A WONDERFUL TRIO.
BY JANE HOWARD.
IN a little stone hut among the mountains lived Gredel and her son Peterkin, and this is how they lived: They kept about a dozen goats; and all they had to do was to watch them browse, milk them, and make the butter and cheese, which they partly ate and partly sold down in the village, or, rather, exchanged for bread. They were content with bread, butter, and cheese; and all they thought about was the goats. As for their clothes, it would be impossible to speak of them with patience. They had no ambition, no hope, no thought beyond the day, and no sense of gratitude towards yesterday. So they lived, doing no harm, and effecting little good; careless of the future, and not honestly proud of anything they had done in the past.
But one day Gredel (who was the widow of a shepherd that had dropped over the edge of a cliff) sat slowly churning the previous day’s milk, while Peterkin sat near her, doing nothing at all, thinking nothing at all, because he had nothing to ponder over, and looking at nothing at all, for the goats were an everyday sight, and they took such capital care of themselves that Peterkin always stared away over their heads.
“Heigho!” suddenly exclaimed Gredel, stopping in her churning; and Peterkin dropped his stick, looked at his mother slowly, and obediently repeated, “Heigho!”
“The sun rises,” said Gredel, “and the sun sets; the day comes, and the day goes; and we were yesterday, and we are to-day, and we shall be for some tomorrows; and that is all, all, all.”
Said Peterkin, “Mother, what is there in the world?”
“Men and women,” repeated the wise parent; “goats, and many other things.”
“But is it the end of life to get up, watch goats, eat and drink, and fall asleep again? Sometimes I wonder what is on the other side of the hill.”
“Who can say what is the end of life?” asked slow-thoughted Gredel. “Are you not happy?”
“Yes. But there is something more.”
“Do you not love me—your mother?”
“Yes. But still I think—think—think.”
“Love is enough,” said Gredel, who had passed more than half way through life, and was content to rest.
“Then it must be,” said Peterkin, “that I want more than enough.”
“If so, you must be wicked,” remarked Gredel; “for I am at peace in loving you, and you should be content in loving me. What more do you want? You have enough to eat—a warm bed in winter—and your mother who loves you.”
Peterkin shook his head.
“It will rain to-night,” said Gredel; “and you will be warm while many will be shivering in the wet.”
Gredel was quite right; for when the sun had set, and the heavens were all of one dead, sad color, down came the rain, and the inside of the hut looked very warm and comfortable.
Nevertheless, Peterkin still thought of the something beyond the mountain, and wondered what it might be. Had some wise one whispered in his ear, he must have learnt that it was healthy ambition, which helped the world and the worker at the same time.
Soon it began to thunder, and Peterkin lazily opened the wooden shutters to look at the lightning.
By this time Gredel, having thanked Providence for a large bowl of black bread steeped in hot goat’s milk, was nodding and bobbing towards the flaming wood fire.
“Mother mother! here comes something from this world!”
“And what comes from the world?”
“Something like three aged women, older than you are a very great deal. Let me wait for another flash of lightening. Ha! The first has a big stick; the second has a great pair of round things on her eyes; and the third has a sack on her back, but it is as flat as the palm of my hand, and can have nothing in it.”
“Is there enough bread, and cheese, and milk, and salt in the house?—We must consider.”
“Aye,” answered Peterkin; “there is plenty of each and all.”
“Then let them come in, if they will,” said Gredel. “But they shall knock at the door first, for we go not out on the highways and in the byways to help others. Let them come to us—good. But let us not go to them, for they have their business, and we have ours; and so the world goes round!”
“They are near the door,” whispered Peterkin, “and very good old women they look.”
The next moment there was a very soft and civil tapping at the door.
“Who goes there?” asked Peterkin.
“Three honest old women,” cried a voice.
“And what do three honest old women want?” called Gredel.
“A bit of bread each,” replied the voice, “a mug of milk each, and one corner for all three to sleep in until in the morning up comes the sweet yellow sun.”
“Lift up the latch,” said Gredel. “Come in. There is bread, there is milk, and a corner laid with three sacks of thistle down. Come in, and welcome.”
Then up went the latch, and in stepped the three travellers. Gredel looked at them without moving; but when she saw they were pleasant in appearance—that their eyes were keen in spite of their many wrinkles, and that their smiles were very fresh and pleasant notwithstanding the lines about their mouth, lazy but good-hearted Gredel got up and made a neat little bow of welcome.
