The Project Gutenberg eBook ofBluebeardThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: BluebeardAuthor: Clifton JohnsonIllustrator: Harry L. SmithRelease date: September 17, 2011 [eBook #37464]Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLUEBEARD ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: BluebeardAuthor: Clifton JohnsonIllustrator: Harry L. SmithRelease date: September 17, 2011 [eBook #37464]Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Title: Bluebeard
Author: Clifton JohnsonIllustrator: Harry L. Smith
Author: Clifton Johnson
Illustrator: Harry L. Smith
Release date: September 17, 2011 [eBook #37464]
Language: English
Credits: E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLUEBEARD ***
E-text prepared by Roger Frankand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team(http://www.pgdp.net)
BEDTIME WONDER TALESBYCLIFTON JOHNSON
BEDTIME WONDER TALES
BY
CLIFTON JOHNSON
Hop-o’-My-Thumb
The Babes in the Wood
The Brave Tin Soldier
The Fox and the Little Red Hen
Golden Hair and the Three Bears
Cinderella
Puss in Boots
Jack and the Beanstalk
Little Red Riding-Hood
The Story of Chicken-Licken
Bluebeard
Tom Thumb
The Pied Piper
The Sleeping Beauty
St. George and the Dragon
Other books will be added tothe series from time to time.
Other books will be added to
the series from time to time.
Bluebeard’s Wife and the Forbidden Room (Page 16)Bluebeard’s Wife and the Forbidden Room (Page 16)
BEDTIME WONDER TALESBLUEBEARDBYCLIFTON JOHNSONILLUSTRATED BYHARRY L. SMITHNEW YORKTHE MACAULAY COMPANYPUBLISHERS
BEDTIME WONDER TALES
BLUEBEARD
BY
CLIFTON JOHNSON
ILLUSTRATED BY
HARRY L. SMITH
NEW YORK
THE MACAULAY COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1920,By THE MACAULAY COMPANYAll Rights ReservedPrinted in the U. S. A.
Copyright, 1920,
By THE MACAULAY COMPANY
All Rights Reserved
Printed in the U. S. A.
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
The books in this series of Bedtime Wonder Tales are made up of favorite stories from the folklore of all nations. Such stories are particularly enjoyed by children from four to twelve years of age. As here told they are free from the savagery, distressing details, and excessive pathos which mar many of the tales in the form that they have come down to us from a barbaric past. But there has been no sacrifice of the simplicity and humor and sweetness that give them perennial charm.
The sources of the stories in this volume are as follows: Page 11, France; 24, Grimm; 36, England; 49, Hindustan; 58, Italy; 78, Germany; 90, Scotland; 103, Japan; 118, Ireland; 127, American Negro.
CONTENTS
CONTENTS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Once upon a time—but it was a long while ago; so long, indeed, that the oldest oaks in our forests were not yet acorns on the bough—there was a man who lived in a splendid house and had dishes of gold and silver, chairs and sofas covered with flowered satin, and curtains of the richest silk. But, alas! this man was so unlucky as to have a blue beard, which made him look so frightfully ugly that the first impulse of every woman and girl he met was to run away from him.
In the same vicinity lived a lady of quality who had two beautiful daughters, and hewished to marry one of them. He was even willing to let the lady decide which of the two it should be.
Neither of the daughters, however, would have him, and the lady sighed to think of her children’s obstinacy in refusing to become the mistress of such a magnificent mansion. But they were not able to make up their minds to marry a man with a blue beard. Their aversion was increased by the fact that he already had had several wives, and no one knew surely what had become of them, though many were the excuses he made to account for their disappearance.
At length Bluebeard, in order to cure the dislike of the lady’s daughters, invited them and their mother and some young friends to spend a whole week at his house. They came, and nothing was thought of but feasting, dancing, and music, and parties for hunting and fishing.
