Part 6

A very wealthy old man, imagining that he was on the point of death, sent for his sons and divided his property among them. However, he did not die for several years afterward, and miserable years many of them were. Besides the weariness of old age, the old fellow had to bear with much abuse and cruelty from his sons. Wretched, selfish ingrates! Previously they vied with one another in trying to please their father, hoping thus to receive more money, but now they had received their patrimony, they cared not how soon he left them—nay, the sooner the better, because he was only a needless trouble and expense. And they let the poor old man know what they felt.

One day he met a friend and related to him all his troubles. The friend sympathized very much with him, and promised to think over the matter, and call in a little while and tell him what to do. He did so; in a few days he visited the old man and put down four bags full of stones and gravel before him.

“Look here, friend,” said he. “Your sons will get to know of my coming here to-day, and will inquire about it. You must pretend that I came to discharge a long-standing debt with you, and that you are several thousands of rupees richer than you thought you were. Keep these bags in your own hands, and on no account let your sons get to them as long as you are alive. You will soon find them change their conduct toward you. Salaam, I will come again soon to see how you are getting on.”

When the young men got to hear of this further increase of wealth they began to be more attentive and pleasing to their father than ever before. And thus they continued to the day of the old man’s demise, when the bags were greedily opened, and found to contain only stones and gravel!

THE TIGER, THE BRAHMAN, AND THE JACKAL

By Flora Annie Steel

Once upon a time a Tiger was caught in a trap. He tried in vain to get out through the bars, and rolled and bit with rage and grief when he failed.

By chance a poor Brahman came by.

“Let me out of this cage, oh pious one!” cried the Tiger.

“Nay, my friend,” replied the Brahman mildly, you would probably eat me if I did.”

“Not at all!” swore the Tiger with many oaths; “on the contrary, I should be forever grateful, and serve you as a slave!”

Now when the Tiger sobbed and sighed and wept and swore, the pious Brahman’s heart softened, and at last he consented to open the door of the cage. Out popped the Tiger, and, seizing the poor man, cried, “What a fool you are! What is to prevent my eating you now, for after being cooped up so long I am terribly hungry!”

In vain the Brahman Pleaded for his life; the most he could gain was a promise to abide by the decision of the first three things he chose to question as to the justice of the Tiger’s action.

So the Brahman first asked a Pipal Tree what it thought of the matter, but the Pipal Tree replied coldly, “What have you to complain about? Don’t I give shade and shelter to everyone who passes by, and don’t they in return tear down my branches to feed their cattle? Don’t whimper—be a man!”

Then the Brahman sad at heart, went farther afield till he saw a Buffalo turning a well wheel; but he fared no better from it, for it answered, “You are a fool to expect gratitude! Look at me! While I gave milk they fed me on cottonseed and oil cake, but now I am dry they yoke me here, and give me refuse as fodder!”

The Brahman, still more sad, asked the Road to give him its opinion.

“My dear sir,” said the Road, “how foolish you are to expect anything else! Here am I, useful to everybody, yet all, rich and poor, great and small, trample on me as they go past, giving me nothing but the ashes of their pipes and the husks of their grain!”

On this the Brahman turned back sorrowfully, and on the way he met a Jackal, who called out, “Why, what’s the matter, Mr. Brahman? You look as miserable as a fish out of water!”

The Brahman told him all that had occurred.

“How very confusing!” said the Jackal, when the recital was ended; “would you mind telling me over again, for everything has got so mixed up?”

The Brahman told it all over again, but the Jackal shook his head in a distracted sort of way, and still could not understand.

“It’s very odd,” said he, sadly, “but it all seems to go in at one ear and out at the other! I will go to the place where it all happened, and then perhaps I shall be able to give a judgment.”

So they returned to the cage, by which the Tiger was waiting for the Brahman, and sharpening his teeth and claws.

“You’ve been away a long time!” growled the savage beast, “but now let us begin our dinner.”