“Are you sisters?” she asked.
“We are three sisters,” answered the leader, she who carried the stick. “I am commonly called Sister Trot.”
IN STEPPED THE THREE.
IN STEPPED THE THREE.
“And I,” said the second, who wore the spectacles, “am commonly called Sister Pansy.”
“And I,” added the third, who carried the bag, “am styled Sister Satchel.”
“Your mother and father must have been a good-looking couple,” said Gredel, smiling.
“They were born handsome,” quoth Trot, rearing her head proudly, “and they grew handsomer.”
“How came they to grow handsomer?” asked Peterkin, who had been standing in a corner.
“Because they were brisk and hurried about,” replied Pansy, “and never found the day too long. But pray, sir, who are you?”
“I am Peterkin, son of Gredel.”
“And may I ask what you do?” inquired Trot.
“Watch the goats.”
“And what do you do when you watch the goats?”
“Look about.”
“What do you see when you look about?” asked Sister Pansy.
“The sky, and the earth, and the goats.”
“Ah!” said Pansy, “it is very good to look at the sky, and truly wise to look at the earth, while it is clever to keep an eye on the goats; but Peterkin—Peterkin—you do not look far enough!”
“And when you look about,” queried Sister Satchel, “what do you pick up?”
“Nothing,” said Peterkin.
“Nothing!” echoed the visitor. “What! not even an idea?”
“What is an idea?” asked Peterkin.
“Oh, oh, oh!” said the three sisters. “Here is Peterkin, who not only never picks up an idea, but actually does not know what one is!”
“This comes of not moving about,” said Trot.
“Of not looking about,” said Pansy.
“And of not picking up something every day,” said Satchel. “And a worse example I, for one, never came across.”
“Nor I!” “Nor I!” echoed the other sisters.
Whereupon they all looked at Peterkin, and seemed dreadfully serious.
“Why, whatever have I done?” he demanded.
“That’s just it!” said the sisters. “Whathave you done?”
“Nothing!” exclaimed Peterkin, quite with the intention of justifying himself. “Nothing at all!”
“Ah!” said Trot, “thatis the truth, indeed; whatever else may be wrong—done nothing at all!”
“Nothing!” “Nothing!” repeated Satchel and Pansy, in a breath.
“Dear me!” said Peterkin.
Whereupon Gredel, half-frightened herself, and partly indignant that her boy should be lamented over in this uncalled-for manner, said, “Would you be pleased to take a seat?”
“Certainly!” said Trot. “Still I, for one, would not think of such a thing until your stools were dusted.”
Gredel couldnotbelieve her eyes, for actually Trot raised one end of her stick and it became a brush, with which she dusted three stools.
“I think, too,” said Sister Pansy, looking out sharp through her spectacles, “that if we were to stop up that hole in the corner we should have less draught. As a rule, holes are bad things in a house.”
So off she went, and stopped up the hole with a handful of dried grass she took from a corner.
“Bless me!” said Satchel; “here are four pins on the floor!”
Whereupon she picked up the pins and popped them into her wallet. Meanwhile Gredel looked on, much astonished at these preceedings.
“I may as well have a rout while I am about it,” said Trot, beginning at once to sweep up.
“Cobwebs in every corner!” cried Pansy; and away she went, looking after the walls.
“No wonder you could not find your wooden spoon,” remarked Satchel; “why, here it is, most mysteriously up the chimney!”
There was such a dusting, sweeping, and general cleaning as the place had never seen before.
“This is great fun!” said Peterkin; “but how it makes you sneeze!”
“Here, dame Gredel,” cried Satchel; “I have picked up all the things you must have lost for the last three years. Here is your thimble; and now you can take the bit of leather off your finger. Here are your scissors, which will cut cloth better than that knife; and here is the lost leg of the third stool—so that I can now sit down in safety.”
“Why,” exclaimed Peterkin, “the place looks twice as large as it did, and ten times brighter. Mother, I am glad the ladies have come.”
“I am sure, ladies,” said the good woman, “I shall never forget your visit.”
To tell the truth, however, there was something very ambiguous in Gredel’s words.
“There!” said Trot; “and now I can sit down in comfort to my bread and milk.”
“And very good bread and milk, too,” said Satchel. “I think, sisters, we are quite fortunate to fall upon this goodly cot.”
