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Contents. List of Illustrations (In certain versions of this etext [in certain browsers] clicking on the image will bring up a larger version.) (etext transcriber's note)

FAIRY TALES FROM FAR AND NEAR

FAIRY TALES FROM
FAR AND NEAR

WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED

BY

KATHARINE PYLE



BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1922


Copyright, 1922,
By Little, Brown, and Company.
———
All rights reserved

Published September, 1922


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CONTENTS

	PAGE
Little Surya Bai. A Hindoo Story	1
The Princes and the Friendly Animals. A Lithuanian Story	25
Graciosa and Percinet. A French Story	52
The Giant’s Cliff. An Irish Story	97
The Story of Conn-Eda. An Irish Tale	112
The Blue Belt. A Norse Tale	138
The Dutiful Daughter. A Korean Story	175
The Oat Cake. A Scotch Story	202
The Dreamer. An English Story	210
The Story of Harka. An American Indian Tale	221
Schippeitaro. A Japanese Story	235
Eros and Psyche. A Greek Tale	245

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Then the two old Eagles flew away	Frontispiece
As fast as she touched them each one was turned into a stone figure	PAGE 43
The serpents reared up and opened their fiery jaws	“ 128
When she saw the bear she cried aloud with terror	“ 169
The king bade her step into the flower. She did so, and at once the leaves closed about her	“ 193
As soon as he saw the oat cake he was wide awake again in a moment	“ 209
When he reached the farther shore, he turned and looked back	“ 232
Soon she came to the river and saw the boat lying there	“ 270

FAIRY TALES FROM
FAR AND NEAR

LITTLE SURYA BAI

A Hindoo Story

There was once a poor peasant woman who sold milk. Every day she filled her cans with milk and went to a near-by town and sold it, returning with her cans empty.

One day, when she set out she took her little baby daughter with her. In each hand the mother carried a milk can, and the baby held to her skirt and walked close beside her.

Suddenly two great eagles appeared, wheeling about in the sky, and one of them dropped down and seized the child and flew away with it; the other eagle, which was its mate, followed it.

The woman cried aloud and dropped her milk cans, and ran along after the eagles, but they quickly disappeared in the distance. The woman beat upon her breast and wailed bitterly, but nothing she could say or do could bring her child back to her.

The eagle flew on and on with the baby until they reached the tree where they lived. There the father eagle, who had carried her, laid her gently on the grass.

He and his mate were so delighted with the child and her pretty ways that they determined to keep her.

They built a house for her high in the top of the tree. The house was made of iron, and was very strong, and it had seven iron doors and there was a key for each one of them so it could be locked. In this house the little girl lived with a little dog and cat the eagles had brought her for company.

The eagles loved the child dearly and named her Surya Bai, which means Sun Lady. They brought her food and beautiful clothes,—clothes such as princesses wear, and magnificent jewels. Each day, after they had set forth, Surya Bai locked the doors so she would be safe. Then she played about the house with the little dog and cat and was well contented. In the evening, when the eagles came home, they would knock, and Surya Bai would unlock the seven doors, one after another, and let them in. Always they brought her some pretty present.

One day the mother eagle said, “Our Surya Bai has now everything she needs except a diamond ring to wear upon her finger. It makes me sad that she should not have a diamond ring.”

“Yes,” replied the father eagle, “she ought to have one, and I will go out and find one for her.”

“But an ordinary diamond ring will not do,” said his mate. “Once, far away, upon the borders of the Red Sea, I saw a princess walking, and on her finger she wore a ring so bright and dazzling it was like the sun in splendor. It is such a ring as that that I wish to give to our Sun Lady.”

“In that case we will fly away to the Red Sea and get one for her,” said the father eagle.

So the two birds arranged to set out the next day, and as it would take a long time to make the journey, they brought to Surya Bai enough food to last for six months. They then cautioned her not to open the door to any one while they were gone, and not to leave the house for any reason whatever, and to keep the fire always burning on the hearthstone. Then the two old eagles flew away, and they were sad to leave her.

Now after they had gone, Surya Bai went about the house and set it in order. Every day she cooked food for herself and the little dog and cat, and fed them, and she played with them, and they were very happy together. Then one day, when she was cooking dinner, the little cat crept close to her, and while Surya Bai was not looking stole the very choicest bits of the dinner and ate them up very quickly.

When Surya Bai turned round and saw what the cat had done, she was very angry. “Now I shall punish you because you are a thief,” she said.

She took a little switch and beat the cat with it. That made the cat very angry, and it ran over to the hearth and upset the pot of water over the fire and put it out. Then Surya Bai did not know what to do. She had now no way to cook the food for herself and the little dog and cat, and as they could not eat it raw, for three days they went hungry.

At the end of that time Surya Bai made up her mind to go out and try to get some fire some place. She said to the dog and cat, “If the eagles could know how hungry we are, I am sure they would be willing for me to go.”

“Yes,” said the little cat, “but you must not go too far, for just beyond here is the Rakshas’ country; and if you go there, some Rakshas may catch you and never let you come back.”

“What is a Rakshas?” asked Surya Bai.

Now Rakshas are demons and very dangerous, but the cat would not tell Surya Bai that, because she thought if Surya Bai knew about them she would be afraid to go for the fire. So she said, “I cannot tell you what they are,” and then she sat down in a corner and washed her fur and would not answer any more questions.