“Our dinner!” thought the wretched Brahman, as his knees knocked together with fright; “what a remarkably delicate way of putting it!”

“Give mime five minutes, my lord!” he pleaded, “in order that I may explain matters to the Jackal here, who is somewhat slow in his wits.”

The Tiger consented, and the Brahman began the whole story over again, not missing a single detail, and spinning as long a yarn as possible.

“Oh, my poor brain! oh, my poor brain!” cried the Jackal, wringing its paws. “Let me see! how did it all begin? You were in the cage, and the Tiger came walking by—”

“Pooh!” interrupted the Tiger, “what a fool you are! _I_ was in the cage.”

“Of course!” cried the Jackal, pretending to tremble with fright; “yes I was in the cage—no I wasn’t—dear! dear, where are my wits? Let me see—the Tiger was in the Brahman, and the cage came walking by—no, that’s not it, either! Well, don’t mind me, but begin your dinner, for I shall never understand!”

“Yes, you shall!” returned the Tiger, in a rage at the Jackal’s stupidity; “I’ll make you understand! Look here—I am the Tiger—”

“Yes, my lord!”

“And that is the Brahman—”

“Yes, my lord!”

“And that is the cage—”

“Yes, my lord!”

“And I was in the cage—do you understand?”

“Yes—no— Please, my lord—”

“Well?” cried the Tiger impatiently.

“Please, my lord!—how did you get in?”

“How?—why, in the usual way, of course!”

“Oh, dear me!—My head is beginning to whirl again! Please don’t get angry, my lord, but what is the usual way?”

At this the Tiger lost patience, and, jumping into the cage, cried, “This way! Now do you understand how it was?”

“Perfectly!” grinned the Jackal, as he dexterously shut the door. “And if you will permit me to say so, I think matters will remain as they were!”

THE LAMBIKIN

By Flora Annie Steel

Once upon a time there was a wee wee Lambikin, who frolicked about on his little tottery legs, and enjoyed himself amazingly.

Now one day he set off to visit his Granny, and was jumping with joy to think of all the good things he should get from her, when who should he meet but a Jackal, who looked at the tender young morsel and said: “Lambikin! Lambikin! I’ll EAT YOU!”

But Lambikin only gave a little frisk and said:

“To Granny’s house I go, Where I shall fatter grow, Then you can eat me so.”

The Jackal thought this reasonable, and let Lambikin pass.

By and by he met a Vulture, and the Vulture, looking hungrily at the tender morsel before him, said: “Lambikin! Lambikin! I’ll EAT YOU!”

But Lambikin only gave a little frisk, and said:

“To Granny’s house I go, Where I shall fatter grow, Then you can eat me so.”

The Vulture thought this reasonable, and let Lambikin pass.

And by and by he met a Tiger, and then a Wolf, and a Dog, arid an Eagle, and all these, when they saw the tender little morsel, said: “Lambikin! Lambikin! I’ll EAT YOU!”

But to all of them Lambikin replied, with a little frisk:

“To Granny’s house I go, Where I shall fatter grow, Then you can eat me so.

At last he reached his Granny’s house, and said, all in a great hurry, “Granny, dear, I’ve promised to get very fat; so, as people ought to keep their promises, please put me into the corn bin at once.”

So his Granny said he was a good boy, and put him into the corn bin, and there the greedy little Lambikin stayed for seven days, and ate, and ate, and ate, until he could scarcely waddle, and his Granny said he was fat enough for anything, and must go home. But cunning little Lambikin said that would never do, for some animal would be sure to eat him on the way back, he was so plump and tender.

“I’ll tell you what you must do,” said Master Lambikin, “you must make a little drumikin out of the skin of my little brother who died, and then I can sit inside and trundle along nicely, for I’m as tight as a drum myself.”

So his Granny made a nice little drumikin out of his brother’s skin, with the wool inside, and Lambikin curled himself up snug and warm in the middle, and trundled away gayly. Soon lie met with the Eagle, who called out:

“Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?”

