O
Onehot summer’s day a man of Gotham was on his way to Nottingham market to sell his cheeses, which he carried in a bag slung across his shoulder. He found the heat oppressive, and his load so troublesome, that he could not help bewailing his lot in the following words—“Unfortunate man that I am, why have I not a cart like neighbour Dobbins, or even a barrow like old Mathews? My good woman will make so many cheeses that I have no rest any market day. But now I have it; she is a shrewd woman, and I will propose to her to make the cheeses so that they can walk to market, and then I need only walk by the side of them, to see that they do not loiter or play by the way. I wonder she never thought of that.”
This bright idea consoled him and made himforget even his load for a time, but it weighed so heavily upon him that he was soon recalled to his misfortunes, and as he trudged along he constantly changed the bag from one shoulder to the other. Now with these frequent changes the mouth of the bag had got loose, and just as he reached the top of the hill, looking down upon the bridge and Nottingham in the distance, one of the cheeses fell out and rolled down the hill.
He watched it for a time, and as it kept so well to the road, neither turning to one side nor the other, but jumping over the stones that lay in its way, he exclaimed in delight, “Well done, well done, keep on like that, my good friend, and you’ll soon be at your journey’s end! It was foolish of my old woman not to tell me that they could run by themselves, but now that I have found it out, I’m not going to carry the lazy things a step farther.”
Having come to this wise resolution he bundled the cheeses out of the bag, and, as they rolled down the hill, cried after them, “There, follow your companion; but you need not run so fast, for I shall rest myself a bit and then walk leisurely after you. Now,mind you all meet me in the market-place.” He watched them with the greatest satisfaction as they ran down the hill and over the bridge, when, the road turning suddenly, they were lost to his sight; and then, too, they all left the road, some running into one bush and some into another, whilst the rest got no further than the ditch by the roadside.
The Gothamite and his Cheeses.
After a short rest the worthy man went on his way to Nottingham, without troubling his mind about the cheeses, as he fully expected to find them waiting for him in the market-place; but when he got there he was somewhat astonished to find that they had not yet arrived. “No doubt,” he said to himself, “as soon as they were out of my sight they got to some of their games in some field or another. That is always the way, but they’ll be here soon.” When, however, the market time was nearly over, and the cheeses had not appeared, he inquired of the market people whether they had seen them. No one had seen his cheeses, and when he was asked who brought them he said,—
“No one brought them. Sure they were quite able to come by themselves, as you would say if youhad seen them running along the road; but now I think of it, they were going at such a rate that they are no doubt half way on their road to York by now.” So he hired a horse and rode off towards York to try and overtake them, but strange to say he did not overtake them, nor indeed did he ever see them again, nor hear any tidings of them.
Twelve Men of Gotham go out Fishing together.
T
Twelvemen of Gotham settled to go out fishing together; and, as the anticipation of pleasure is nearly worth the pleasure itself, they fixed the time a fortnight off, and each day during the interval made some preparation for the great day. The appointed day came in due time, and it was cold and drizzling; but the twelve met, for what true sportsman would allow weather to stop him? They were all in the highest spirits, and their conversation was of the wittiest and most brilliant description, as you will judge it must have been when you know more of the men. I do not attempt to give it you here, being well aware that I could not possibly do it justice.
When they got to the river-side, after a lengthy consultation, they settled that the fish would feel shyof coming to them, seeing so many together; and it was therefore agreed they should separate, all to meet again at the same place in five hours’ time. After they had fairly divided their provisions into twelve parts, each took his share, and went whither his fancy guided him.
Exact to the time, the twelve again assembled together, and adjourned to a tavern, where it had been arranged the day should be finished in conviviality. They were cold and wet to the skin, but all declared they had had a delightful day, each reserving his adventures till they were comfortably seated together.
Most extraordinary adventures they had all had; for one related how, immediately that he had thrown his line, well baited with a worm, he hooked the most wonderful fish he had ever seen; for though it only appeared on the top of the water for a moment at a time, he could plainly discover that it was hairy, and had a long tail. He had given the creature line enough to play, but, when he had followed it more than a mile, the line unfortunately broke—for the beast was strong, being quite as large as a cat.