“At any rate, we must have the fire,” said Surya Bai. So she unlocked the seven doors, one after another, and climbed down from the tree and set out on her journey.

She went on and on for a long way and then, without knowing it, she really did come into the country of the Rakshas. There she saw a house, and in it was an old, old woman, bending over a fire. She was so old that her nose and chin almost met, and so crooked she was like a bent stick. Her gray hair fell over her eyes in a mat, and her teeth were long and yellow, and she was a Rakshas.

When she saw the maiden, she asked her who she was, and where she had come from, and what was her errand.

Surya Bai told her she came from a little house that had been built for her by a pair of eagles in a tree top far away. She told her the eagles were away from home, for they had gone to fetch her a diamond ring from far away and had left her with only a little dog and cat for companions. “And now the cat has put out the fire,” said she, “and I have no way to cook the food. We are very hungry, so give me, I beg of you, a little of your fire to carry home with me.”

Now the old woman Rakshas had a son who was very strong and terrible, but he was away from home on some business. “What a pity he is not here,” thought the old woman. “This pretty little girl would make a fine morsel for him. I will try to keep her until he returns, so that he may have her for his supper.”

So she made her voice as soft and friendly as she could, and said, “You may have the fire and welcome, but pound this rice for me before you go, for my arms are too weak and old for pounding. After that you shall have the fire.”

Surya Bai was very obliging. She pounded the rice and pounded and pounded, but still the young Rakshas did not come, and presently she had finished.

“Now give me the fire,” said the maiden.

But the old woman still wished to keep her. “I have no daughter to help me,” said she. “Grind this corn for me, I beg of you, and then I will give you the fire.”

Surya Bai ground the corn, but still the Rakshas had not come.

“I have pounded the rice and ground the corn; now give me the fire that I may be gone,” said the maiden.

But still the old woman detained her. “Why should you be in such a hurry? Just fetch me some water from the well, and then you shall have the fire.”

Surya Bai went to the well and fetched the old woman the water. Still the Rakshas had not returned.

“I have served you willingly,” said the maiden, “and now I must be gone, and if you will not give me the fire, I must seek it elsewhere.”

Then the old woman knew she could keep Surya Bai no longer. “You may have the fire,” said she, “and you are more than welcome to it. I will also give you a bag of corn, and as you go you can strew it along, so as to make a little golden pathway between your house and mine.”

This the old woman said because she thought if the girl left a trail behind her, the Rakshas could follow her to where she lived and catch her there.

But Surya Bai had no fear of evil, for she had always been treated kindly. She thought the old Rakshas was a very friendly old woman.

She took the fire and the corn also, and as she went home she scattered the corn along the way.

When the girl reached the tree where the house was, she climbed up and went inside, shutting and locking the seven iron doors behind her, one after the other. She cooked the meal and fed the dog and fed the cat, and then as she was very tired, she lay down and fell fast asleep.

Now very soon after she left the Rakshas’ house, the young Rakshas came home, and he was very fierce and terrible to look at. At once his mother began to scold at him.

“Why are you so late?” she cried. “A young maiden has been here, a fine and dainty morsel, all pink and white, and as tender as a bird, and you might have had her for your supper if only you had returned earlier, in time to catch her.”

When the Rakshas heard this, his eyes grew red as fire, and he gnashed his teeth together with rage.

“Which way did she go?” he bellowed. “Which way did she go? I’ll follow her and catch her however far she’s gone.”

“You’ll have no trouble finding the way,” replied his mother, “for I gave her corn to scatter as she went along, so as to make a pathway. Just follow the corn, and you’ll soon find her.”

At once the Rakshas set off. So fast he went that the ground was burned up beneath him. It did not take him long to reach the little house in the tree top, but Surya Bai was safely inside, and all the seven iron doors were locked behind her.

The Rakshas beat on the door and called to her to come and open. “I am your father, the eagle, returned from his journey,” he called to her. “Open quickly, dear child, that I may put the diamond ring upon your pretty finger.”

But Surya Bai did not open the door or answer, for she was fast asleep and the little cat and dog were asleep also.

The Rakshas began to tear at the iron door, but he could not stir it, and all he did was to break off one of his long brown nails, and then off he went, howling horribly, and leaving the nail still sticking in the crack of the door.

A little while after he had gone, the cat awoke and wakened Surya Bai. “Surya Bai,” mewed the cat, “I dreamed the eagles had returned and were calling at the door for you to open it. You had better go and see if they are there.”

Surya Bai at once arose and took the keys and opened the doors, one after another, and when she opened the seventh door, the Rakshas’ nail that he had broken off ran into her hand, so that she fell down as though she were dead; for the fingernail of a Rakshas is very poisonous.

Not long after that the eagles came home, and there they saw the doors all open and little Surya Bai lying on the threshold, seemingly dead. Then they were very sorrowful. They put the diamond ring upon her finger, and after that they flew away, uttering loud cries, and were never seen again; but the cat and the dog stayed beside her and mourned over her.

Now the very next day a handsome young Rajah[1] came by that way, hunting, and stopped under the very tree where the house was. He happened to look up, and there, high above him in the tree top, he saw something dark and large, and he could not tell what it was. So he bade one of his attendants climb up and see.

