Part 17

The eldest supported the family by fishing, going alone to the sea, and bringing back loads of spoil. The neighbors often besought him to teach their sons how to fish, and he at last let all their boys go with him, one day, to learn his art. On reaching the shore he sucked the sea into his mouth, and sent the boys to the dry bottom to collect the fish. When he was tired of holding the water, he beckoned to the boys to return, but they were playing among strange objects and paid no heed to him. When he could contain the sea no longer, he had to let it flow back into its former basin, and all the boys were drowned.

As he went homeward, he passed the doom of the parents, who inquired how many fish their sons had caught and how long they would be in coming back. He told them the facts, but they would not excuse him. They dragged him before the magistrate to account for the loss of their children. He defended himself by saying he had not invited the boys to go with him, and had consented to their going only when the parents had repeatedly urged him; that after the boys were on the ocean bed, he had done his utmost to induce them to come ashore; that he had held the water as long as he could, and had then put it in the sea basin solely because nothing else would contain it.

Notwithstanding this defense the judges decided that since he took the boys away and did not bring them back, he was guilty of murder and sentenced him to be beheaded.

He entreated leave to pay, before his execution, one visit to his aged mother, and this was granted.

He went alone and told his brothers of his doom, and the second brother returned in his stead to the judge, thanked him for having given him permission to perform a duty required by filial piety, and said he was then ready to die.

He knelt with bowed head and the headsman brought the knife down across the back of his neck, but the knife was nicked and the neck was left unharmed.

A second knife and a third of finer steel were brought and tried by headsmen who were accustomed to sever heads clean off at one stroke. Having spoiled their best blades without so much as scratching his neck, they took him back to prison and informed the judge that the sentence could not be executed.

The judge accordingly decreed that he should be dropped into the sea which covered his victims.

When the old woman’s son heard this decision he said that he took leave of his mother supposing that his head was to be cut off, and that if he was to be drowned he must go to her and make known his fate and get her blessing anew.

Permission being given, he went and told his brothers what had happened. The third brother took the place of the second and presented himself before the judge as the criminal that was to be sunk in the sea. He was carried far from shore and thrown overboard, but he stretched his legs till his feet touched bottom, and he stood with his head in the air. They hauled him aboard and took him farther from land, but still his extensible legs supported him above the waters. Then they sailed to mid-ocean and cast him into its greatest depths, but his legs still lengthened so that he was not drowned. They brought him back to the judge, reported what had been done, and said that some other method of destroying him must be followed.

On hearing this the judge condemned him to death by being boiled in oil. While the caldron was being heated he begged and obtained permission to go and tell his mother of the way he had survived from the attempt to drown him, and of the manner in which he was soon to be taken off.

His brothers having heard the latest judgment, the fourth one went to bear the penalty of the law and was lowered into the kettle of boiling oil. In this he disported himself as if in a tepid bath, and he even asked his executioners to stir up the fire a little to increase the warmth. Finding that he could not be fried, he was remanded to prison.

At this the populace, the bereaved parents, and the magistrate joined in an effort to invent a sure method of putting him to death. Water, fire, and sword all having failed, they finally fixed upon smothering him in a vast cream cake.

The whole country round made contributions of flour for the pastry, of sugar for the filling, and of bricks for a huge oven; and it was made and baked on a plain outside the city walls.

Meanwhile the prisoner was allowed to go and bid his mother farewell, and the fifth brother secretly became his substitute.

When the cake was done, a multitude of people with oxen, horses, and ropes dragged it to the execution ground, and within it the culprit was interred.

As he was able to exist without air he rested peacefully till the next midnight, and then safely crawled forth, returned to his home, and dwelt there happily for many years with his remarkable brothers.

THE ACCOMPLISHED AND LUCKY TEAKETTLE

By A. B. Mitford

A long time ago, at a temple called Morinji, there was an old teakettle. One day, when the priest of the temple was about to hang it over the hearth to boil the water for his tea, to his amazement the kettle all of a sudden put forth the head and tail of a badger. What a wonderful kettle, to come out all over fur!

The priest, thunderstruck, called in the novices or assistants of the temple to see the sight; and while they were stupidly staring, one suggesting one thing and another another, the kettle, jumping up into the air, began flying about the room. More astonished than ever, the priest and his pupils tried to pursue it; but no thief or cat was ever half so sharp as the wonderful badger kettle. At last, however, they managed to knock it down and secure it; and, holding it in with their united efforts, they forced it into a box, intending to carry it off and throw it away in some distant place, so that they might no more be plagued with the goblin.