“That is extraordinary,” another then cried, “for I, too, followed a hairy fish, such as I never saw before. You must know, as I went along looking for a likely spot, I frightened the creature from the bank, and it swam across the river. As quick as possible, I threw my worm just before its nose, but it would not bite, so, like a shot, I was in the water, and waded across after it. It took refuge in a hole, and when I put in my hand to catch it, it bit me so that I have not been able to use that hand all day, and no doubt that is the reason I have not hooked a single fish. The beast appeared, for all the world, like a rat.”
A third then told his companions how he had wandered along the side of a river till he came to a mill, where, by the bubbles under the wheel, he could see that the water was swarming with fish. He threw in his bait, and almost immediately had a bite. He felt convinced that he must have hooked several large fish at the same time, for no single one could have pulled the line with such force. The line was strong, so that it did not break, and at length the rod itself was fairly dragged out of his hands,and for a moment disappeared under the water. The fish, however, must have broken away, for the rod appeared again entangled in the wheel, and was whirled round till it was dashed to pieces. Finishing the account of his startling adventure, he said, “I am sure, my Friends, that at that spot there will be plenty of sport for the whole twelve of us together; and had it not been for that unlucky accident of losing my rod, I should have brought fish enough for all our suppers.”
Various were the adventures narrated, several of them having narrowly escaped drowning, as they said—only that the water was not deep enough. Amongst the whole twelve only one fish was produced—a small one, which its fortunate captor had found floating, dead, upon the water.
When the last of the twelve had finished his account, he said, “I am sure, my good Friends and Neighbours, that no twelve men ever had such an extraordinary day’s fishing as we have had; and, had we not met with these unfortunate accidents, we should have brought home such strange fish, and in such quantities, that the account of our day’s sportwould have been inserted in all the newspapers. But, my dear Brethren, we have been in many great dangers, and I shudder when I think of it, that perhaps one of us has been drowned. Let us count, and see whether the whole twelve of us are safely here.”
“Yes, let us count!” all exclaimed; “for perhaps one of our dear brothers is drowned, and what will his unfortunate widow do?”
Each of the twelve counted in turn, and each only counted eleven, omitting himself; and then all cried out, “It is but too true that one of our dear brothers is lost! Who shall carry the sad news to his widow? But first let us go back to the river, and look for the body.”
These twelve wise men went down to the river, and searched every place where, during the day, either of them had been, but no body was found, which they bitterly bewailed, as it was deprived of Christian burial. They then drew lots which of them should inform the unfortunate widow of her dreadful loss; and when he on whom the lot fell inquired of the others to whose widow he should go,and no one could tell him, they bewailed still more bitterly that they could not discover which of their dear brothers was lost.
The Lost Fisherman found.
It happened that at this time a gentleman from the Court was passing, and seeing them in such distress, asked the cause.
They said, “This morning twelve of us came down to the river to fish, and one is missing, whom we cannot find.”
Then the Gentleman said, “What will you give me if I find your missing companion?” To which they answered, that they would gladly give all the money they had if he could restore their lost brother to them.
He then made them stand in a row, and riding along the back of them gave each such a smart cut with his whip that they cried aloud with pain, and as they did so he numbered them; but when he came to the twelfth he thrashed him till he and all his companions cried out for mercy for him; and the Gentleman said, “This is the twelfth of you!” whereupon they thanked him for restoring their lost brother to them.
The Cobbler’s Wager.
O
Onefine summer’s day a strong, active young man was sauntering along the Exeter road, with apparently no immediate object in view but to pass away the time, for he certainly seemed in no hurry to reach the place of his destination—if, indeed, such a thing was in his thoughts, as it undoubtedly should have been, for he was carrying home a pair of shoes he had taken the greater part of the week to mend.
You will guess by this that he was a cobbler by trade, and from the way he was going on we may, perhaps, form an idea how it is that cobblers are proverbially so little to be depended upon in the performance of a promise—at least, when that promise refers to their work.
The young man we are talking of was not fond of work, but, being a merry, jovial fellow, was muchliked in the neighbourhood where he lived, more particularly as he was always ready to give a helping hand to any one who required the assistance of a strong arm, and never hesitated to neglect his own business to help others.