The man climbed up as the Rajah bade him, and presently he came sliding down again, and he told his master that what he saw up there was a curious little house made of iron. The man told him the house had iron doors, but they were all open, and on the threshold of the first of the doors lay a lovely maiden. She lay there seemingly dead, but so beautiful he had never seen anything like her, and beside her sat a little cat and dog mourning for her.

When the Rajah heard this, he became very curious to see the maiden, and he bade some of his people climb up and bring her down to where he was.

This they did, and the little cat and dog came with them. No sooner had the young Rajah seen the maiden than he fell violently in love with her because of her beauty, and he felt he could not live unless he could awaken her to life and have her for a wife. She did not look to him as though she were really dead, for her cheeks and lips had kept their color, and when he lifted her hand, it was soft and warm in his fingers. Then he saw something long and dark, that looked like a thorn, sticking in her hand. This was the Rakshas’ nail.

The Rajah drew it out very slowly and carefully, so as not to hurt her, and no sooner had he withdrawn it than life came back to the maiden, and she opened her eyes and breathed again.

When the Rajah saw the change that had come over her he was filled with joy, and he told her who he was and what had happened, and he asked her whether she would come back to his palace with him and be his Ranee.[2]

To this Surya Bai willingly agreed, for he was so handsome and kind looking that she loved him the moment she saw him. So Surya Bai went home with the young Rajah, and they were married with great magnificence and rejoicing, and every one loved the young Ranee for her gentleness. Only the Rajah’s mother hated her. She was very angry that her son should have married a girl who had a pair of eagles for parents, and who had lived in an iron hut in the forest. She also envied Surya Bai because the Rajah had given her all the most magnificent jewels in the palace. Nothing was too good for the little new Ranee.

“This girl has bewitched him,” the mother said to herself, “but if she were only gone and out of his sight, he would soon forget her.” So she was always plotting and planning to get rid of the young Ranee.

Now there was an old woman about the palace, and she was very wise. She said to Surya Bai, “Do not trust the old Ranee. She is certainly planning some evil against you. I know her. She is jealous of you and so wicked that she would stop at nothing.”

But Surya Bai would not listen to her. She was so good and gentle that she could not believe evil of any one.

One day Surya Bai and the Rajah’s mother were walking in the gardens, and the old woman was with them, for she was one of Surya Bai’s favorite attendants.

Then the old Ranee said to the young Ranee, “Your jewels are very beautiful and fine. Even when I was a young Ranee my husband never gave me such beautiful jewels as those you have. Let me put them on just for a short time, I beg of you, that I also may know how it feels to be as magnificent as you are.”

Then the old woman whispered in the girl’s ear, “Do not lend her your jewels. I know she is planning some evil against you.”

But Surya Bai would not listen to her. She took off her jewels, all of them, and helped the old Ranee to put them on. She put the bracelets on the old Ranee’s arms, and the necklaces on her neck, and the earrings in her ears,—all her jewels she lent to the old Ranee. She hung them about her until she shone like the sun with the splendor of them all.

When this was done the Rajah’s mother bade the old woman go back to the palace for a hand mirror that she might look at herself and see how fine she was now that she was dressed in all those jewels.

The old woman did not want to go, but she was obliged to.

When the old Ranee was alone with Surya Bai, she said to her, “Come, Surya Bai, let us go over to the bathing tank while we wait for the mirror, that I may look at myself in the water.”

Still thinking no evil, Surya Bai went with her.

Now the bathing tank was very deep; it was only for people to swim in. When they came near the edge, the old Ranee leaned over and Surya Bai leaned over, too, to look in the water. Then the old Ranee gave her a push so that she fell in and sank out of sight below the waters.

The wicked old Ranee waited for awhile, and then, as she saw nothing more of Surya Bai, she was satisfied that the girl was drowned, and she hurried back to her chamber and hid all the jewels.

That night the Rajah could not find Surya Bai anywhere. No one knew what had become of her. The Rajah was like one distracted. He hunted for her everywhere.

Then his mother said to him, “I saw her walking in the garden this morning with that old woman. If any harm has come to her, it is because of that wretch; I feel sure of it.”

The Rajah at once sent for the old woman and questioned her, but she could tell him nothing about the young Ranee, for she had not seen her after she left her there in the garden with the Rajah’s mother. The old Ranee managed to make the Rajah feel very suspicious of the old woman, so he had her thrown into prison, and she lay there, very miserable.

But Surya Bai had not been altogether drowned when she sank down into the tank. Instead she had changed into a beautiful golden flower that rose up and up through the waters until it reached the air.

The next time the Rajah came to the gardens he saw something shining over in the bathing tank, and when he went nearer he found a beautiful golden flower growing up out of the water. Then at once he became quite happy. The flower made him think of little Surya Bai, and a load seemed lifted from his heart. Now every day he went out to the tank and spent long hours looking at the flower, and he talked to it as though it could hear him, and it never changed or withered.

But soon the old Ranee became very anxious. “This flower certainly has something to do with Surya Bai. There is some magic about it,” she said to herself.

So one night she took several men with her and went secretly out to where the flower was blooming, and made the men cut it down and take it away into the jungle and burn it.