And Mr. Lambikin, curled up in his soft warm nest, replied:

“Fallen into the fire, and so will you On little Drumikin. Tum-pa, tum-too!”

“How very annoying!” sighed the Eagle, thinking regretfully of the tender morsel he had let slip.

Meanwhile Lambikin trundled along, laughing to himself, and singing:

“Tum-pa, tum-too; Tum-pa, tum-too!”

Every animal and bird he met asked him the same question:

“Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?”

And to each of them the little slyboots replied:

“Fallen into the fire, and so will you On little Drumikin. Tum-pa, tum-too; Tum-pa, tum-too; Tum-pa, tum-too!”

Then they all sighed to think of the tender little morsel they had let slip.

At last the Jackal came limping along, for all his sorry looks as sharp as a needle, and he too called out—

“Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?”

And Lambikin, curled up in his snug little nest, replied gayly:

“Fallen into the fire, and so will you On little Drumikin! Tum-pa—”

But he never got any further, for the Jackal recognized his voice at once, arid cried: “Hullo! you’ve turned yourself inside out, have you? Just you come out of that!”

Whereupon he tore open Drumikin and gobbled up Lambikin.

THE RAT’S WEDDING

By Flora Annie Steel

Once upon a time a fat, sleek Rat was caught in a shower of rain, and being far from shelter he set to work and soon dug a nice hole in the ground, in which he sat as dry as a bone while the raindrops splashed outside, making little puddles on the road.

Now in the course of digging, he came upon a fine bit of root, quite dry and fit for fuel, which he set aside carefully—for the Rat is an economical creature—in order to take it home with him. So when the shower was over, he set off with the dry root in his mouth. As he went along, daintily picking his way through the puddles, he Saw a Poor Man vainly trying to light a fire, while a little circle of children stood by, and cried piteously.

“Goodness gracious!” exclaimed the Rat, who was both soft-hearted and curious, “What a dreadful noise to make! What is the matter?”

“The children are hungry,” answered the Man; “they are crying for their breakfast, but the sticks are damp, the fire won’t burn, and so I can’t bake the cakes.”

“If that is all your trouble, perhaps I can help you,” said the good-natured Rat, “you are welcome to this dry root and I’ll warrant it will soon make a fine blaze.”

The Poor Man, with a thousand thanks, took the dry root, and in his turn presented the Rat with a morsel of dough, as a reward for his kindness and generosity.

“What a remarkably lucky fellow I am!” thought the Rat, as he trotted off gayly with his prize, “and clever, too! Fancy making a bargain like that—food enough to last me five days in return for a rotten old stick! Wah! Wah! Wah! What it is to have brains!”

Going along, hugging his good fortune in this way, he came presently to a Potter’s yard, where the Potter, leaving his wheel to spin round by itself, was trying to pacify his three little children, who were screaming arid crying as if they would burst.

“My gracious!” cried the Rat, stopping his ears, “what a noise! do tell me what it is all about.”

“I suppose they are hungry,” replied the Potter ruefully; “their mother has gone to get flour in the bazaar, for there is none in the house. In the meantime I can neither work nor rest because of them.”

“Is that all?” answered the officious Rat; then I can help you. Take this dough, cook it quickly, and stop their mouths with food.”

The Potter overwhelmed the Rat with thanks for his obliging kindness, and choosing out a nice well-burned pipkin, insisted on his accepting it as a remembrance.

The Rat was delighted at the exchange, and though the pipkin was just a trifle awkward for him to manage, he succeeded, after infinite trouble, in balancing it on his head and went away gingerly, tink-a-tink, tink-a-tink, down the road, with his tail over his arm for fear he should trip on it. And all the time he kept saying to himself, “What a lucky fellow I am! and clever, too! Such a hand at a bargain!”

By and by he came to where some cowherds were herding their cattle. One of them was milking a buffalo, and having no pail, he used his shoes instead.