Perhaps, too, that sort of occupation was more profitable than mending boots and shoes, for he always seemed to have money to spare when he met any companions of his own stamp at the different road-side inns. He was now coming near to such a house, and was trying to find a good excuse to turn in—for the landlord, according to his words, was a man of the right sort—when a butcher, in his cart, carrying a calf he had just bought, whom he knew well, overtook him.
No excuse was, of course, required now to drop in at Tom Turner’s, the landlord just mentioned, if even he had not been standing at his door, where, however, he was, ready to welcome them.
The three were soon merry enough over a jug of foaming ale; and the butcher, in particular, was in high spirits, for he had not only made a good bargain, but one he prided himself upon. The Landlordsaid to him, “I’m sure you’ve been playing your pranks off on some one, or that you’ve overreached some poor wretch in a bargain, makes you in such high glee this morning.”
“Well, I’ve not done so badly, I think,” the Butcher answered, rubbing his hands. “A little mother’s wit in one’s head is worth having, and where’s the good if one doesn’t use it? You must know I particularly wanted a calf this morning—indeed, I couldn’t do without it, whatever price I had to give; and as I happened to hear yesterday that old farmer Hagan had some very fine ones, I went to him. Now I didn’t tell him that I wanted a calf—leave me alone for that—but I said I wanted some sheep, which I knew he just happened not to have. He told me that he hadn’t any, and, as I expected, then said he had some first-rate calves which he wished me to see.
“‘I am very sorry to hear it, Neighbour,’ I said; ‘for calves are falling down to nothing in value since the celebrated Doctor Tweedle came into these parts. You know that he has declared veal to be the most unwholesome meat there is, and thateating it is little short of eating poison; so that no one will touch it. I have two of the most beautiful calves you ever saw, which I am but too happy to be able to get rid of at thirty shillings each—just half what I gave for them. A friend of mine has occasion for three, which he is going to send off to a distance; so I am glad to be able to do you a good turn, if you are willing to part with one of yours on the same terms; but it must be a good ’un.’
“Old Hagan was loath to part with one of his calves at such a price, but was so frightened by what I had told him, that he let me have the one that is outside in my cart, saying, ‘I know, Neighbour, that you are not a man likely to be over-reached, and that you would not sell at such a price if you saw a chance of getting a better one.’
“Now,” the Butcher continued, “does either of you think he could make as good a bargain as that?” And he chuckled, again rubbing his hands, as they both confessed that they gave in to him.
Shortly after, the cobbler rose to go, saying, as the butcher offered to give him a lift in his cart, that he was going another way; and as he went out,he made a sign to the landlord to follow him. When they were outside together he whispered, “I should like to play our boasting friend a good trick.” “I wish, with all my heart, you could,” the Landlord answered; “but he is a cunning fellow.” “Cunning as he is, I’ve a great mind to steal the calf he’s so proud of having cheated old Hagan out of, and then sell it him again, but at double the price,” the Cobbler said. “He’s too deep for you,” said the Landlord; “you can’t do it.” “What will you bet?” the Cobbler asked. “Anything you like!” was the answer. “Well, then,” the Cobbler again said, “let it be a gallon of your very best ale. Now you go back, and manage—as if without any particular motive—to tell our friend that you have a calf (that can be easily done as he is getting into his cart), when you may as well say that it is just like the one he has. You do this, and leave the rest to me.”
“I hope, with all my heart, that you’ll succeed,” the Landlord said, as he went back into the house; and the cobbler hastened along the road which he knew was the butcher’s way. When he had gotsome distance from the house, he dropped one of the shoes he was carrying home by the side of the road, where it would be sure to be seen, and then ran on some distance further, where he dropped the other shoe, choosing the spot close by an opening in the hedge by the road-side.
Shortly after, the butcher came the same way, still chuckling over his morning’s bargain, and when he saw the shoe, drew in his horse. He was about to get out, when he thought better of it, saying, “There’s some of that careless cobbler’s work. He evidently has come this way, and dropped one of the shoes I saw him carrying—but I’m not going to take the trouble to carry it after him. Let him come back, and that will teach him not to refuse a civil offer again. If he had but dropped the pair, I should not mind getting out to pick them up—though certainly it would not be to give them to him, but to keep them myself.”
