Part 7

Hearing this, the Rat was mollified, and waited patiently outside while the cunning old Queen prepared for his reception, which she did by cutting a hole in the very middle of a stool, putting a red hot stone underneath, covering it over with a stew-pan lid, and then spreading a beautiful embroidered cloth over all. Then she went to the door, and receiving the Rat with the greatest respect, led him to the stool, praying him to be seated.

“Dear! dear! how clever I am! What bargains I do make, to be sure!” said he to himself as he climbed on to the stool. “Here I am, son-in-law to a real live Queen! What will the neighbors say?”

At first he sat down on the edge of the stool, but even there it was warm, and after a while he began to fidget, saying, “Dear me, mother-in-law, how hot your house is! Everything I touch seems burning!”

“You are out of the wind there, my son,” replied the cunning old Queen; “sit more in the middle of the stool, and then you will feel the breeze and get cooler.”

But he didn’t! for the stewpan lid by this time had become so hot that the Rat fairly frizzled when he sat down on it; and it was not until he had left all his tail, half his hair, and a large piece of his skin behind him, that he managed to escape, howling with pain, and vowing that never, never, never again would he make a bargain!

THE JACKAL AND THE PARTRIDGE

By Flora Annie Steel

A jackal and a partridge swore eternal friendship; but the Jackal was very exacting and jealous. “You don’t do half as much for me as I do for you,” he used to say, “and yet you talk a great deal of your friendship. Now my idea of a friend is one who is able to make me laugh or cry, give me a good meal, or save my life if need be. You couldn’t do that!”

“Let us see,” answered the Partridge; “follow me at a little distance, and if I don’t make you laugh soon you may eat me!”

So she flew on till she met two travelers trudging along, one behind the other. They were both foot-sore and weary, and the first carried his bundle on a stick over his shoulder, while the second had his shoes in his hand.

Lightly as a feather the Partridge settled on the first traveler’s stick. He, none the wiser, trudged on, but the second traveler, seeing the bird sitting so tamely just in front of his nose, said to himself, “What a chance for a supper!” and immediately flung his shoes at it, they being ready to hand. Whereupon the Partridge flew away, and the shoes knocked off the first traveler’s turban.

“What a plague do you mean?” cried he, angrily turning on his companion. “Why did you throw your shoes at my head?”

“Brother,” replied the other mildly, “do not be vexed. I didn’t throw them at you, but at a Partridge that was sitting on your stick.”

“On my stick! Do you take me for a fool?” shouted the injured man, in a great rage. “Don’t tell me such cock-and-bull stories. First you insult me, and then you lie like a coward; but I’ll teach you manners!”

Then he fell upon his fellow traveler without more ado, and they fought until they could not see out of their eyes, till their noses were bleeding, their clothes in rags, and the Jackal had nearly died of laughing.

“Are you satisfied?” asked the Partridge of her friend.

“Well,” answered the Jackal, “you have certainly made nine laugh, but I doubt if you could make me cry. It is easy enough to be a buffoon; it is more difficult to excite the highest emotions.”

“Let us see,” retorted the Partridge, somewhat piqued; “there is a huntsman with his dogs coming along the road. Just creep into that hollow tree and watch me; if you don’t weep scalding tears, you must have no feeling in you!”

The Jackal did as he was bid, and watched the Partridge, who began fluttering about the bushes till the dogs caught sight of her, when she flew to the hollow tree where the Jackal was hidden. Of course the dogs smelt him at once, and set up such a yelping and scratching that the huntsman came up, and seeing what it was, dragged the Jackal out by the tail. Whereupon the dogs worried him to their heart’s content, and finally left him for dead.

By and by he opened his eyes—for he was only foxing—and saw the Partridge sitting on a branch above him.

“Did you cry?” she asked anxiously. “Did I rouse your high emo—”

“Be quiet, will you!” snarled the Jackal; half dead with fear!”

So there the Jackal lay for some time, getting the better of his bruises, and meanwhile he became hungry.

“Now is the time for friendship!” said he to the Partridge. “Get me a good dinner, and I will acknowledge you a true friend.”

“Very well!” replied the Partridge; “only watch me, and help yourself when the time comes.”

Just then a troop of women came by, carrying their husbands dinners to the harvest field. The Partridge gave a little plaintive cry, and began fluttering along from bush to bush as if she were wounded.

“A wounded bird! a wounded bird!” cried the women; “we can easily catch it.” Whereupon they set off in pursuit, but the cunning Partridge played a thousand tricks, till they became so excited over the chase that they put their bundles on the ground in order to pursue it more nimbly. The Jackal, meanwhile, seizing his opportunity, crept up, and made off with a good dinner.

“Are you satisfied now?” asked the Partridge.

“Well,” returned the Jackal, “I confess you have given me a very good dinner; you have also made me laugh—and cry—ahem! But, after all, the great test of friendship is beyond you—you couldn’t save my life!”