The next morning, when the Rajah went to the garden to visit the flower, he found it was gone. Then he was very unhappy, and he questioned the keepers of the garden, but they could tell him nothing about it.

But even when the flower was burned, that was not the end of the young Ranee.

The wind caught up the ashes of the flower and blew them back into the garden, and they fell close beside the wall. From these ashes grew up a mango tree. It grew and grew until its top was higher than the garden walls and could be seen from the road outside the garden. Then upon the very topmost bough there bloomed a flower. In due time the petals of the flower fell, and the mango fruit was seen. The fruit grew larger and larger. Every day it grew, and it shone with a rosy light as though there were a flame within it, and every day the Rajah came and looked at it, and when he looked he was happy, just as he had been when he looked at the golden flower.

The fruit was almost ripe, but no one was allowed to touch it, for it was to be for the Rajah alone.

Now one day the old milk woman who was Surya Bai’s mother was going home with her empty milk cans, and she sat down to rest outside the wall of the Rajah’s garden. She sat near where the mango tree was growing, but it was inside the garden and she was outside. Then the mango bent its top and leaned farther and farther across the wall, and, quite suddenly, the great, rosy mango fell down and into the empty milk can of Surya Bai’s mother.

The old woman was terrified. She thought, “If any one should see this mango in my milk can, they would think I was a thief and had stolen it, and I would be punished.” So she caught up her can and hurried home with it. Then she put it in the corner and heaped up ever so many other empty milk cans on top of it.

She said nothing about what had happened until that evening, when she and her husband and her eldest son were alone together and the other children were in bed, for she had a large family. Then she told them the whole story,—she told how she had sat down to rest in the shade of the wall, and how the mango had fallen into her milk can, and how she had brought it home and had put the can in the corner under all the other milk cans.

“And now do you go and fetch the mango,” said she to her husband, “and we will cut it and have a fine feast.”

The husband went out to where the milk cans had been heaped up and began lifting them down, one after another, until he had come to the last one. Then he gave a great cry.

“You told me a mango was in the milk can,” he cried to his wife, “but here is something very different.”

The woman came running and looked into the can, and there was a tiny lady very magnificently dressed, like a Ranee, and when she stepped out from the can she was so beautiful that the whole room shone as though there were a star in it.

The old man and woman could hardly believe their eyes. They were frightened, and yet they were delighted.

The old woman said, “Now I am happy again as I have never been happy since the eagles flew away with my little baby daughter.”

When she said that, the small Ranee looked at her wonderingly, but she said nothing, for it seemed she could not speak.

After that the beautiful stranger lived there in the house with the old man and woman, and every day she grew so fast that at the end of a month she was as tall as an ordinary woman, but still she could not speak.

It was not long before people knew that a most beautiful lady dressed like a Ranee was living with the old peasants. The news came even to the palace, so the Rajah heard about it, and he began to wonder whether it were possible this beautiful lady could be his lost Ranee. One day he set out with only his faithful councilor for company, and went to the house of the old peasants and knocked on the door.

The old woman who was Surya Bai’s mother looked out of the window, and when she saw the Rajah there, she was very much frightened. She took Surya Bai and hid her behind a heap of milk cans, for she feared if the Rajah saw the girl he might begin to ask questions and find how the mango had dropped into the can.

After the girl was hidden, the old woman opened the door.

“I wish to see the stranger who is living here with you, and who is so beautiful, and is dressed like a Ranee,” said the Rajah.

“I do not know what you mean,” cried the old woman. “No one lives here but me and my husband and children.”

(This was true, only the old woman did not know it.)

The Rajah questioned her, but she would make no other answer, and when he went through the house, he could see no one except the woman’s husband, who was very much frightened, and the children she had spoken of.

Then the young Rajah went away, very sorrowful, but still he could not help wondering whether the peasant had deceived him. So he sent for the old woman who had been Surya Bai’s companion, and who was in prison.

“I wish you to go to such and such a place,” said he, “and make friends with the peasant woman who lives there. Then, after you are friends, find out, if you can, whether a stranger has been living with her, and if so, who she is.”

The old attendant did as the Rajah bade her. It did not take long for her to make friends with the peasant woman, and one day the old peasant allowed her to see the strange lady who was living with her.

At once the attendant knew the stranger to be the lost Ranee, and she fell down and kissed her feet, and wept over her.

Then she told the old peasant the whole story. She told her of how Surya Bai had lived with the eagles, and how the Rajah had found her and made her his wife, and how she had then disappeared, and how the Rajah had mourned for her and sought her.

When the old peasant heard this story, she was filled with wonder and with joy, for she knew then that Surya Bai was no other than the little daughter who had been carried away by the eagles.

She could now no longer refuse to let the Rajah see Surya Bai, and he was sent for. When he came and saw his dear wife as well and as beautiful as ever, he could hardly contain himself for happiness. He took her in his arms, and wept over her and kissed her, and no sooner had he kissed her than her powers of speech came back, and she was no longer dumb.

Then she told him the story of what had happened to her, and of how she had been pushed into the tank, and how she had come to be where she was.

The Rajah was very angry. He took Surya Bai back to the palace with him, and the wicked old Ranee was shut up in a tower where she was very miserable all the rest of her life, but the peasants and their children were raised to great wealth and honor, and Surya Bai and the Rajah lived happy forever after.