The guests were loaded with costly gifts and were so delightfully entertained that before many days had passed, Fatima, the younger of the two sisters, began to imagine that the beard, which she had thought was dreadfully ugly was not soveryblue after all. By the end of the week the kindness of her host had made such an impression that she concluded it would be a pity to refuse to become his wife on account of the trifling circumstance of his having a blue beard.
So they were married shortly afterward, and at first everything went well. A month passed, and one morning Bluebeard told Fatima that he must go on a journey which would take him away for at least six weeks. He kissed her affectionately, gave her the keys of the whole mansion, and bade her amuse herself in any manner that she pleased while he was gone.
“But, my dear,” he added, in concluding, “I would have you notice among the keys the small one of polished steel. It unlocks the little room at the end of the long corridor. Go where you will and do what you choose, except in the matter of that one room, which I forbid your entering.”
Fatima promised faithfully to obey his orders, and she watched him get into his carriage while she stood at the door of the mansion waving her hand to him as he drove away.
Lest she should be lonesome during her husband’s absence, she invited numerous guests to keep her company. Most of them had not dared to venture into the house while Bluebeard was there, but now they came without any urging or delay, eager to see its splendors.
They ran about upstairs and downstairs, peeping into the closets and wardrobes, admiring therooms, and exclaiming over the beauties of the tapestries, sofas, cabinets, and tables, and of the mirrors in which they could see themselves from head to foot. With one consent they praised what they saw, and envied the good fortune of their friend, the mistress of all this magnificence.
She went around unlocking the doors for their convenience until the only door that remained untouched was that of the obscure room at the end of the long corridor. She wondered why she had been forbidden to enter that room. What was there in it? Even if she did go in, her husband need never know that she had done so.
The more she thought about it the more curious she became. Finally she left her guests and hurried along the dark narrow passage that led to the forbidden room. At the door she hesitated, recalling her husband’s command, and fearful of his anger;but the temptation was too strong, and she tremblingly opened the door.
The window shutters were closed and the light was so dim that at first she could see nothing. However, her eyes gradually became used to the dusk and she discovered that on the floor lay the bodies of all the wives Bluebeard had married.
Fatima uttered a cry of horror, her strength left her, and she thought she would die from fear. The key of the room fell from her hand, but she picked it up, hastily retreated to the corridor, and locked the door.
Yet she could not forget what she had seen, and when she returned to her guests her mind was too disturbed for her to attend to their comfort, or to attempt to entertain them. One by one they bade their hostess good-by and went home, until no one was left with her but her sister Anne.
After all the guests had gone, Fatima noticed a spot of blood on the key of the fatal room. She tried to wipe it off, but the spot remained. Then she washed the key with soap and scoured it with sand, but her efforts were in vain, for it was a magic key, and only Bluebeard himself had the power to remove the stain. At last she decided not to put it with the other keys, but to hide it, hoping her husband would not miss it.
Bluebeard returned unexpectedly that very evening. He said a horseman had met him on the road and told him that the business which had taken him from home had been satisfactorily settled so there was no need of his making the long journey.
Fatima tried to welcome her husband with every appearance of pleasure, but all the time she was dreading the moment when he should ask for the keys. This he did not do until the following morning. Then she gave them to him with such a blanched face and shaking hand that he easily guessed what had happened.
“Why have you not brought me the key of the little room?” he asked sternly.
“I must have left it on my table upstairs,” she faltered.
“Bring it to me at once,” Bluebeard said, and she was forced to go and make a pretence of searching for it.
When she dared delay no longer, she went to her husband and surrendered the key. He immediately demanded the cause of the stain on it, and she hesitated, at a loss what reply to make.
“But why need I ask?” he shouted. “Iknow the meaning of it right well. You have disobeyed my commands and have been into the room I ordered you not to enter. So you shall go in again, madam, but you will never return. You shall take your place among the ladies you saw there.”
Fatima fell on her knees at his feet weeping and begging for mercy, but the cruel man had a heart like a stone, and he told her to prepare for death.
“Since I must die,” she said, “at least grant me a little time to say my prayers.”