“Yes,” remarked Trot, “they are not bad souls, this Gredel and Peterkin; but, they sadly want mending. However, they have good hearts, and you know that those who love much are forgiven much; and indeed I would sooner eat my supper here than in some palaces you and I, sisters, know something about.”
“Quite true!” assented the others, “quite true!” And so they went on talking as though they had been in their own house and no one but themselves in the room. Gredel listened with astonishment, and Peterkin with all his ears, too delighted even to be astonished.
“Now this,” thought he, “comes of their knowing something of what goes on beyond the Great Hill as far away as I can see.”
“Time for bed,” suddenly said Dame Trot, who evidently was the leader, “if we are to see the sun rise.”
The sisters then made themselves quite comfortable, and tucked up their thistle-down beds and home-spun sheets with perfect good humor.
. . . . . . . .
Peterkin awoke cheerily, and he was dressed even before the sun appeared. He made the fire, set the table, gave the place a cheerful air, and then opened the door to look after the goats, wondering why he felt so light and happy. He was soon joined by the three sisters, who made a great to-do with some cold water and their washing.
“Is it good to put your head souse in a pail?” asked Peterkin.
“Try it,” replied Dame Trot.
So by this time, quite trusting the old women, he did so, and found his breath gone in a moment. However, he enjoyed breathing all the more when he found his head once more out of the pail, and after Pansy had rubbed him dry with a rough towel, which she took out of Satchel’s wallet, he thought he had never experienced such a delightful feeling as then took possession of him. Even since the previous night he felt quite a new being, and alas! he found himself forgetting Gredel—his mother Gredel, who loved him and taught him only to live for to-day.
“And shall I show you down the hill-side?” asked Peterkin, when the three sisters had taken their porridge and were sprucing themselves for departure.
“Yes,” said dame Trot, “and glad am I thou hast saved us the trouble of asking thee.”
“A good lad,” remarked Pansy to Gredel, “but he must look about him.”
“Truly,” said Satchel. “And, above all, he must pick up everything he comes across, when he can do so without robbing a neighbor, and he may steal all his neighborknows, without depriving the gentleman of anything.”
Then Peterkin, feeling as light as a feather, started off down the hillside, the three old sisters chatting, whispering, and chuckling in a very wonderful manner. So, when they were quite in the valley, Peterkin said, “Please you, I will leave you now, ladies; and many thanks for your coming.” Then he very civilly touched his tattered cap, and was turning on his battered heels, when Sister Trot said, “Stop!” and he turned.
“Peterkin,” she said, “thou art worth loving and thinking about, and for your kindness to us wanderers we must ask you to keep something in remembrance of our visit. Here, take my wonderful stick and believe in it. You know me as Trot, but grown-up men call me the Fairy Work-o’-Day.” Peterkin made his obeisance, and took the stick.
“I will never lose it!” said he.
“You never will,” said Trot, “after once you know how to use it.”
“Well,” said sister Pansy, “I am not to be beaten by my sister, and so here are my spectacles.”
“I shall look very funny in them,” said Peterkin, eyeing them doubtfully.
“Nay; nobody will see them on your nose as you mark them on mine. The world will observe their wisdom in your eyes, but the wires will be invisible. By-the-by, sister Pansy is only my home-name; men call me Fairy See-far; and so be good.”
“As for me,” said the third sister, “I am but the younger of the family. I could not be in existence had not my sisters been born into the world. I am going to give you my sack; but take heed, it were better that you had no sack at all than that you should fill it too full; than that you should fling into it all that you see; than that you should pass by on the other side when, your sack being full, another human being, fallen amongst thieves, lies bleeding and wanting help! And now know that, though I am sometimes called Satchel, my name amongst the good people is the Fairy Save-some.”
“Good by,” suddenly said the three sisters. They smiled, and instantly they were gone—just likeThree Thoughts.
So he turned his face towards home, with sorrow in his heart as he thought of the three sisters, while hope was mixed with the sadness as he glanced towards the far-off mountain which was called Mons Futura.
Now, Peterkin had never cared to climb hillsides, and, therefore he rarely went down them if he could help it, always lazily stopping at the top. But now the wonderful stick, as he pressed it upon the ground, seemed to give him a light heart, and a lighter pair of heels, and he danced up the hillside just as though he were holiday-making, soon reaching home.