THE PRINCES AND THE FRIENDLY ANIMALS

A Lithuanian Story

There was once a King who had three sons, and he had also a stepdaughter. They all lived together in peace and happiness and had everything their hearts could desire. But after a time an enemy of the King came against him with a great army, and slew him, and took the kingdom and drove forth the Princes into the world, and their stepsister with them.

The three and the one journeyed on and on together until they came to a deep forest, and there they saw a mother bear, and her three cubs were with her.

The eldest Prince was about to shoot at her, but the bear cried out, “Do not shoot, Prince, and I will give you my three cubs for servants, one for you, and one for each of your brothers.”

To this the Prince agreed. He let the bear go away unharmed, and the three cubs followed after the three Princes, each one behind his own master.

After they had gone a bit farther into the forest, they saw a lioness, and she also had three young ones with her.

Now it was the second Prince who was about to shoot, but the lioness called to him, “Do not slay me, Prince, and I will give my three cubs to you and your brothers, one to each of you.”

Thereupon the Prince allowed her to go unharmed and the three young lions followed after the Princes with the bear cubs.

Soon after that they saw a mother fox, and three little ones were with her. This time it was the youngest Prince who would have shot, but the fox called to him, imploring him to spare her life and offering instead her three young ones to the Princes.

She too was allowed to escape, and now each Prince had a young fox, a young lion and a young bear to follow him.

After that the Princes met a hare and a boar, and these animals were also allowed to go unharmed because they each gave a young one to each one of the Princes to follow after and serve him.

And now the Princes came to a place where the road divided.

“I,” said the youngest, “shall take the road toward the East, where the sun rises each morning.”

“And I,” said the second, “shall journey toward the West, where it is golden at sunset.”

But the eldest Prince would take neither of these roads. “My way shall be neither toward the East nor toward the West,” said he, “but straight ahead, and when I come to a place to dwell in, there will I stop.”

The three brothers then asked their stepsister which of them she would follow, and she said she would go with the eldest Prince, for she too wished nothing better than a place to dwell in, where she could live in peace and safety.

So the three brothers parted, but first the eldest Prince cut three notches in a tree that stood at the parting of the ways. He cut one at the East, and one at the West, and one in the center between them, one for each of his brothers, and one for himself.

He told them the notch to the East was for the youngest brother, the notch to the West was for the second brother, and the one in the center belonged to himself.

“When any one of us returns to this spot,” said he, “let him place his finger first upon one notch, and then upon the other. If milk flows forth from the notch, then all is well with the one to whom it belongs, but if blood flows forth, then it means death or misfortune to that one.”

After that they bade each other farewell and set forth, each on his own way, and each with his animals following after him, and the stepsister went with the eldest brother, as she had chosen.

For a long time the eldest Prince and his sister journeyed on without seeing any one, but toward evening they came to a house and there was a red light shining out from the window. When they looked inside they saw a band of robbers sitting there, counting the gold they had taken from the people they had killed.

The stepsister was so frightened that her teeth chattered in her head, and she was for going farther, but the Prince said no. “Hither we have come, and here we shall stop,” said he.

Then he called his animals to him and threw open the door of the house.

When the robbers saw him, they started up and seized their weapons to slay him, but they had no time, for the faithful animals flew at them and tore them almost to pieces, so that they were dead, all except one; and he lay there with the others as though he had been killed also.

Then the Prince threw them down into the cellar and locked the door, and he and his stepsister got out food and drink and feasted to their hearts’ content, and the animals feasted also.

The next morning the Prince went out hunting and he told his stepsister she might go all over the house and look at everything in it; only into the cellar she must not look, for there the robbers were lying, and that door must remain fastened.

After he had gone, the girl went about through the house and looked at everything. After she had seen all there was to be seen in the house, she began to think about the cellar, and more and more she wished to open the door and look at the robbers lying there.

At last she could resist no longer. She unfastened the door and looked down into the cellar. As soon as she did so, the robber who was only wounded lifted his head and spoke to her.

The girl was terribly frightened, and was for shutting the door at once, but the robber called to her so piteously that she could but stay and listen to him.

“Do not fear me,” cried the robber. “Even if I desired it, I am too weak to harm you, but I wish you only good.”

The robber then told her that if she would do as he said, he would soon be well and strong again. Then they would rid themselves of her brother and would be married, and the house and all the wealth that had been gathered would belong to their own two selves alone, and they would be very happy together.

The girl listened; and the longer she listened, the more the plan of the robber pleased her. She asked him what she must do to heal him.

“You must go into the kitchen and look in the cupboard,” said the robber. “There you will find three flasks. Make haste and bring them here. In the first is an ointment. Rub it upon my wounds, and at once they will heal themselves. Hold the second flask to my lips, and all pain will leave me. Give me to drink from the third, and I will be perfectly well again and stronger than ever.”

The girl did as the robber told her, and all happened as he had said. Then, after his wounds were healed and he was well again, he and the girl consulted as to how they could get rid of her brother.

“This is how it can be managed,” said the robber. “You shall ask your brother how strong he is, and then, as a test of his strength you shall say you will tie his thumbs behind him with a cord, and he shall try if he can break it. If he cannot break it, then he will be helpless, and you must call to me, and I will come and slay him.”