“Perhaps not,” acquiesced the Partridge mournfully, “I am so small and weak. But it grows late—we should be getting home; and as it is a long way round by the ford, let us go across the river. My friend the Crocodile will carry us over.”

Accordingly they set off for the river, and the Crocodile kindly consented to carry them across, so they sat on his broad back and he ferried them over. But just as they were in the middle of the stream the Partridge remarked. “I believe the Crocodile intends to play us a trick. How awkward if he were to drop you into the water!”

“Awkward for you, too!” replied the Jackal, turning pale.

“Not at all! not at all! I have wings, you haven’t.”

On this the Jackal shivered and shook with fear, and when the Crocodile, in a gruesome growl, remarked that he was hungry and wanted a good meal, the wretched creature hadn’t a word to say.

“Pooh!” cried the Partridge airily, “don’t try tricks on us—I should fly away, and as for my friend, the Jackal, you couldn’t hurt him. He is not such a fool as to take his life with him on these little excursions; he leaves it at home, locked up in the cupboard.”

“Is that a fact?” asked the Crocodile, surprised. “Certainly!” retorted the Partridge. Try to eat him if you like, but you will only tire yourself to no purpose.

“Dear me! how very odd!” gasped time Crocodile; and he was so taken aback that he carried the Jackal safe to shore.

“Well, are you satisfied now?” asked the Partridge.

“My dear madam!” quoth the Jackal, “you have made me laugh, you have made me cry, you have given me a good dinner, and you have saved my life; but, upon my honor, I think you are too clever for a friend so good-by!”

And the Jackal never went near the Partridge again.

THE JACKAL AND THE CROCODILE

By Flora Annie Steel

Once upon a time Mr. Jackal was trotting along gayly, when lie caught sight of a wild plum tree laden with fruit on the other side of a broad, deep stream. I could not get across anyhow, so he just sat down on the bank and looked at the ripe, luscious fruit until his mouth watered with desire.

Now it so happened that, just then, Miss Crocodile came floating down stream with her nose in the air.

“Good morning, my dear!” said Mr. Jackal politely; “how beautiful you look to-day, and how charmingly you swim! Now, if I could only swim too, what a fine feast of plums we two friends might have over there together!” And Mr. Jackal laid his paw on his heart, and sighed.

Now Miss Crocodile had a very inflammable heart, and when Mr. Jackal looked at her so admiringly, and spoke so sentimentally, she simpered and blushed, saying, “Oh! Mr. Jackal! how can you talk so? I could never dream of going out to dinner with you, unless—unless—”

“Unless what?” asked the Jackal persuasively.

“Unless we were going to be married!” simpered Miss Crocodile.

“And why shouldn’t we be married, my charmer?” returned the Jackal eagerly. “I would go and fetch the barber to begin the betrothal at once, but I am so faint with hunger just at present that I should never reach the village. Now, if the most adorable of her sex would only take pity on her slave, and carry me over the stream, I might refresh myself with those plums, and so gain strength to accomplish the ardent desire of my heart!”

Here the Jackal sighed so piteously, and cast such sheep’s eyes at Miss Crocodile, that she was unable to withstand him. So she carried him across to the plum tree, and then sat on the water’s edge to think over her wedding dress, while Mr. Jackal feasted on the plums and enjoyed himself.

“Now for the barber, my beauty!” cried the gay Jackal, when he had eaten as much as he could. Then the blushing Miss Crocodile carried him back again, and bade him be quick about his business, like a dear good creature, for really she felt so flustered at the very idea that she didn’t know what might happen.

“Now don’t distress yourself, my dear!” quoth the deceitful Mr. Jackal, springing to the bank, “because it’s not impossible that I may not find the barber, and then, you know, you may have to wait some time, a considerable time in fact, before I return. So don’t injure your health for my sake, if you please.” With that he blew her a kiss, and trotted away with his tail up.

Of course he never came back, though trusting Miss Crocodile waited patiently for him; at last she understood what a gay, deceitful fellow he was, and determined to have her revenge on him one way or another.

So she hid herself in the water, under the roots of a tree, close to a ford where the Jackal always came to drink. By and by, sure enough, he came lilting along in a self-satisfied way, and went right into the water for a good long draft. Whereupon Miss Crocodile seized him by the right legs and held on. He guessed at once what had happened, and called out, “Oh! my heart’s adored! I’m drowning! I’m drowning! If you love me, leave hold of that old root and get a good grip of my leg—it is just next door!”

Hearing this, Miss Crocodile thought she must have made a mistake, and, letting go the Jackal’s leg in a hurry, seized an old root close by, and held on. Whereupon Mr. Jackal jumped nimbly to shore, and ran off with his tail up, calling out, “Have a little patience, my beauty! The barber will come some day!”