“I will give you ten minutes, but not one moment more,” Bluebeard responded.
Poor Fatima hastened to a little turret chamber whither her sister had fled in terror and grief. “Sister Anne!” she cried, “go up to the top of the tower and see if our two brothers are coming. They promised to visit me today. If they should be in sight beckon them to come quickly.”
So the sister climbed the narrow staircase that led to the top of the tower. No sooner did she finish the ascent than Fatima called from below, “Anne, Sister Anne, do you see any one coming?”
Anne replied sadly, “I see nothing but the sun shining and the grass growing tall and green.”
Several times Fatima put the same question and each time she received the same answer.
Meanwhile Bluebeard was waiting with a scimitar in one hand and his watch in the other. At length he shouted in a fierce voice: “The ten minutes are almost gone! Make an end to your prayers!”
“Anne, Sister Anne!” Fatima called softly, “look again. Is there no one on the road?”
“I see a cloud of dust rising in the distance,” Anne answered.
“Perchance it is made by our brothers,” Fatima said.
“Alas! no, my dear sister,” Anne responded. “The dust has been raised by a flock of sheep.”
“Fatima!” Bluebeard roared, “I command you to come down.”
“One moment—just one moment more!” the wretched wife sobbed.
Then she called, “Anne, Sister Anne, do you see any one coming?”
“I see two horsemen riding in this direction,” Anne replied, “but they are a great way off.”
“They must be our brothers,” Fatima said. “Heaven be praised! Oh, sign to them to hasten!”
By this time the enraged Bluebeard was howling so loud for his wife to come down that his voice shook the whole mansion. Fatima dared delay no longer, and she descended tothe great hall, threw herself at her wicked husband’s feet, and once more begged him to spare her life.
“Silence!” Bluebeard cried. “Your entreaties are wasted! You shall die!”
He seized her by the hair and raised his scimitar to strike. At that moment a loud knocking was heard at the gates, and Bluebeard paused with a look of alarm.
Anne had run down to let the brothers in, and they hurried to the hall, flung open the door, and appeared with swords ready drawn in their hands. They rushed at Bluebeard, and one rescued his sister from her husband’s grasp while the other gave the wretch a sword-thrust that put an end to his life.
So the wicked Bluebeard perished, and Fatima became mistress of all his riches. Part of her wealth she bestowed on her sister, Anne, and part on her two brothers.The rest she retained herself, and presently she married a man whose kind treatment helped her to forget her unfortunate experience with Bluebeard.
Once upon a time there was a poor woodcutter who worked from daylight to dark, and as he spent little he saved some money. He had an only son, and one day he said to him: “This money which I have earned by the sweat of my brow shall be spent on your education. Go to school and learn something useful that you may be able to support me in my old age when my limbs become so stiff that I am obliged to sit at home.”
The son went away to a great school and was very industrious and made excellent progress. He had been at the school a long time, but had not learned all that was to be learned when his father’s store of moneywas exhausted, and he was obliged to come home.
“I can give you no more,” his father said sadly, “for in these dear times I am scarcely able to earn my daily bread.”
“Make yourself easy as to that, my good father,” the son responded. “I will suit myself to the times.”
When the father was about to go to the forest to chop, the son said, “I will go with you and help.”
“Ah! but you have never been used to such hard work,” the father objected. “You must not attempt it. Besides, I have only one ax and no money to buy another.”
“Go and ask your neighbor to lend you an ax till I have earned enough to buy one for myself,” the son said.
So the father borrowed an ax, and he and the scholar went together to the forest, where the young man helped with the workand was very lively and merry. About noon, when the sun stood right over their heads, the father sat down to rest for a while and eat his dinner.
The scholar, however, took his share of bread and said: “I am not tired. I will go a little deeper into the forest and look for birds’ nests.”
“Oh, you silly fellow!” his father exclaimed, “why do you want to run about? You will get so weary you will not be able to raise your arm. Keep quiet a bit and sit down here with me.”