This plan pleased the girl, and at once she agreed to it.

That evening, when her brother came home, they sat at the table and ate and drank together, but the animals were left outside in the courtyard with the door locked and barred against them.

After supper, the stepsister began to talk to her brother and to question him as to how strong he was.

“I am so strong,” replied the Prince, “that there are few bonds that could hold me.”

“Suppose, I were to tie your thumbs together behind your back with a silken cord, could you break it?” asked the sister.

The Prince bade her try, and he put his hands behind him, and she tied his thumbs together with a silken cord the robber had given her. But no sooner did the Prince strain with his thumbs against the cord than it snapped in two and dropped from him.

“Sister, you must bind me with something stouter than the cord if you would hold me,” said the brother.

The next day the Prince went hunting again, and as soon as he had gone, the girl went down to the cellar to talk to the robber. “You must give me something stronger than that to bind him with,” said the stepsister. “He broke the cord as though it were no more than a spider’s web.”

The robber gave her a cord twice as strong.

“Now see if that will hold him,” said he.

When the Prince came home that evening and he and the girl sat together at supper, she again began to talk of his strength.

“Here is a cord that is twice as strong as the other. If I tied your thumbs together behind your back, could you break this also?” she asked of him.

The brother told her to try. She tied his thumbs together as before with the second cord the robber had given her, but he snapped this also in two the moment he strained against it.

“Sister, you will need a stronger cord than that if you would hold me,” said he.

The next day, as soon as the brother had left the house, the stepsister hastened down to talk again with the robber.

“It is of no use,” said she. “He snaps the cords as easily as though there were nothing to them. To-night I will tie his thumbs together with my girdle, and if he can break that, as he did the cords, then there is nothing that will hold him.”

To this the robber agreed, so the next day, when the Prince came home, the girl asked him to let her once more tie his thumbs behind his back. “And this time,” said she, “I will tie them with my girdle.”

The lad put his hands behind him and the girl tied the thumbs together with her girdle. And now, though the Prince strained against it with all his power, he could not break it.

“Sister,” said he, laughing. “You will have to untie it, for now indeed I am held prisoner.”

“Then it is as I would have it,” cried the girl, and she threw open the cellar door and called to the robber to come forth and slay him.

No sooner did the Prince see the robber than he knew the trick that had been played against him.

“I am indeed helpless,” said he, “and if I must die, I must. But one little favor I would ask of you before I perish. Give me leave to blow three blasts upon my hunting-horn, and I will ask nothing else of you.”

That seemed a harmless favor for the Prince to ask, and neither the robber nor the girl refused him. Still they would not untie the girdle. The stepsister held the horn to his mouth, and the Prince blew upon it so strong and loud that the girl and the robber were like to have been deafened by it. Three times he blew. The first blast woke the animals where they lay sleeping, and they raised their heads and listened. At the second blast they aroused themselves and gathered at the door of the house; and at the third blast they threw themselves against the door so that locks and bars were broken, and the wood itself was splintered. Then in a moment they rushed into the room and sprang upon the robber and tore him into shreds.

They would have torn the stepsister to pieces, too, but this the Prince would not permit. “I will not kill you,” said he to the girl, “but you shall be punished.”

He then took a chain and fastened it around her waist and to a staple in the wall. He placed food and drink within reach and an empty bowl before her. “When you have filled this bowl full of tears of repentance, the chain will drop from you,” he said, “and you will be free; but until that time you shall remain a prisoner.”

He then went away and left her, and the animals followed at his heels.

He went on and on until he came to another country, and there he stopped at an inn for food and rest. But there was little feasting at the inn, or resting either. Every one was weeping and lamenting. The food had burned on the fire, and the malt had all run out of the barrels and was wasted.

The Prince called to the landlord and asked him the cause of all this sorrow.

“A sad and grievous cause, indeed,” replied the landlord. “This day the King’s daughter is to be sacrificed to a mighty dragon that is to come up out of the water. She must be left on the seashore over beyond the cliffs you see yonder, for him to devour her; and unless this is done, the dragon will ravage the whole country.”

“But is there no one strong enough and brave enough to destroy this dragon?” asked the Prince.

“There is no one. Many have come hither to try it, for the King has promised that if any one will do battle with the dragon and destroy him, he shall have the hand of the Princess in marriage, and she is so beautiful, that any man might well risk death to gain her. But every one who has seen the dragon as he lies out in the sea has been so filled with terror that he has fled away. Not one has stayed even to look upon him twice.”

When the Prince heard this he made up his mind that he would at least have a look at the dragon, so he asked the landlord how he must go to reach the place where the monster lay. As soon as he had been told, off he set in that direction, and the animals were not far behind him.

It did not take him long to reach the seashore and when he looked off across the water he could see the dragon lying there. He was so long that his back looked like an island, and from his nostrils rose up streams of smoke that were full of fiery cinders.

The Prince hid himself behind a heap of rocks and lay there watching, and presently he heard a great noise. It was made by a procession of people who were bringing the Princess down to the seashore. She was very beautiful, but so sad looking that the Prince’s heart melted within him for pity of her.

They brought her to the seashore and left her there, and every one went away except two nobles of the Court. One of them was driving the coach that brought the Princess, and the other one sat beside him as footman. They were to wait until all was over, and then they were to take the news back to the King, but they kept the coach high up on top of the cliff where they would be out of danger.