But this time Miss Crocodile knew better than to wait, and being now dreadfully angry, she crawled away to the Jackal’s hole, and, slipping inside, lay quiet.

By and by Mr. Jackal came lilting along with his tail up. “Ho! ho! That is your game, is it?” said he to himself, when he saw the trail of the Crocodile in the sandy soil. So he stood outside, and said aloud, “Bless my stars! What has happened? I don’t half like to go in, for whenever I come home my wife always calls out,

‘Oh, dearest hubby hub! What have you brought for grub to me and the darling cub?’

and to-day she doesn’t say anything!”

Hearing this, Miss Crocodile sang out from inside,

“Oh, dearest hubby hub! What have you brought for grub To me and the darling cub?”

The Jackal winked a very big wink, and, stealing in softly, stood at the doorway. Meanwhile Miss Crocodile, hearing him coming, held her breath, and lay, shamming dead, like a big log.

“Bless my stars!” cried Mr. Jackal, taking out his pocket handkerchief, “how very sad! Here’s poor Miss Crocodile stone dead, and all for love of me! Dear! dear! Yet it is very odd, and I don’t think she can be quite dead, you know—for dead folks always wag their tails!”

On this, Miss Crocodile began to wag her tail very gently, and Mr. Jackal ran off, roaring with laughter, and saying. “Oho! oho! so dead folks always wag their tails!”

THE JACKAL AND THE IGUANA

By Flora Annie Steel

One moonlight night a miserable, half-starved Jackal, skulking through the village, found a worn-out pair of shoes in the gutter. They were too tough for him to eat, so, determined to make some use of them, he strung them to his ears like earrings, and, going down to the edge of the pond, gathered all the old bones he could find together and built a platform of them, plastering it over with mud.

On this he sat in a dignified attitude, and when any animal came to the pond to drink, he cried out in a loud voice, “Hi! stop! You must not taste a drop till you have done homage to me. So repeat these verses which I have composed in honor of the occasion:

‘Silver is his dais, plastered o’er with gold; In his ears are jewels,—some prince I must behold!’”

Now, as most of the animals were very thirsty, and in a great hurry to drink, they did not care to dispute the matter, but gabbled off the words without a second thought. Even the royal tiger, treating it as a jest, repeated the Jackal’s rime, in consequence of which the latter became quite a cock-a-hoop, and really began to believe he was a personage of great importance.

By and by an Iguana, or big lizard, came waddling down to the water, looking for all the world like a baby alligator.

“Hi! you there!” sang out the Jackal; “you mustn’t drink until you have said—

‘Silver is his dais, plastered o’er with gold; In his ears are jewels,—some prince I must behold!’”

“Pouf! pouf! pouf!” gasped the Iguana. “Mercy on us, how dry my throat is! Mightn’t I have just a wee sip of water first? and then I could do justice to your admirable lines; at present I am as hoarse as a crow!”

“By all means,” replied the Jackal, with a gratified smirk. “I flatter myself the verses are good, especially when well recited.”

So the Iguana, nose down in the water, drank away until the Jackal began to think he would never leave off, and was quite taken aback when he finally came to an end of his draft, and began to move away.

“Hi! hi!” cried the Jackal, recovering his presence of mind, “stop a bit, and say—

‘Silver is his dais, plastered o’er with gold; In his ears are jewels,—some prince I must behold!’”

“Dear me!” replied the Iguana, politely, “I was very near forgetting! Let me see—I must try my voice first—do, re, me, fa, sol, la, si—that is right! Now, how does it run?”

“Silver is his dais, plastered o’er with gold; In his ears are jewels,—some prince I must behold!”

repeated the Jackal, not observing that the Lizard Was carefully edging farther and farther away.

“Exactly so,” returned the Iguana; “I think I could say that!” Whereupon he sang out at the top of his voice—

“Bones made up his dais, with mud it’s plastered o’er, Old shoes are his eardrops; a jackal, nothing more!”

And turning round, he bolted for his hole as hard as he could.

The Jackal could scarcely believe his ears, and sat dumb with astonishment. Then, rage lending him wings, he flew after the Lizard, who, despite his short legs and scanty breath, put his best foot foremost, and scuttled away at a great rate.

It was a near race, however, for just as he popped into his hole, the Jackal caught him by the tail, and held on. Then it was a case of “pull, butcher; pull, baker,” until the Lizard made certain his tail must come off, and he felt as if his front teeth would come out. Still not an inch did either budge, one way or the other, and there they might have remained till the present day, had not the Iguana called out, in his sweetest tones, “Friend, I give in! Just leave hold of my tail, will you? then I can turn round and come out.”