With these friendly thoughts he drove on, and, before long, saw the other shoe. “Hallo!” he said; “why, that lazy rascal of a cobbler, rather than go back when he discovered the loss of the one shoe,has thrown the other away as useless; but I’ll not be such a fool, and won’t begrudge a little trouble for the sake of a good pair of shoes.” So saying, he jumped out of his cart and picked up the shoe, and, finding it was a good one, ran back for the other, leaving his cart standing in the road.
No sooner had he turned a corner in the road, than the cobbler jumped out from behind the hedge where he had hidden himself, and having lifted the calf out of the cart, took it on his shoulders, and hurried back with his load, as fast as possible, a short cut to Tom Turner’s house.
Tom received him with an acclamation of joy; and as soon as they had stowed the calf away in a shed, he produced some of his very best ale, over which they discussed what was further to be done. The Cobbler said, “As soon as the butcher finds that his calf has disappeared, and that there are no signs of it, he will be sure to come back to you, having heard you had one; but be sure you do not let him have it a farthing under three pounds, for you know that was the price named by himself, and that he said he must have one to-day at any price.When we have had our joke out, we will give him back his money, making him pay the amount of our wager, and another gallon to boot. But he is a slippery rogue, so mind you do not part with the calf without receiving the money down. And now, what will you bet that I do not steal this very calf again?”
The landlord, enjoying the joke, betted another gallon, and his companion continued, “To prepare for another sale, tell him, as he is driving off—tell him you have another calf, the twin brother to this one, and so like it that no one can tell one from the other.”
After all that had been arranged, the cobbler related every circumstance of the past adventure—not forgetting the butcher’s soliloquy—to Tom’s infinite amusement, and added, “Take particular notice whether he says anything about finding the shoes; for if he intends to act dishonestly we may alter our determination about giving him back his money.” He had scarcely finished when they saw the butcher’s cart at the door, so he hastened away to his former hiding-place.
The Cobbler carrying off the Calf.
The next moment the butcher was in the house, and he cried out, “Tom! you must positively let me have that calf of yours, for mine has played me an infernal trick, and has run off! I saw the brute, and ran after it. But it doesn’t matter, for I know where it is, and can easily catch it again. But I’m in a hurry, so I thought it better to come back for yours.”
“How did it happen?” Tom asked.
“Why, my horse got a stone in its hoof, and as I had to go a few yards off to get a dry stick to pick it out with, the brute took advantage of my being away, jumped out of the cart and got into a field by the side of the road. When I got back, though I saw it, it had the start of me, and I was not inclined to run far after it. But, now, I’m in a hurry; so tell me at once, Tom, what you want for your calf.”
Tom answered, “You know that I do not quite believe in veal being poison, in spite of the great Doctor’s opinion; but, to accommodate a friend, I don’t mind parting with it cheap, though I really can’t take less than three pounds.”
The butcher, finding that his own words were used against him, made no difficulty, but, paying the money, carried off the calf, Tom calling after him that if he lost that he had his twin brother for him. He congratulated himself, as he drove along, that, though he paid dearly for the calf, he had, at least, got a good pair of shoes for nothing. To make up for lost time he put his horse to its best trot, but drew in suddenly when he got to the spot of his misfortune, for he heard a sound like the bleating of a calf. He listened for a moment, and then exclaimed, in glee, “Oh! it’s you is it, my runaway? Now, take my word for it, you shall suffer for this.”
He jumped out of the cart and got into the field, but the bleating seemed to proceed from the next field, and when he got there from another, till he was led on to a considerable distance from his cart.
The cobbler, who had imitated the bleating of a calf, when he had led on the butcher till he got confused, hurried back to where the cart was, and hastily taking out the calf, got safely back with it to Tom Turner’s.
Tom, who had scarcely expected success thistime, was fit to split his sides with laughter, when he heard an account of this last adventure, and in his turn told what had passed between him and the butcher.