But the young man would not do that. He went off among the trees eating his bread and peeping about among the bushes for nests. To and fro he wandered until he came to an immense hollow oak tree. The tree was certainly hundreds of years old, and five men taking hold of hands could not have reached around it.
The scholar had stopped to look at this great tree thinking that many a bird’s nest must be built within its hollow trunk when he fancied he heard a voice. He listened and there came to his ears a half-smothered cry of “Let me out!”
He looked around, but could see no one. Indeed, it seemed to him that the voice came from the ground. So he called, “Where are you?”
The voice replied, “Here I am among the roots of the oak tree. Let me out! Let me out!”
The scholar therefore began to search at the foot of the tree where the roots spread. Finally in a little hollow, he found a glass bottle. He picked it up and held it so he could look through toward the light. Then he perceived a thing inside shaped like a frog which kept jumping up and down.
“Let me out! Let me out!” the thingcried again; and the scholar, not suspecting any evil, drew the stopper from the bottle.
Immediately the little creature sprang forth, and it grew and grew until in a few moments it stood before the scholar a frightful goblin half as tall as the oak tree. “Do you know what your reward is for letting me out of that glass bottle?” the goblin cried with a voice of thunder.
“No,” the scholar answered without fear, “how should I?”
“Then I will tell you that I must break your neck,” the goblin announced.
“You should have told me that before,” the scholar said, “and you would have stayed where you were. But my head will remain on my shoulders in spite of you, for there are several people’s opinions to be asked yet about this matter.”
The Goblin Threatens The ScholarThe Goblin Threatens The Scholar
“Keep your people out of my way,” the goblin snarled. “I was shut up in that bottle for a punishment, and I have been kept there for such a length of time that I long ago vowed I would kill whoever let me out for not coming to release me sooner. So I shall break your neck.”
“Softly, softly!” the scholar responded, “that is quicker said than done. I don’t know whether to believe your word or not. You told me you were in that bottle. But how could such a giant as you are get into so small a space? Prove that you spoke the truth by retiring into the bottle, and afterward do what you please with me.”
Full of pride, the goblin boasted, “I can easily furnish you the proof you ask”; and he shrank and shrank until he was as small as before. Then he crept back into the bottle.
Instantly the scholar replaced the stopper, and put the bottle once more where it had been among the oak roots. He pickedup his ax and was about to go back to his father when the goblin cried lamentably: “Oh, let me out! Do let me out.”
“No, not a second time,” the scholar said. “I shall not give you a chance to take my life again in a hurry, after I have got you safe.”
“Free me,” the goblin pleaded, “and I will give you wealth that will last you your life-time.”
“No, no, you will only deceive me!” the scholar declared.
“You are disregarding your own best interests,” the goblin said. “Instead of harming you I will reward you richly.”
“Well, I will hazard letting him out,” the scholar thought, “for he may after all keep his word.”
Then he addressed the goblin, saying: “I will release you. See to it that you do as you have promised.”
So he removed the stopper and the goblin jumped out and soon became as big as before. “Now you shall have your reward,” the monster said, and he reached the scholar a little piece of rag. “Apply that to a wound, and the wound will at once heal,” he explained; “or touch it to iron and the iron will change to silver.”
“I will try it,” the scholar responded, and he went to the oak tree and slashed off a piece of bark with his ax. Then he touched the place with the rag, and immediately the wound closed up as if the bark had never been gashed at all.
“That is quite satisfactory,” the scholar said. “Now we can separate.”
“I thank you for releasing me,” the goblin remarked as he turned away.
“And I thank you heartily for your present,” the scholar said.
After parting from the goblin, the young man went back to his father, who asked:
“Where have you been roaming so long? You have neglected your work. I was quite certain you would do nothing of this kind well.”
“Be contented,” was the son’s response, “I will make up the lost time. Watch me while I cut down this tree at one blow.”
He rubbed his ax with the magic rag, and gave the tree a powerful blow, but because the ax-head had been changed into silver the edge turned over.