Whereupon the Jackal let go, and the tail disappeared up the hole in a twinkling; while all the reward the Jackal got for digging away until his nails were nearly worn out was hearing the Iguana sing softly—

“Bones made up his dais, with mud it’s plastered o’er, Old shoes are his eardrops; a jackal, nothing more

THE BEAR’S BAD BARGAIN

By Flora Annie Steel

Once upon a time a very old Woodman lived with his very old Wife in a tiny hut close to the orchard of a very rich man, so close that the boughs of a pear tree hung right over the cottage yard. Now it was agreed between the rich man and the Woodman that if any of the fruit fell into the yard, the old couple were to be allowed to eat it; so you may imagine with what hungry eyes they watched the pears ripening, and prayed for a storm of wind, or a flock of flying foxes, or anything which would cause the fruit to fall. But nothing came, and the old Wife, who was a grumbling, scolding old thing, declared they would infallibly become beggars. So she took to giving her husband nothing but dry bread to eat, and insisted on his working harder than ever, till the poor soul got quite thin; and all because the pears would not fall down!

At last the Woodman turned round and declared he would not work more unless his Wife gave him Khichri for his dinner; so with a very bad grace the old woman took some rice and pulse, some butter and spices, and began to cook a savory Khichri. What an appetizing smell it had, to be sure! The Woodman was for gobbling it up as soon as ever it was ready. “No, no,” cried the greedy old Wife, not till you have brought me in another load of Wood; and mind it is a good one. You must work for your dinner.”

So the old man set off to the forest and began to hack and to hew with such a will that he soon had quite a large bundle, and with every faggot he cut he seemed to smell the savory Khichri and think of the feast that was coming.

Just then a Bear came swinging by, with its great black nose tilted in the air, and its little keen eyes peering about; for bears, though good enough fellows on the whole, are just dreadfully inquisitive.

“Peace be with you, friend,” said the Bear, “and what may you be going to do with that remarkably large bundle of wood?”

“It is for my Wife,” returned the Woodman. “The fact is,” he added confidentially, smacking his lips, “she has made such a Khichri for dinner! and if I bring in a good bundle of wood she is pretty sure to give me a plentiful portion. Oh, my dear fellow, you should just smell that Khichri.”

At this the Bear’s mouth began to water, for, like all bears, he was a dreadful glutton.

“Do you think your Wife would give mite some, too, if I brought her a bundle of wood?” he asked anxiously.

“Perhaps; if it is a very big load,” answered the Woodman craftily.

“Would—would four hundredweight be enough?” asked the Bear.

“I’m afraid not,” returned the Woodman, shaking his head; “you see Khichri is an expensive dish to make—there is rice in it, and plenty of butter, and pulse, and—”

“Would—would eight hundredweight do?”

“Say half a ton, and it’s a bargain!” quoth the Woodman.

“Half a ton is a large quantity!” sighed the Bear.

“There is saffron in the Khichri,” remarked the Woodman, casually.

The Bear licked his lips, and his little eyes twinkled with greed and delight.

“Well it’s a bargain! Go home sharp and tell your Wife to keep the Khichri hot; I’ll be with you in a trice.”

Away went the Woodman in great glee to tell his Wife how the Bear had agreed to bring half a ton of wood in return for a share of the Khichri.

Now the wife could not help allowing that her husband had made a good bargain, but being by nature a grumbler, she was determined not to be pleased, so she began to scold the old man for not having settled exactly the share the Bear was to have. “For,” said she, “he will gobble up the potful before we have finished our first helping.”

On this the Woodman became quite pale. “In that case,” he said, “we had better begin now, and have a fair start.” So without more ado they squatted down on the floor, with the brass pot full of Khichri between them, and began to eat as fast as they could.

“Remember to leave some for the Bear, Wife,” said the Woodman, speaking with his mouth crammed full.

“Certainly, certainly,” she replied, helping herself to another handful.

“My dear,” cried the old woman in her turn, with her mouth so full she could hardly speak, “remember the poor Bear!”

“Certainly, certainly, my love!” returned the old man, taking another mouthful.

So it went on, till there was not a single grain left in the pot.

“What’s to be done now?” said the Woodman; “it is all your fault, Wife, for eating so much.”

“My fault!” retorted his Wife scornfully, “why, you ate twice as much as I did!”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did! Men always eat more than women.

“No, they don’t!”

“Yes, they do!”

“Well, it’s no use quarreling about it now,” said the Woodman, “the Khichri’s gone, and the Bear will be furious.”

“That wouldn’t matter much if we could get the wood,” said the greedy old woman. “I’ll tell you what we must do—we must lock up everything there is to eat in the house, leave the Khichri pot by the fire, and hide in the garret. When the Bear comes he will think we have gone out and left his dinner for him. Then he will throw down his bundle and come in. Of course he will rampage a little when he finds the pot is empty, but he can’t do much mischief, and I don’t think he will take the trouble of carrying the wood away.”

So they made haste to lock up all the food and hide themselves in the garret.