“Oh fie! oh fie!” cried the cleanly Rat, quite shocked at the sight. “What a nasty, dirty trick! Why don’t you use a pail?”

“For the best of all reasons—we haven’t got one!” growled the Cowherd, who did not see why the Rat should put his finger in the pie.

“If that is all,” replied the dainty Rat, “oblige me by using this pipkin, for I cannot bear dirt!”

The Cowherd, nothing loath, took the pipkin and milked away until it was brimming over; then turning to the Rat, who stood looking on, said, “Here, little fellow, You may have a drink, in payment.”

But if the Rat was good-natured he was also shrewd. “No, no, my friend,” said he, “that will not do! As if I could drink the worth of any pipkin at a draft! My dear sir, I couldn’t hold it! Besides, I never make a bad bargain, so I expect you, at least to give me the buffalo that gave the milk.”

“Nonsense!” cried the Cowherd; “a buffalo for a pipkin! Whoever heard of such a price? And what on earth could you do with a buffalo when you got it? Why, the pipkin was about as much as you could manage.”

At this the Rat drew himself up with dignity, for he did not like allusions to his size. “That is my affair, not yours,” he retorted; “your business is to hand over the buffalo.”

So just for the fun of the thing, and to amuse themselves at the Rat’s expense, the cowherds loosened the buffalo’s halter and began to tie it to the little animal’s tail.

“No! no!” he called, in a great hurry. “If the beast pulled, the skin of my tail would come off, and then where should I be? Tie it around my neck, if you please.”

So with much laughter the cowherds tied the halter round the Rat’s neck, and he, after a polite leave-taking, set off gayly toward home with his prize; that is to say, he set off with the rope, for no sooner did he come to the end of the tether than be was brought up with a round turn; the buffalo, nose down, grazing away, would not budge until it had finished its tuft of grass, and then seeing another in a different direction marched off toward it, while the Rat, to avoid being dragged, had to trot humbly behind, willy-nilly. He was too proud to confess the truth, of course, and, nodding his head knowingly to the cowherds, said: “Ta-ta, good people! I am going home this way. It may be a little longer, but it’s much shadier.”

And when the cowherds roared with laughter he took no notice, but trotted on, looking as dignified as possible. “After all,” he reasoned to himself, “when one keeps a buffalo one has to look after its grazing. A beast must get a good bellyful of grass if it is to give any milk, and I have plenty of time at my disposal.” So all day long he trotted about after the buffalo, making believe; but by evening he was dead tired, and felt truly thankful when the great big beast, having eaten enough, lay down under a tree to chew the cud.

Just then a bridal party came by. The Bridegroom and his friends had evidently gone on to the next village, leaving the Bride’s palanquin to follow; so the palanquin bearers, being lazy fellows and seeing a nice shady tree, put down their burden, and began to cook some food.

“What detestable meanness!” grumbled one; “a grand wedding, and nothing but plain rice to eat! Not a scrap of meat in it, neither sweet nor salt! It would serve the skinflints right if we upset the Bride into a ditch!”

“Dear me!” cried the Rat at once, seeing a way out of his difficulty, “that is a shame! I sympathize with your feelings so entirely that if you will allow me, I’ll give you my buffalo. You can kill it, and cook it.”

“Your buffalo!” returned the discontented bearers. “What rubbish! Whoever heard of a rat owning a buffalo?”

“Not often, I admit,” replied the Rat with conscious pride; “but look for yourselves. Can you not see that I am leading the beast by a string?”

“Oh, never mind the string!” cried a great big hungry bearer; master or no master, I mean to have meat for my dinner!” Whereupon they killed the buffalo, and cooking its flesh, ate their dinner with a relish; then, offering the remains to the Rat, said carelessly, “Here, little Rat-skin, that is for you!”