“Ah, Father!” the son exclaimed, “do you see how poor an ax you have given me?”
“What have you done?” the father cried.“That ax was borrowed, and you have ruined it. I must pay for it, but I know not how I shall do so.”
“Don’t be troubled,” the son said. “I will soon pay for the ax.”
“Why, you simpleton! how will you do that?” his father retorted. “You have nothing but what I give you. Some student nonsense is stuck in your head. Of wood-cutting you know nothing.”
“Well, Father,” the son said, “I can work no more today now that my ax is spoiled. Let us make a holiday of the few hours that remain before sunset.”
“Eh, what?” his father cried, “do you think I can keep my hands in my pockets as you do? You can go home, but I must keep on with the chopping.”
“No,” the son objected, “you must come, too, for this is the first time I have been in the forest, and I do not know the way out.”
At last he persuaded his father to accompany him. After they reached home the son took the damaged ax to a goldsmith in a neighboring town. “This ax-head is silver,” the scholar told him. “I want to sell it.”
The goldsmith tested it to make sure of the quality of the metal, weighed it, and said, “Your ax is worth one hundred dollars, but I have not so much money in the shop.”
“Give me what you have,” the scholar requested, “and I will trust you for the rest.”
So the goldsmith gave him eighty dollars, and the scholar tramped back home. “Father,” he said, “I have some money now. Do you know what we will have to pay our neighbor to make good the loss of his ax?”
“Yes,” the father answered, “the ax was nearly new, and it cost him a dollar.”
“Then give him two dollars,” the son said. “He will have no regrets when he getsdouble payment. Here are fifty dollars. Pay our neighbor and keep the rest for yourself. You shall live at your ease in future and never want again.”
“My goodness!” the man exclaimed, “where did you get this money?”
The son told everything that had happened. He now could easily procure all the money he pleased, and the first use he made of his wealth was to return to school and learn as much as he could. Afterward, because he could heal all wounds with his rag, he became the most celebrated surgeon in the world.
Once upon a time there was a lad about eighteen years old named Tom Tiver who had hired out to work for a farmer. One beautiful Sunday night in July he was walking across a field. The weather was warm and still, and the air was full of little sounds as if the trees and grasses were softly chattering to themselves.
But all at once there came from on ahead the most pitiful wailings that ever he had heard—a sobbing as of a child spent with fear and nearly heartbroken. Soon the sound changed to a moan, and then rose again in a long whimpering wailing that made Tom sick to hark to it. He began to look everywhere for the poor creature.
“It must be Sally Barton’s child,” he thought. “She was always a flighty thing and never looks after it properly. Like as not she’s flaunting about the lanes, and has clean forgot the baby.”
He looked and looked, yet he could see nought. Meanwhile the whimpering got louder and stronger and there seemed to be words of some sort mingled with the sobs. Tom harkened with all his ears, and heard the unhappy creature saying: “Oh! the stone, the great big stone! Oh! the stone on top!”
He wondered where the stone might be, and he looked until he found, close to a hedge, a great flat stone almost buried in the earth and hidden in the matted grass and weeds. Down he fell on his knees and listened again. Clearer than ever, but tired with crying came the little sobbing voice, “Oh! oh! the stone, the stone on top!”
Tom was scared, and he disliked to meddle with the thing, but he could not withstand the whimpering baby, and he tore like mad at the earth around the stone till he got his fingers under it and felt it loosening. Then a puff of warm air came out of the damp earth and the tangle of grass and growing things, and he tipped the stone back out of the way.
Underneath where it had been was a cavity, and there lay a tiny thing on its back blinking up at the moon and at him. It was no bigger than a year old baby, but it had a great mass of hair and a heavy beard, and the hair and the beard were so long and so twisted round and round the creature’s body that Tom could not see its clothes. The hair was yellow and silky like a child’s, but the face of the thing was as old as if it had not been young and smooth for hundreds of years. There were just wrinklesand two bright black eyes set in a lot of shining yellow hair; and the skin was the color of fresh-turned earth in the spring—brown as brown could be—and its bare hands and feet were as brown as its face. The crying had stopped, but the tears were standing on its cheeks, and the tiny creature looked dazed in the moonshine and the night air.