For this day their troubles were over, but as luck would have it, the tinker who was in the habit of working for the temple called in, and the priest suddenly bethought him that it was a pity to throw the kettle away for nothing, and that he might as well get a trifle for it, no matter how small. So he brought out the kettle, which had resumed its former shape and had got rid of its head and tail, and showed it to the tinker. When the tinker saw the kettle, he offered twenty copper coins for it, and the priest was only too glad to close the bargain and be rid of his troublesome piece of furniture. And the tinker trudged off home with his pack and his new purchase.

That night, as he lay asleep, he heard a strange noise near his pillow; so he peeped out from under the bedclothes and there he saw the kettle that he had bought in the temple covered with fur and walking about on four legs. The tinker started up in a fright to see what it could all mean, when all of a sudden the kettle resumed its former shape. This happened over and over again, until at last the tinker showed the teakettle to a friend of his, who said, “This is certainly an accomplished and lucky teakettle—you should take it about as a show, with songs and accompaniments of musical instruments, and make it dance and walk on the tight rope.”

The tinker, thinking this good advice, made arrangements with a showman, and set up an exhibition. The noise of the kettle’s performances soon spread abroad, until even the princes of the land sent to order the tinker to come to them; and he grew rich beyond all expectations. Even the princesses, too, and the great ladies of the court, took great delight in the dancing kettle, so that no sooner had it shown its tricks in one place than it was time for them to keep some other engagement.

At last the tinker grew so rich that he took the kettle back to the temple, where it was laid up as a precious treasure and worshiped as a saint.

THE ADVENTURES OF LITTLE PEACHLING

By A. B. Mitford

Many hundred years ago there lived an honest old woodcutter and his wife. One fine morning the old man went off to the hills with his bill hook to gather a faggot of sticks, while his wife went down to the river to wash the dirty clothes. When she came to the river, she saw a peach floating down the stream; so she picked it up and carried it homeward with her, thinking to give it to her husband to eat when he should come in. The old man soon came down from the hills, and the good wife set the peach before him, when, just as she was inviting him to eat it, the fruit split in two and a little baby was born into the world. So the old couple took the babe and brought it up as their own; and because it had been born in a peach, they called it Momotaro, or Little Peachhing!

By degrees Little Peachling grew up to be strong and brave, and at last one day he said to his old foster parents—

“I am going to the ogres’ island, to carry off the riches they have stored up there. Pray, then, make me some millet dumplings for my journey.”

So the old folks ground the millet and made the dumplings for him; and Little Peachling, after taking an affectionate leave of them, cheerfully set out on his travels.

As he was journeying on, he fell in with an Ape, who gibbered at him, and said,

“Kia! kia! kia! where are you off to, Little Peachling?”

“I’m going to the ogres’ island, to carry off their treasure,” answered Little Peachling.

“What are you carrying at your girdle?”

“I’m carrying the very best millet dumplings in all Japan.

“If you’ll give me one, I will go with you,” said the Ape.

So Little Peachhing gave one of his dumplings to the Ape, who received it and followed him. When he had gone a little farther, he heard a Pheasant calling—

“Ken! ken! ken! where are you off to, Master Peachling?”

Little Peachling answered as before; and the Pheasant, having begged and obtained a millet dumpling, entered his service and followed him. A little while after this they met a Dog, who cried—

Bow! wow! wow! whither away, Master Peachling?”

“I’m going off to the ogres’ island, to carry off their treasure.

“If you will give me one of those nice millet dumplings of yours, I will go with you,” said the Dog.

“With all my heart,” said Little Peachling. So he went on his way, with the Ape, the Pheasant, and the Dog following after him.

When they got to the ogres’ island, the Pheasant flew over the castle gate and the Ape clambered over the castle wall, while Little Peachling, leading the Dog, forced in the gate and got into the castle. Then they did battle with the ogres and put them to flight, and took their King prisoner. So all the ogres did homage to Little Peachling, and brought out the treasures which they had laid up. There were caps and coats that made their wearers invisible, jewels which governed the ebb and the flow of the tide, coral, musk, emeralds, amber, and tortoise shells, besides gold and silver. All these were laid before Little Peachling by the conquered ogres.

So Little Peachling went home laden with riches, and maintained his foster parents in peace and plenty for the remainder of their lives.