“Now look here!” cried the Rat hotly; “I’ll have none of your pottage, or your sauce, either. You don’t suppose I am going to give my best buffalo, that gave quarts and quarts of milk—the buffalo I have been feeding all day—for a wee bit of rice? No! I got a loaf for a bit of stick; I got a pipkin for a little loaf; I got a buffalo for a pipkin; and now I’ll have the Bride for my buffalo—the Bride, and nothing else!”

By this time the servants, having satisfied their hunger, began to reflect on what they had done, and becoming alarmed at the consequences, arrived at the conclusion it would be wisest to make their escape while they could. So, leaving the Bride in her palanquin, they took to their heels in various directions.

The Rat, being as it were left in possession, advanced to the palanquin, and drawing aside the curtain, with the sweetest of voices and best of bows begged the Bride to descend. She hardly knew whether to laugh or to cry, but as any company, even a Rat’s, was better than being quite alone in the wilderness, she did what she was bidden, and followed the lead of her guide, who set off as fast as be could for his hole.

As he trotted along beside the lovely young Bride, who, by her rich dress and glittering jewels, seemed to be some king’s daughter, he kept saying to himself, “How clever I am! What bargains I do make, to be sure!”

When they arrived at his hole, the Rat stepped forward with the greatest politeness, and said, “Welcome, madam, to my humble abode! Pray step in, or if you will allow me, and as the passage is somewhat dark, I will show you the way.”

Whereupon he ran in first, but after a time, finding the Bride did not follow, he put his nose out again, saying testily, “Well, madam, why don’t you follow? Don’t you know it’s rude to keep your husband waiting?”

“My good sir,” laughed the handsome young Bride, “I can’t squeeze into that little hole!”

The Rat coughed; then after a moment’s thought he replied, “There is some truth in your remark—you _are_ overgrown, and I suppose I shall have to build you a thatch somewhere, For to-night you can rest under that wild plum tree.”

“But I am so hungry!” said the Bride ruefully.

“Dear, dear! everybody seems hungry to-day!” returned the Rat pettishly; “however, that’s easily settled—I’ll fetch you Some supper in a trice.”

So he ran into his hole, returning immediately with an ear of millet and a dry pea. “There!” said he, triumphantly, “isn’t that a fine meal?”

“I can’t eat that!” whimpered the Bride; “it isn’t a mouthful; and I want rice pottage, and cakes, and sweet eggs, and sugar drops. I shall die if I don’t get them!”

“Oh, dear me!” cried the Rat in a rage, “what a nuisance a bride is, to be sure! Why don’t you eat the wild plums?”

“I can’t live on wild plums!” retorted the weeping Bride; “nobody could; besides, they are only half ripe, and I can’t reach them.”

“Rubbish!” cried the Rat; “ripe or unripe, they must do you for to-night, and to-morrow you can gather a basketful, sell them in the city, and buy sugar drops and sweet eggs to your heart’s content!”

So the next morning the Rat climbed up into the plum tree, and nibbled away at the stalks till the fruit fell down into the Bride’s veil. Then, unripe as they were, she carried them into the city, calling out through the streets—

“Green plums I sell! green plums I sell! Princess am I, Rat’s bride as well!”

As she passed by the palace, her mother, the Queen, heard her voice, and running out, recognized her daughter. Great were the rejoicings, for everyone thought the poor Bride had been eaten by wild beasts.

In the midst of the feasting and merriment, the Rat, who had followed the Princess at a distance, and had become alarmed at her long absence, arrived at the door, against which he beat with a big knobby stick, calling out fiercely, “Give me my wife! Give me my wife! She is mine by a fair bargain. I gave a stick and I got a loaf; I gave a loaf and I got a pipkin; I gave a pipkin and I got a buffalo; I gave a buffalo and I got a bride. Give me my wife! Give me my wife!”

“La! son-in-law! What a fuss you do make,” said the wily old Queen through the door, “and all about nothing! Who wants to run away with your wife? On the contrary, we are proud to see you, and I only keep you waiting at the door till we can spread the carpets, and receive you in style.”