The Prince waited until all the others had left her, and then he came out from behind the rocks and went to speak to the Princess; but when she saw him she was frightened, for she did not know who he was nor whence he came.

“Do not fear me,” the Prince said to her. “I mean you no harm, but instead I have come hither to do battle with the dragon, and if it may be, to save you.”

When the Princess heard this, she begged and implored him to leave her. “Why should you perish also? None can ever do battle with yonder monster and come out alive.”

But the Prince would not listen to her.

And now the dragon bestirred itself and turned and came slowly toward the shore, and as it came they could smell the smoke of its breathing.

The Prince drew his sword and stood waiting for it. Then as it came still nearer, the fox sprang out on a rock, dipped his tail in the salty water and slashed it across the eyes of the monster so that it was almost blinded. The lion and the bear also splashed up the water; the boar ripped at the dragon with his sharp tusks; the hare sprang upon its head and struck with its paws; and the Prince drew his sword and plunged it into the monster’s heart, so that the life blood ran out from it into the sea, and it was dead.

Then he went to the Princess, and they kissed each other on the lips, and she gave him the half of her handkerchief and the half of her ring to show that they were true lovers. He also took the tongue and the ears of the dragon, and then they went back to the coach where it was waiting on the cliff, and the Princess bade the nobleman drive them to the palace of the King, that she and the Prince might be married as her father had promised.

But on the way, the two noblemen talked together.

“Why should we drive this stranger to the palace?” said they. “No one knows who he is or whence he comes. Let us slay him, and then we will draw lots as to which of us shall claim the Princess.”

So that was what they did. They made the Prince step down from the coach and slew him, and they made the Princess swear that she would tell no one that it was not they who had killed the dragon. Then they drew lots as to which should marry her, and the lot fell to the coachman.

But after they had driven on and left the Prince lying there, the faithful animals did not desert him. They stayed beside him and mourned over him, and the lion licked his face and hands, but it could not revive him.

Then the fox, which was very clever, reminded the animals of the flasks of ointment and healing water in the robbers’ house.

The hare, which was very swift, said it would go and fetch the flasks, and it sped away to get them.

Now the stepsister had wept the bowl full of tears of repentance and was free again; and when the hare came to the door and told her what it wanted, she gladly gave it the flasks and hung them about its neck in a little wicker basket.

Then the hare fled back again to where the animals were waiting beside the Prince. With its tusks the boar broke the flask that held the ointment, and the bear rubbed it on the Prince’s wounds so that they were healed. Then they poured some drops from the second bottle between his lips, and the color came back to his cheeks and the light to his eyes. When they gave him to drink from the third bottle, he became quite well again and stronger than ever.

After that he rose and set out to follow the Princess. But the way was long, and before he reached the palace, night overtook him, and he had no place to sleep. He was about to make a bed among the grasses when he saw, not far in front of him, the light of a fire. He went on toward it, and as he came nearer, he saw an old, old woman standing beside it and

cooking her supper in a pot. She was so old that her chin and nose almost met, and so skinny she was scarcely more than bones, and the eyes under her brows were red and evil.

“Good evening, mother,” said the Prince.

“Good evening, son,” replied the woman.

“May I and my animals warm ourselves beside the fire?” asked the Prince.

“As for yourself, you’re welcome,” said the old woman; “but as for your animals, I am afraid of them. Just let me give each one of them a little blow with my staff to show them I’m mistress, and then they may rest by the fire also.”

The Prince did not say no, so the old woman took up her staff and with it she quickly touched one animal after the other, beginning with the lion and ending with the hare, and as soon as she touched them, each one was turned into a stone figure, for the old woman was a witch and as wicked as she was ugly. Then she touched the Prince with her staff, and he also became a stone image without life or motion.

Then the old hag laughed with glee and counted them over. They were not the only ones she had either. All about were other stones that had once been living beings.

Now some time after this, the second Prince, who had traveled far and was weary of journeying, came back to the branching road where the tree stood with its notches, and he wished to see how his brothers were faring.

He touched the notch that belonged to the youngest Prince, and milk flowed out from it. So he knew all was well with his youngest brother. Then he touched the notch that belonged to the eldest Prince, and forth from that flowed blood. Then he was grieved to the heart because he knew death or disaster must have come upon his brother.

“Now will I set forth in search of him,” said he, “and never will I stop nor stay until I find what has become of him and whether I can give him succor.”

So the second Prince journeyed on and on, along the road his eldest brother had gone before him, and it was not long until he came to the place where the old woman was tending her fire. All about in the shadows stood figures of stone, some big and some little, but the Prince did not think to look at them.

He asked if he and his animals might rest a bit beside the fire and warm themselves.

“You yourself are welcome,” said the old woman, “but I fear that your animals, may tear at me or eat me.” She then asked the Prince’s permission to touch each animal with her rod, that it might know her as its mistress. “Then I will no longer fear them,” said she.

The Prince was willing, so she took the rod that leaned against a tree near by and struck the animals lightly, first one and then another, and as she touched them, they were turned to stone. Last of all she touched the Prince, and he too became a stone image.