“Why, the rascal!” exclaimed the Cobbler, who was a honest fellow himself, “so he intends to steal the shoes, for he knows well enough that they belong to me. We’ll give him another chance when he comes back, for I’ll tell him that I lost the shoes; but if then he does not restore them, why I’ll sell them to him for his calf and the money we get out of him. Don’t you think it will serve him right?” The landlord agreed, that if he persisted in dishonestly keeping the shoes, he would deserve to pay dearly for them, adding,—
“If we could manage it, it would be well to let him have his calf this time for nothing.” But the Cobbler, who was very indignant at the fellow’s shuffling dishonesty, said, “No, no, he deserves no manner of consideration, but I hope he won’t prove quite as bad as I think him.”
The butcher soon returned, and this time told the truth of the manner in which he had lost the calf;but when the cobbler told him of his loss he was far from confessing that he had found the shoes, and that they were then in his cart, hidden under some straw. He was out of humour at his own losses, and said, rather brutally, “You are so careless that your loss serves you right. What is your loss to mine? I have now paid four pounds ten for a calf, and still haven’t got one for my customers. Come, Tom, my good Friend, you must be merciful this time, and let me have your other calf a little cheaper. If you’ll let me have it for two pounds here’s the money, but if not I must go back to old Hagan’s for one.”
Whilst this bargain was being concluded the cobbler went out, and looking in the butcher’s cart soon found the shoes, which he took, replacing the straw as he found it.
Tom accepted the two pounds that were offered him, and the butcher was this time allowed to get his dearly-bought calf safely home; but I’m sorry to say the owner of the shoes had to wait another day for them, as the cobbler spent the remainder of that one with his friend, and merrily they spent it.
The Miller and his Donkey.
T
Therewas a miller, never mind in what part of the country, who had a tall, gawky son; but their combined wit had not proved sufficient to keep their business in a flourishing condition, for the poor man got poorer and poorer, selling one thing after another that was not absolutely required to keep the mill going, when, indeed, there was work for it to do, till the turn came for the donkey to be sold.
This donkey had been a faithful servant to the miller, who looked upon it as a friend, and being a kind feeling man, it was with a heavy heart he made up his mind to take it to the fair to sell—but there is no resisting necessity.
On the day of the fair, having some distance to go, he started early, and took his son with him, that they might both see the last of their friend.
The donkey walked on in front, thoughtfully and demurely, as donkeys are wont to do, whilst the father and son followed sorrowfully. They soon got into the high road, which was crowded with people going to the fair, and the two poor simple fellows soon became the butt of the different wits. “That is a hopeful son of yours,” one would say to the father; “you must feel proud of him I should think.” And another would say to the son, pointing with his thumb to his father, “The old ’un looks a tartar; does he whip you much?” Many of the like remarks we made to father and son, loud enough to be heard by both, though pretended to be in a whisper; but the principal shafts were shot at them in conversations carried on round about, not a word of which could they fail to hear.
“Did you ever see such an old fool as that,” said one, “to be walking along this hot road, and his donkey going on in front with nothing to carry?” “Oh,” another said, “that’s the donkey behind, for he in front is much the wiser of the two.” “I wonder,” another joined in, “the old fellow doesn’t take more care of himself at his time of life, if notfor his own sake, at least for his baby’s, for what would become of the poor child if anything were to happen to him?”
Stung by these remarks the old man got on to the donkey, though he regretted giving the poor beast such a load to carry, and he sought to lighten it by partly walking, for his long legs easily reached the ground. This made matters worse, for he soon heard one of his tormentors say, “Look there, was there ever such an old brute? He’s taking it easy, and lets his poor boy toil along as best he can. Such an interesting child, too! Oh, if its mother did but know how cruelly her darling child is being treated.”
Hearing this the miller made his son take his place, and wondered, as he walked by his side, whether he was now doing right.
He was as far from it as ever, poor man, for he very shortly heard an exclamation, and this time from an old man, whose opinion should carry some weight. “Well, this is too bad; what will the world come to next? Here’s a big lout of a fellow riding whilst his old father’s walking. It’s disgraceful, that it is, for if even the fellow’s lame, atany rate he should make room for the old man. The donkey’s strong enough to carry the two.”