THE TWO LIZARDS

By Annie Ker

In the old days there lived two lizards, Webubu and Nagari. Webubu was plain of speech, and moreover was unable to cry aloud, but Nagari, by stretching his long neck, could produce a sweet low sound, somewhat after the manner of a whistle.

Nagari longed for companions, so he stretched his neck and cried “U-u-u-u-u.” Then many women, hearing the sweet sound, flocked to where Nagari sat, and listened to his music. This pleased Nagari, and he continued to sound his long note. “U-u-u-u-u,” he sang, and the women sat so still, one might have thought them dead or weeping.

Webubu, on the contrary, had no one to cheer him in his loneliness. “What can I do,” he said, “to draw women to me as Nagari has done? I have not a sweet voice as he has. What can I do?”

As he was speaking a thought grew up in his heart, and he began to act. He cut a slim piece of hollow bamboo, and pierced small holes in it. Thus was the first flute (duraio) born. Webubu then built himself a platform high in a corkwood tree, which we call “troba” on the beach, and seating himself there he began to play his flute.

The women sat patiently around Nagari, while he sounded his one note, “U-u-u!” But on a sudden, upon the still air, broke the sweet voice of Webubu’s flute. High and sweet were the notes which Webubu sent forth from his flute.

“M! m!” said the listening women.

“U-u-u-u,” sang Nagari.

“Ah, ss-ss-ss!” cried the women. “Deafen us not with thy ‘U,’ when we would hear this strange music!”

Nagari was much troubled at this saying, and marveled greatly. Then one woman made bold to rise up, and saying, “I shall return,” she went to seek the sweet music. Now this woman lied, for she never returned. After a time, another woman arose and said, “Stay here, my friends; I shall return.”

Then she went in like manner to look for the music. And she also lied, for she returned not. And so with each woman, until Nagari was left sitting alone as he had been at the beginning.

Now Webubu was still playing his flute on the platform he had built in the corkwood tree, when the women came in sight. He was alarmed for the safety of his frail platform, when he saw these many people advancing, and he cried, “Come not up into the tree. Remain below, I beseech you, O women!”

But the women were consumed with eagerness to be close to the music which had taken their hearts, and they climbed, all of them, until they were upon the platform of Webubu.

Then straightway what he had feared came to pass, and Webubu, and his flute, and the multitude of women fell crashing through the branches of the corkwood tree to the ground beneath.

And from that hour until now, all corkwood trees lean toward the earth, as I will show thee, if thou wilt go with me to the beach where they grow.

DE KING AND DE PEAFOWL

By Mary Pamela Milne-Horne

One day once ’pon a time de King hab a party of ladies an’ genelmen. An’ arter de party, de band was ter come an’ play. But de fiddler was took sick, so dey could not dance. So de King said, “I am gwine ter sen’ ober ter my frien’s an’ ask dem ter come an’ sing.” So he sen’, an’ de genelman say he was very glad an’ his family was Dog, Peafowl, and Tiger. So he sen’ Missis Duck fus, an’ dey said, “Can you sing? let me har you voice.”

Dey put her in a rocking-chair ’pon de platform, an’ de Duck say, “Hahh! hahh!” an’ den he say, “Dat will not do. Sen’ for Dog.” An’ dey took her an’ put her in a coop, an’ all de ducks come round an’ ask to have her let out, an’ say, “Hahh! hahh! hahh!”

Den dey sen’ for Dog an’ tole him dat if he fin’ a salt beef bone in de road, he mus’ not pick it up, ’cos it mek him rough in his troat. So Dog did not pick it up, but pass it; but arter, when he go, his voice did not suit either. Dey tole Dog to sing, an’ he said, “How! how! how!” An’ de King say, “Don’t wan’ a man ter ask me how—he will not do.” Dey saw a Fowl coming. “Can you sing?” An’ de Fowl say “Ka! ka! ka!” an’ dey said, “Dat will not do,” an’ dribe de Fowl ’way. De Cock came in arter, an’ de Cock said, “Coquericou,” an’ dey said, “De King don’ wan’ ter know when de daylight, sah!” De King came in an’ said, “All dese people cannot sing; dey will not do.”

Dey sen’ Tiger, an’ dey said, “You must not pick up a big salt beef bone in de road.” An’ de Tiger did pick it up, an’ Tiger could not sing, an’ said, “Grum! grum! grum!”

“Dat voice is wuss dan all, dat voice will not do.”

