in our country and roll them on our sledges”, bawled out the voice; “if you can’t do it yourself, I’ll come and help you.”

“Say you can help yourself, and roll me up on the sledge”, said the Bear.

“No, thank ye, I can help myself well enough”, said the man, and rolled the Bear on to the sledge.

“Such fir-stumps we always bind fast on our sledges in our part of the world”, bawled out the voice; “shall I come and help you?”

“Say you can help yourself, and bind me fast, do”, said the Bear.

“No, thanks, I can help myself well enough”, said the man, who set to binding Bruin fast with all the ropes he had, so that at last the bear couldn’t stir a paw.

“Such fir-stumps we always drive our axes into, in our part of the world”, bawled out the voice; “for then we guide them better going down the steep pitches.”

“Pretend to drive your axe into me, do now”, said the bear. Then the man took up his axe, and at one blow split the bear’s skull, so that Bruin lay dead in a trice, and so the man and the Fox were great friends, and on the best terms. But when they came near the farm, the Fox said:

“I’ve no mind to go right home with you, for I can’t say I like your tykes; so I’ll just wait here, and you can bring the wether to me, but mind and pick out one nice and fat.”

Yes! the man would be sure to do that, and thanked the Fox much for his help. So when he had put up Dobbin, he went across to the sheep-stall.

“Whither away, now?” asked his old dame.

“Oh!” said the man, “I’m only going to the sheep-stall to fetch a fat wether for that cunning Fox, who set our Dobbin free. I gave him my word I would.”

“Whither, indeed”, said the old dame; “never a one shall that thief of a Fox get. Haven’t we got Dobbin safe, and the bear into the bargain; and as for the Fox, I’ll be bound he’s stolen more of our geese than the wether is worth; and even if he hasn’t stolen them, he will. No, no; take a brace of your swiftest hounds in a sack, and slip them loose after him; and then, perhaps, we shall be rid of this robbing Reynard.”

Well, the man thought that good advice; so he took two fleet red hounds, put them into a sack, and set off with them.

“Have you brought the wether?” said the Fox.

“Yes, come and take it”, said the man, as he untied the sack and let slip the hounds.

“HUF”, said the Fox, and gave a great spring; “true it is what the old saw says, ‘Well done is often ill paid’; and now, too, I see the truth of another saying, ‘The worst foes are those of one’s own house.’” That was what the Fox said as he ran off, and saw the red foxy hounds at his heels.

THE HUSBAND WHO WAS TO MIND THE HOUSE

Once on a time there was a man, so surly and cross, he never thought his wife did anything right in the house. So, one evening, in hay-making time, he came home, scolding and swearing, and showing his teeth and making a dust.

“Dear love, don’t be so angry; there’s a good man”, said his goody; “to-morrow let’s change our work. I’ll go out with the mowers and mow, and you shall mind the house at home.”

Yes! the husband thought that would do very well. He was quite willing, he said.

So, early next morning, his goody took a scythe over her neck, and went out into the hay-field with the mowers, and began to mow; but the man was to mind the house, and do the work at home.

First of all, he wanted to churn the butter; but when he had churned a while, he got thirsty, and went down to the cellar to tap a barrel of ale. So, just when he had knocked in the bung, and was putting the tap into the cask, he heard overhead the pig come into the kitchen. Then off he ran up the cellar steps, with the tap in his hand, as fast as he could, to look after the pig, lest it should upset the churn; but when he got up, and saw the pig had already knocked the churn over, and stood there, routing and grunting amongst the cream which was running all over the floor, he got so wild with rage that he quite forgot the ale-barrel, and ran at the pig as hard as he could. He caught it, too, just as it ran out of doors, and gave it such a kick, that piggy lay for dead on the spot.

Then all at once he remembered he had the tap in his hand; but when he got down to the cellar, every drop of ale had run out of the cask.

Then he went into the dairy and found enough cream left to fill the churn again, and so he began to churn, for butter they must have at dinner. When he had churned a bit, he remembered that their milking cow was still shut up in the byre, and hadn’t had a bit to eat or a drop to drink all the morning, though the sun was high. Then all at once he thought ’twas too far to take her down to the meadow, so he’d just get her up on the house top-for the house, you must know, was thatched with sods, and a fine crop of grass was growing there. Now their house lay close up against a steep down, and he thought if he laid a plank across to the thatch at the back he’d easily get the cow up.

But still he couldn’t leave the churn, for there was his little babe crawling about on the floor, and “if I leave it”, he thought, “the child is safe to upset it”. So he took the churn on his back, and went out with it; but then he thought he’d better first water the cow before he turned her out on the thatch; so he took up a bucket to draw water out of the well; but, as he stooped down at the well’s brink, all the cream ran out of the churn over his shoulders, and so down into the well.

Now it was near dinner-time, and he hadn’t even got the butter yet; so he thought he’d best boil the porridge, and filled the pot with water, and hung it over the fire. When he had done that, he thought the cow might perhaps fall off the thatch and break her legs or her neck. So he got up on the house to tie her up. One end of the rope he made fast to the cow’s neck and the other he slipped down the chimney and tied round his own thigh; and he had to make haste, for the water now began to boil in the pot, and he had still to grind the oatmeal.

So he began to grind away; but while he was hard at it, down fell the cow off the house-top after all, and as she fell, she dragged the man up the chimney by the rope. There he stuck fast; and as for the cow, she hung half-way down the wall, swinging between heaven and earth, for she could neither get down nor up.

And now the goody had waited seven lengths and seven breadths for her husband to come and call them home to dinner; but never a call they had. At last she thought she’d waited long enough, and went home. But when she got there and saw the cow hanging in such an ugly place, she ran up and cut the rope in two with her scythe. But as she did this, down came her husband out of the chimney; and so when his old dame came inside the kitchen, there she found him standing on his head in the porridge pot.