The Burdened Beast.
Now the miller got on the donkey in front of his son, to whom he whispered not to weigh too heavily on the poor beast’s back, and they got on for some distance in peace. But it was not to last long, for when the donkey happened to stumble, from kicking against a stone, there was a general outcry: “They want to kill the poor beast. Is there no one to interfere? But it’s one comfort that cruelty to animals can be punished. Who’ll inform against these two big brutes? Why either of them is strong enough to carry the poor little thing, instead of breaking its back, as they are doing with their weight.”
“When shall we do what’s right?” said the poor Miller. “Get off, my Son, and so will I, and we’ll carry the donkey between us. Surely then we shall not be blamed.”
The Beast a Burden.
Having borrowed a strong pole, they tied the donkey’s four legs to it, and each taking an end of the pole across his shoulder, they managed, though with great difficulty, to carry it; but it seemed impossibleto please the people. There was a general shout of laughter as the two poor fellows toiled along, nearly weighed down by the load they were carrying; but that was not enough, for the most insulting epithets were showered upon them, till worried and distressed beyond endurance, the Old Man exclaimed, in despair, “I see there is no doing right, but as long as we remain together fault will be found, so we must part, my old friend;” and as they just then came to a bridge, with his son’s help, he threw the donkey over the side into the river below.
Doctor Dobbs, and his Horse Nobbs.
D
DoctorDaniel Dobbs, of Doncaster, had a nag that was called Nobbs. One day, in the middle of winter, the Doctor having been summoned to attend a patient at some distance from his dwelling, and being anxious to return home before it was dark, rode poor Nobbs very hard. On his arrival, not finding his man in the way, the Doctor fastened Nobbs by his bridle to a rail in the yard, and went into his parlour, where he sat down to warm himself by a good fire. It had happened that the Doctor’s dairy-maid had brewed a barrel of strong beer, which had been drawn off into the cooler; and the dairy-maid having been called away to milk her cows, she had carelessly left the door of the brewhouse open. The steam of the beer proved wonderfully inviting to poor Nobbs,who had been hard rode, and now stood in the cold extremely thirsty. After sundry efforts he got loose from the rail, and repairing to the brewhouse, drank so heartily of the beer, that, before he was aware of it, he fell down dead drunk. The Doctor’s man coming home, ran into the yard to convey Nobbs to the stable; not finding him at the rail, he looked about, and at length discovered him stretched upon the ground, cold and insensible. Bursting into the parlour, where the Doctor was seated with Mrs. Dobbs, he communicated to them the news of poor Nobby’s decease. The Doctor and Mrs. Dobbs were both good-natured people, and of course were much concerned; but as the Doctor never suffered misfortunes to get the better of his discretion, he immediately gave orders that Nobbs should without delay be flayed, and that his skin should be taken next morning to the currier.
The Doctor’s man accordingly set to work: poor Nobbs was dragged to the dunghill, his skin was stripped off, and he was left to be eaten by the hounds. He had not, however, lain long before the novelty of his situation had a considerable effectupon him. As he had lost his skin, of course the coldness of the night operated with double activity in dissipating the fumes of the beer which he had swallowed; and at length he awoke, got upon his legs, and trotted away to the stable-door, which happened to be close by the parlour. Not finding it open, and being both cold and hungry, he began to whinny for assistance. The Doctor and his wife had just done supper, and happened at that moment to be talking of the accident which had befallen their nag, over a hot bowl of brandy-punch. No sooner had Nobbs whinnied, than Mrs. Dobbs turned pale, and exclaimed, “Doctor Dobbs! as sure as I live, that is Nobb’s voice—I know him by his whinny!”
“My Dear,” said the Doctor, “it is Nobb’s whinny sure enough; but, poor thing, he is dead, and has been flayed.” He had hardly said this before Nobbs whinnied again—up jumps the Doctor, takes a candle in his hand, and runs into the yard. The first thing he saw was Nobbs himself without his skin. The Doctor summoned all his servants, ordered six sheep to be killed, and clapped their skins upon poor Nobbs. To make a long storyshort, Nobbs recovered, and did his work as well as ever. The sheep-skin stuck fast, and answered his purpose as well as his own skin ever did. But what is most remarkable, the wool grew rapidly; and when the shearing season came, the Doctor had Nobbs sheared. Every year he gave the Doctor a noble fleece, for he carried upon his back, you know, as much as six sheep; and as long as Nobbs lived, all the Doctor’s stockings, and all Mrs. Dobbs’ flannel petticoats, were made of his wool.