Den dey sen’ off for Peafowl, but Peafowl would not go. Dey went back ter dinner, all de people went back ter dinner, an’ when dey were at dinner in a large house, de Peafowl came in an’ sing—

Mi - kale an’ iv’ry, Mi - kale an’ iv’rv. Mi -

kale an’ iv’ry, Mi - kale an’ iv’ry, Why - ou, Why - ou

Why - ou Why - ou Why-ou Wife gwine ter die.

Den de genelmen jump up an’ say, “Hullo! What dat?” De King say, “Sing again, my pritty lil’ bird,” an’ den de Peafowl sang, “Mikale an’ iv’ry, Mikale an’ iv’ry, Mikale an’ iv’ry, Whyou, Whyou, Whyou, Whyou, Whyou wife gwine ter die.” “What dat? What dat? What dat?” dey say, an’ de bird den settin’ on de tree sing, “Mikale an’ iv’ry,” etc.

De King say, “Sing again, you pritty lil’ bird. You dress shall be tipped with blue, an’ you shall hab a beautiful field of corn as a present.” An’ de bird sang again better, when he har dat, “Mikale an’ iv’ry, Mikale an’ iv’ry, Mikale an’ iv’ry, Mikale an’ iv’ry, whyou, whyou, whyou, whyou, whyou wife gwine ter die.” De King jump up an’ call de buggy, an’ jump in an’ tek de Peafowl in, an’ all de horses was richly decked, an’ all de company very fine, dey dribe de Peafowl home, an’ dat why de Peafowl hav such a beautiful dress.

HANSEL AND GRETHEL

By William and Jacob Grimm

Once upon a time there dwelt near a large wood a poor woodcutter with his wife and two children by his former marriage, a little boy called Hansel and a girl named Grethel. He had little enough to break or bite, and once, when there was a great famine in the land, he could not procure even his daily bread; and as he lay thinking in his bed one evening, rolling about for trouble, he sighed, and said to his wife, “What will become of us? How can we feed our children when we have no more than we can eat ourselves?”

“Know, then, my husband,” answered she, “we will lead them away quite early in the morning into the thickest part of the wood, and there make them a fire, and give them each a little piece of bread; then we will go to our work and leave them alone, so they will not find the way home again and we shall be freed from them.” “No, wife,” replied he, “that I can never do; how can you bring your heart to leave my children all alone in the wood, for the wild beasts will soon come and tear them to pieces?”

“Oh, you simpleton!” said she, “then we must all four die of hunger; you had better plane the coffins for us.” But she left him no peace till he consented saying, “Ah, but I shall regret the poor children.”

The two children, however, had not gone to sleep for very hunger, and so they overheard what the stepmother said to their father. Grethel wept bitterly, and said to Hansel, “What will become of us?” “Be quiet, Grethel,” said he; “do not cry, I will soon help you.” And as soon as their parents had fallen asleep, he got up, put on his coat, and, unbarring the back door, slipped out. The moon shone brightly, and the white pebbles which lay before the door seemed like silver pieces, they glittered so brightly. Hansel stooped down, and put as many into his pocket as it would hold, and then going back he said to Grethel, “Be comforted, dear sister, and sleep in peace; God will not forsake us;” and so saying he went to bed again.

The next morning, before the sun arose, the wife went and awoke the two children. “Get up, you lazy things; we are going into the forest to chop wood.” Then she gave them each a piece of bread, saying, “There is something for your dinner; do not eat it before the time, for you will get nothing else.” Grethel took the bread in her apron, for Hansel’s pocket was full of pebbles; and so they all set out upon their way. When they had gone a little distance Hansel stood still, and peeped back at the house; and this he repeated several times, till his father said, “Hansel, what are you peeping at, and why do you lag behind? Take care, and remember your legs.”

“Ah! father,” said Hansel, “I am looking at my white cat sitting upon the roof of the house, and trying to say good-by.” “You simpleton!” said the wife, “that is not a cat; it is only the sun shining on the white chimney.” But in reality Hansel was not looking at a cat; but every time he stopped he dropped a pebble out of his pocket upon the path.

When they came to the middle of the wood the father told the children to collect wood, and he would make them a fire, so that they should not be cold; so Hansel and Grethel gathered together quite a little mountain of twigs. Then they set fire to them, and as the flame burned up high the wife said, “Now, you children, lie down near the fire and rest yourself, while we go into the forest and chop Wood; when we are ready, I will come and call you.”