Then the old hag laughed aloud for joy of her wickedness, and put aside her rod once more, and went on with her cooking.

Now it happened that not so very long after this the youngest Prince, who had journeyed far and wide in his wanderings, began to think of his two brothers and to wonder how it had gone with them in the world.

So he came back to the place where the three roads parted, and the tree stood with the three notches in it.

He put his finger on the notch that was his eldest brother’s, and blood ran down from it; and his heart was heavy within him, for he knew that harm must have come to his brother. Then he put his finger upon the notch of the second brother, and from that, too, trickled down the blood. Then the young Prince cried aloud in his sorrow. “Never will I rest or stay,” cried he, “until I know what has happened to my brothers and whether or no I can do aught to aid them.”

So he set out the way the second brother had gone, and before long he, too, came to where the old woman was tending her fire.

The old hag laughed in her heart, when she saw him, for she thought, “here will be more stone images to be set round me.” She spoke to the Prince and made him welcome, and bade him sit beside the fire to rest himself. But she said she feared his animals, and she took her staff in her hand and asked the Prince’s leave to touch them each one with it. “Then,” said she, “they will know me as their mistress and will not touch or harm me.”

But the Prince replied, “Not so! No one but I must strike my faithful servants, no matter how lightly. Give me the rod, and then if needs be I will touch them.”

So he took the rod from the old woman, though she indeed was loth to yield it, and first he touched the fox with it, for it was growling.

As soon as he did this, the fox was turned to stone, and then the Prince knew that here was evil magic. He looked about him and saw the stone images of his brothers and their animals, and many other stones as well, that had once been living, breathing people.

Then the Prince’s heart was hot within him and he demanded of the hag that she should bring these people back to life, living and breathing as they had been before, and he threatened that unless she did this, his animals should tear her limb from limb and scatter the pieces of her through the forest.

The old woman was terrified, and she bade the Prince turn the staff that he held end for end and touch the people with it; then they would return to life.

This the Prince did, and at once, as she had promised, the cold dead stones became living flesh once more, all the people and all the animals.

Then they all rejoiced greatly, and they gathered about the Prince and thanked him, but none rejoiced more greatly than the brothers.

Then the others all went away to their own homes, and the youngest Prince broke the rod to pieces that the witch might no more use it for harm to others.

The three brothers talked together, and the eldest told them all about the Princess, and how he had saved her from the dragon. And he told them, too, how the noblemen had slain him and stolen the Princess from him, and how the faithful animals had brought him back to life.

After he had made an end of the story the youngest Prince said, “Now we must set out for the palace of the King at once, for it may be it is not yet too late for you to claim the Princess.” So the three brothers set forth, with all the animals following behind them.

When they reached the palace, none dared to hinder them from entering, because of the animals, and the three went on through one room after another till they came to where the King was, and his daughter and the nobleman were with him.

The nobleman was very merry, for the wedding feast was even then preparing, and that night he was to be married to the lovely Princess. The King, too, was happy, for he was pleased at the thought of having such a brave hero for a son-in-law. Only the Princess was sad and would do nothing but weep and bemoan herself, but she could not tell her father the cause of her grief because of the oath she had sworn to the nobleman.

Now when the Prince and his two brothers entered the room where the King was sitting, the Princess gave a shriek of joy, but the nobleman turned pale and trembled, for he knew the Prince at once as the true hero who had saved the Princess from the dragon, and whom he and his companion had slain by the roadside.

Then the Prince began and told the King the whole story, and as the King listened, he wondered. When the Prince had made an end of the tale, the King turned to the nobleman. “And what answer have you to make to all this?” he asked him.

“That it is false and doubly false,” cried the nobleman. “’Tis I and I alone who saved the Princess.”

Then the Prince asked him what proof he had of the truth of his story, and when the nobleman could give no proof, the lad drew out a handkerchief and opened it, and there were the ears and the tongue of the dragon. He also showed the half of the handkerchief and the half of the ring the Princess had given him, and then it was clear to every one that it was he and he alone who had slain the dragon.

Then the nobleman was punished as he deserved, but the Prince was married to the Princess, and his two brothers were married to the King’s two younger daughters, and they all lived together in great joy and happiness forever.

GRACIOSA AND PERCINET

A French Story

There was once a King who was so rich that it would have been impossible for him to spend all his money, and yet his greatest wish was still to keep adding to his treasure.

The King’s wife had died and left him but one child, a daughter named Graciosa. This Princess was so beautiful, so kind and so gentle that she was beloved by all about her. The King also loved her dearly,—more dearly indeed than anything in the world except his treasure, but that was always first in his thoughts and his affections.

One day the King set out with his attendants to hunt in a forest near by.

The huntsmen soon started a deer that bounded away through the forest. The King followed it for a long distance, farther than he had ever gone before. Suddenly he came out on the other side of the forest, and there, in front of him, stood a vast castle with towers and turrets, and a moat around it.

The King called his chief huntsman to him and asked him whether he knew who lived in the castle.

The man replied that it belonged to the Duchess Grognon, and she was said to be so rich that she had never been able to count all her treasures.

As soon as the King heard this, he at once determined to stop at the castle and ask for refreshment. He was not only weary and thirsty from the chase, but he also had a great desire to see any one as rich as the Duchess, and perhaps he would be shown her treasures as well.