Doctor Dobbs on his Horse Nobbs.
The Brownie.
T
Therewas once a farmer whose name was John Burdon, a kindly, industrious man, who lived happily with his wife and children, in an old house, where his father had lived before him.
His five children were thriving and merry, with no more quarrelling than is usual amongst children, and altogether there was a quiet in the old house, in spite of the games that were going on within. Of a sudden all this changed, and every thing seemed to go wrong.
Whatever the game might be, one of the children was sure to be hurt. If they were playing at ball, the ball would be sure to strike one or the other on the nose or in the eye, on which a bellowing followed; or if the game was puss-in-the-corner, or blind-man’s-buff, two or more of the children were certain to run their heads together, or tear theirclothes, so that the good dame, whose boast it had always been that they never got into mischief, had now enough to do to repair the daily damage.
The farmer, now hearing constant complaints, said some evil spirit must have crept into the house; and he was right enough.
A brownie or goblin had taken up his abode there, and not finding the quiet within which the outside promised, bestowed his ill-humour upon the inmates, and daily invented some new scheme for tormenting the children.
In one corner of the kitchen in which they generally played there was a closet, where the brownie had located himself; and that he might watch them, and see at what moment he could best torment them, he had thrust out a knot that was in the closet door, thus making himself a little window.
Now, it happened one day that the eldest boy had the shoe-horn in his hand, and merely in play stuck it in the knot-hole, whence it was immediately ejected, striking the boy on the head.
The Brownie’s revengeful Pranks.
As often as this was repeated so often it darted out, such good aim being taken that it invariablystruck one of them on the head, and generally the one who had put it there.
Though one always suffered, it was sport to the others, and therefore the horn was frequently stuck in the hole, so that the brownie became more and more irritated, not confining his pranks to the children, but making the parents suffer in various ways.
There would be noises in the night, and things that were in daily use would all at once be mislaid, and, after ever so much trouble and worry, found in places where they had already been a dozen times looked for. There could be no doubt this was the brownie’s doing, and there could be still less doubt when the chair was moved back, just at the moment when one of the old couple was going to sit down, and he or she went rolling on the floor, for then a laugh was heard proceeding from the moved chair.
This trick was played them more particularly when they had anything in their hands, such as a cup of tea, which would be emptied in the falling one’s face, and the laughing on such occasions was louder and longer.
At length, unable to bear it, the farmer determinedto leave a house where there was no longer any comfort, and, if possible, to let it.
The last load of the furniture was being removed, and the Farmer, following with his wife, said—
“I’m heavy at heart at leaving the old house, where, for years, we were so happy, and perhaps we shall not find the new one half as convenient.”
“The new one will not be half as convenient,” was uttered in a strange, squeaky voice, which seemed to be in an old tub at the back of the cart.
“Oh! oh! are you there?” cried the poor Farmer, “then we may as well turn back.”
“Yes! turn back,” said the squeaky voice.
They did, in fact, turn back, and from that day peace was restored to the house, for the brownie no longer tormented any of its inmates, nor, indeed, gave any signs of being there, excepting by immediately darting the shoe-horn out whenever it was put in the knot-hole.
THE END.
CHISWICK PRESS:—PRINTED BY WHITTINGHAM AND WILKINS,TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.
Transcriber’s noteA few punctuation errors have been corrected silently, and an extraneous space was removed. Otherwise the original was preserved, including inconsistent spelling and hyphenation. For example: the river Pegnitz is also spelled as Pegnetz, this has not been changed.
Transcriber’s note
A few punctuation errors have been corrected silently, and an extraneous space was removed. Otherwise the original was preserved, including inconsistent spelling and hyphenation. For example: the river Pegnitz is also spelled as Pegnetz, this has not been changed.