“See, mother,” said Peterkin, “the good women have given me each a present—the one her stick, the second her glasses, and the third her wallet.”
“Ho!” said Gredel. “Well, I am not sorry they are gone, for I am afraid they would soon have made you despise your mother. They are very pleasant old people no doubt, but rude and certainly ill-bred, or they would not have put my house to rights.”
“But it looked all the better for it.”
“It looked very well as it was.”
“But the world goes on and on,” said Peterkin.
Gredel shook her head. “Humph!” she said, “a stick, an old pair of spectacles, and a sack not worth a dime! When people give gifts, let them be gifts and not cast-offs.”
“Anyhow,” said Peterkin, “I can tell you that the stick is a good stick, and helps you over the hill famously. I will keep it, and you may have the sack and the spectacles.”
“Let us try your spectacles,” cried Gredel. “Oh!” she said, trying them on carelessly. “These are the most wonderful spectacles in the world,” she went on; “but no more civil than those three old women.”
“What do you mean, mother?”
“I see you, Peterkin—and a very sad sight, too. Why, you are lazy, careless, unwashed, and stupid; and a more deplorable object was never seen by honest woman.”
Poor Peterkin blushed very much; but at this point, his mother taking off the glasses, he seized and placed them before his own eyes. “Oh!” he exclaimed.
“What now?” asked Gredel in some alarm.
“Now I see you as you are—and a very bad example are you to set before your own son! Why, you are careless, and love me not for myself but yourself, or you would do your best for me, and send me out in the world.”
“What? And dare you talk to your mother in such fashion? Give me the spectacles once more!” and she clapped them on again. “Bless me!” she continued, “the boy is quite right, and I see I am selfish, and that I am making him selfish—a very pretty business, indeed! This is to be thought over,” she said, laying aside the spectacles.
By this time Peterkin had possessed himself of the stick, and then, to his amazement, he found it had taken the shape of a spade.
“Well,” said he, “as here is a spade I think I will turn over the potato-patch.” This he did; and coming in to breakfast he was admonished to find how fine the milk tasted. “Mother,” said he, “here is a penny I have found in the field.”
“Put it in the bag,” said Gredel.
He did so, and immediately there was a chink.
Over he turned the sack, and lo! there were ten pennies sprinkled on the table.
“Ho, ho,” said Peterkin, “if, now, the bag increases money after such a pleasant manner, I have but to take out one coin and cast it in again, and soon I shall have a fortune.” He did so; but he heard no chinking. He inverted the bag again, and out fell the one coin he had picked up while digging the potato-patch.
“This, now, is very singular,” he said; “let me put on the spectacles.” This done, “Ha!” he cried, “I see now how it is. The money will never grow in the sack, unless one works hard; and then it increases whether one will or not.”
Meanwhile Gredel, taking up the stick, it took the shape of a broom, and upon the hint she swept the floor. Next, sitting down before Peterkin’s clothes, the stick became a needle, and she stitched away with a will.
So time rolled on. The cottage flourished, and the garden was beautiful. Then a cow was brought home, and it was wonderful how often fresh money changed in the wallet. Gredel had grown handsomer, and so also had Peterkin. But one day it came to pass that Peterkin said: “Mother, it is time I went over the great hill.”
“What! canst thou leave me?”
“Thou didst leave thy father and mother.”
Gredel was wiser than she had been, and so she quietly said: “Let us put on the spectacles. Ah! I see,” she then said, “a mother may love her son, but she must not stand in his way as he goes on in the world, or she becomes his enemy.”
Then Peterkin put on the spectacles. “Ah! I see,” said he, “a son may love his mother, but his love must not interfere with his duty to other men. The glasses say that every man should try and leave the world something the better for his coming; that many fail and but few succeed, yet that all must strive.”
“So be it,” said Gredel. “Go forth into the world, my son, and leave me hopeful here alone.”
“The glasses say that the sense of duty done is the greatest happiness in the world,” said Peterkin.
Then Gredel looked again through the glasses.
“I see,” said she; “the glasses say it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Go forth into the world, my son: we shall both be the happier for having done our duty.”
So out into the world went Peterkin.
What else is there to tell? Why, who can write of to-morrow?
By the way, you should know that amongst the very wise folk sister Trot is known as “Industry,” sister Pansy as “Foresight,” while honest Satchel is generally called “Economy.”
Out For the Afternoon
Out For the Afternoon