When its eyes got used to the moonlight it looked boldly up in Tom’s face and said: “Tom, you are a good lad.”
The coolness with which it spoke was astonishing, and its voice was high and piping like the twittering of a little bird. Tom touched his hat, and tried to think what he ought to say.
“Hoots!” the thing exclaimed, “you needn’t be afraid of me. You have done me a good turn, and I’ll do as much for you.”
Tom couldn’t speak yet, but he thought, “Lord! for sure it’s a bogle!”
The creature seemed to know what passed in Tom’s mind, for it instantly said: “I’m no bogle, but you’d better not ask what I am. Anyhow, I am a good friend of yours.”
Tom’s knees smote together with terror. Certainly an ordinary body couldn’t have known what he had been thinking, but the thing looked so kind and spoke so fair, that he made bold to say in a quavering voice, “Might I be asking to know your honor’s name?”
“H’m!” the creature said, pulling its beard, “as for that, you may call me Yallery Brown. That’s the way I look as you plainly see, and ’twill do for a name as well as any other. I am your friend, Yallery Brown, my lad.”
“Thank you, master,” Tom responded meekly.
“And now,” it said, “I’m in a hurry to-night. So tell me without delay what I cando for you. Would you like a wife? I can give you the finest lass in the town. Would you like riches? I can give you as much gold as you can carry. Or would you have me help you with your work? Only say the word.”
Tom scratched his head. “I have no hankering for a wife,” he said. “Wives are bothersome bodies, and I have women folk at home who will mend my clothes. Gold is worth having, but if you could lighten my work that would suit me best of all. I can’t abide work, and I’ll thank—”
“Stop!” Yallery Brown cried, as quick as lightning, “I’ll help you and welcome, but if ever you thank me you’ll never see me more. Remember that! I’ll have no thanks”; and it stamped its tiny feet on the ground and looked as wicked as a raging bull. “Harken! you great lump!” it went on, calming down a bit. “If ever you needhelp, or get into trouble, call on me. Just say, ‘Yallery Brown, come from the earth, I want you!’ and I’ll be with you at once; and now, good night.”
So saying, it picked a dandelion puff and blew the winged seeds all up into Tom’s eyes and ears. When Tom could see again Yallery Brown was gone, and he would have thought he had been dreaming, were it not for the stone on end and the hole at his feet.
Tom went home and to bed, and by morning he had nearly forgotten all about what had happened the previous evening. But when he went to start the day’s work, there was none to do. The horses had been fed, the stables cleaned, and everything put in its proper place, and he had nothing to do but stand around with his hands in his pockets.
So it was from morn till night, and so it was on the days that followed. All Tom’s work was done by Yallery Brown, and better done than Tom himself could do it. No matter how much the master gave Tom to do, he could sit down at his ease while the work did itself. The hoe, or broom, or whatever it was would get into motion withno visible hand put to it and would finish the task in no time.
Yallery Brown kept out of sight during the day, but in the gray twilight, after the sun had gone down, Tom often saw the tiny creature hopping around like a Will-of-the-Wisp without a lantern.
At first Tom found it mighty fine to be relieved of his work. He had naught to do and good pay for it; but by and by things began to go wrong. His work continued to be done, but the work of the other lads was all undone. If his buckets were filled theirs were upset; if his tools were sharpened theirs were blunted and spoiled; if his horses were made as clean as daisies, theirs were splashed with muck, and so on.
Day in and day out it was the same. Naturally the lads began to have hard feelings toward Tom, and they would not speak to him or go near him, and they carried talesto the master. So things went from bad to worse.