DAPPLEGRIM

Once on a time there was a rich couple who had twelve sons; but the youngest when he was grown up, said he wouldn’t stay any longer at home, but be off into the world to try his luck. His father and mother said he did very well at home, and had better stay where he was. But no, he couldn’t rest; away he must and would go. So at last they gave him leave. And when he had walked a good bit, he came to a king’s palace, where he asked for a place, and got it.

Now the daughter of the king of that land had been carried off into the hill by a Troll, and the king had no other children; so he and all his land were in great grief and sorrow, and the king gave his word that any one who could set her free should have the Princess and half the kingdom. But there was no one who could do it, though many tried.

So when the lad had been there a year or so, he longed to go home again and see his father and mother, and back he went, but when he got home his father and mother were dead, and his brothers had shared all that the old people owned between them, and so there was nothing left for the lad.

“Shan’t I have anything at all, then, out of father’s and mother’s goods?” said the lad.

“Who could tell you were still alive, when you went gadding and wandering about so long?” said his brothers. “But all the same; there are twelve mares up on the hill which we haven’t yet shared among us; if you choose to take them for your share, you’re quite welcome.”

Yes! the lad was quite content; so he thanked his brothers, and went at once up on the hill, where the twelve mares were out at grass. And when he got up there and found them, each of them had a foal at her side, and one of them had besides, along with her, a big dapple-gray foal, which was so sleek that the sun shone from its coat.

“A fine fellow you are, my little foal”, said the lad.

“Yes”, said the foal; “but if you’ll only kill all the other foals, so that I may run and suck all the mares one year more, you’ll see how big and sleek I’ll be then.”

Yes! the lad was ready to do that; so he killed all those twelve foals, and went home again.

So when he came back the next year to look after his foal and mares, the foal was so fat and sleek, that the sun shone from its coat, and it had grown so big, the lad had hard work to mount it. As for the mares, they had each of them another foal.

“Well, it’s quite plain I lost nothing by letting you suck all my twelve mares”, said the lad to the yearling, “but now you’re big enough to come along with me.”

“No”, said the colt, “I must bide here a year longer; and now kill all the twelve foals, that I may suck all the mares this year too, and you’ll see how big and sleek I’ll be by summer.”

Yes! the lad did that; and next year when he went up on the hill to look after his colt and the mares, each mare had her foal, but the dapple colt was so tall the lad couldn’t reach up to his crest when he wanted to feel how fat he was; and so sleek he was too, that his coat glistened in the sunshine.

“Big and beautiful you were last year, my colt”, said the lad, “but this year you’re far grander. There’s no such horse in the king’s stable. But now you must come along with me.”

“No”, said Dapple again, “I must stay here one year more. Kill the twelve foals as before, that I may suck the mares the whole year, and then just come and look at me when the summer comes.”

Yes! the lad did that; he killed the foals, and went away home.

But when he went up next year to look after Dapple and the mares, he was quite astonished. So tall, and stout, and sturdy, he never thought a horse could be; for Dapple had to lie down on all fours before the lad could bestride him, and it was hard work to get up even then, although he lay flat; and his coat was so smooth and sleek, the sunbeams shone from it as from a looking-glass.

This time Dapple was willing enough to follow the lad, so he jumped up on his back, and when he came riding home to his brothers, they all clapped their hands and crossed themselves, for such a horse they had never heard of nor seen before.

“If you will only get me the best shoes you can for my horse, and the grandest saddle and bridle that are to be found”, said the lad, “you may have my twelve mares that graze up on the hill yonder, and their twelve foals into the bargain.” For you must know that this year too every mare had her foal.

Yes, his brothers were ready to do that, and so the lad got such strong shoes under his horse, that the stones flew high aloft as he rode away across the hills; and he had a golden saddle and a golden bridle, which gleamed and glistened a long way off.

“Now we’re off to the king’s palace”, said Dapplegrim—that was his name; “but mind you ask the king for a good stable and good fodder for me.”

Yes! the lad said he would mind; he’d be sure not to forget; and when he rode off from his brothers’ house, you may be sure it wasn’t long, with such a horse under him, before he got to the king’s palace.

When he came there the king was standing on the steps, and stared and stared at the man who came riding along.

“Nay, nay!”, said he, “such a man and such a horse I never yet saw in all my life.”

But when the lad asked if he could get a place in the king’s household, the king was so glad he was ready to jump and dance as he stood on the steps.

Well, they said, perhaps he might get a place there.

“Aye”, said the lad, “but I must have good stable-room for my horse, and fodder that one can trust.”

Yes! he should have meadow-hay and oats, as much as Dapple could cram, and all the other knights had to lead their horses out of the stable that Dapplegrim might stand alone, and have it all to himself.

But it wasn’t long before all the others in the king’s household began to be jealous of the lad, and there was no end to the bad things they would have done to him, if they had only dared. At last they thought of telling the king he had said he was man enough to set the king’s daughter free—whom the Troll had long since carried away into the hill—if he only chose. The king called the lad before him, and said he had heard the lad said he was good to do so and so; so now he must go and do it. If he did it, he knew how the king had promised his daughter and half the kingdom, and that promise would be faithfully kept; if he didn’t, he should be killed.

The lad kept on saying he never said any such thing; but it was no good—the king wouldn’t even listen to him; and so the end of it was he was forced to say he’d go and try.

So he went into the stable, down in the mouth and heavy-hearted, and then Dapplegrim asked him at once why he was in such dumps.

Then the lad told him all, and how he couldn’t tell which way to turn:

“For as for setting the Princess free, that’s downright stuff.”