Tom could not work even if he wished to; the spade would not stay in his hand, the scythe escaped from his grip, and the plow ran away from him. More than once he tried his best to do his tasks so that Yallery Brown would leave him and his fellow laborers alone. But he couldn’t, and he was compelled to sit by and look on and have the cold shoulder turned on him while the uncanny thing was meddling with the others and working for him.
At last matters got so bad that the master would keep Tom no longer, and if he had not discharged him the other lads would have left. They swore they would not stay on the same farm with him. Tom felt badly, for it was a good place; and he was very angry with Yallery Brown who had got him into such trouble.
So he shook his fist in the air and shouted as loud as he could, “Yallery Brown, come from the earth, you scamp, I want you!”
Hardly had the words left his lips when he felt something tweaking his leg behind, and he was pinched so hard that he jumped with the smart of it. He looked down and there was Yallery Brown with his shining hair and wrinkled face, and wicked glinting black eyes.
Tom was in a fine rage, and he would have liked to kick the ugly creature, but he restrained himself and said, “Look here, master, I’ll thank you to leave me alone after this. Do you hear? I want none of your help, and I’ll have nothing more to do with you.”
The horrid thing broke into a screeching laugh, and pointed its brown finger at Tom. “Ho, ho, Tom!” it said, “you have thanked me, my lad, and I told you not to do so.”
“But I don’t want your help,” Tom yelled. “I only want never to see you again, and to have nothing more to do with you. Now go.”
The thing only laughed and screeched and mocked as long as Tom went on berating it, but as soon as his breath gave out it said with a grin: “Tom, my lad, I’ll tell you something. Truly, I’ll never help you again, and even if you call me you will not see me after today. But I never agreed to let you alone, and that I shall not do, my lad. I was where I could do no harm under that stone, Tom, and you let me out. If you had been wise I would have been your friend and worked for you, but I am your friend no longer, and in the future when everything goes crooked you can know that it is Yallery Brown’s doing. Mark my words, will you?”
Then it began to sing and curse and calldown misfortunes on him, and it danced round Tom with its yellow hair and beard all flying and a savage scowl on its wrinkled bit of a face. Tom could only stand there shaking all over and staring down at the gruesome thing until at last it rose in the air and floated away on the wind over a wall out of sight with a parting shriek of cunning laughter.
In the days and weeks and years that followed Tom worked here and he worked there, and turned his hand to this and to that, but whatever he did always went wrong. There was no end to Yallery Brown’s spite even until Tom’s life ended.
Once upon a time a little jackal lived near the bank of a great river. Every day he went down to the water to catch the crabs that were there.
Not far away, in the same river, dwelt a cruel alligator. He saw the little jackal come down to the water every day, and he thought, “What a nice tender morsel that little jackal would make if I could only catch him!”
One day the alligator hid in the mud, where the water was shallow near shore. Only the tip of his nose stuck out, and that looked very much like the back of a crab.
Soon the little jackal came running along the bank of the river seeking his usual food.When he saw the end of the alligator’s nose he thought he had found a fine big crab, and he put in his paw to scoop it out of the mud.
The moment he did that, snap! the teeth of the alligator came together, and the jackal was caught by the paw. He was terribly frightened, for he knew the alligator intended to pull him into the river and eat him.
However, he began to laugh, though the alligator’s teeth hurt him sadly. “Oh, you stupid old alligator!” he said. “You thought you would catch my paw, and instead caught a bulrush root that I stuck down in the water to tickle your nose. Ha, ha! you silly, silly alligator.”
“Well, well,” the alligator thought, “I am very much disappointed. I certainly supposed I had caught that little jackal. But it seems I have nipped nothing except a bulrush root. There is no use of holdingon to that.” So he opened his mouth.
Then the little jackal snatched out his paw. “O stupid one!” he cried, “you really had caught me, and now you have let me go. Ha, ha! ring-a-ting, ring-a-ting! You’ll never catch me again.” So saying, off he ran up the bank and into the jungle.
The alligator was furiously angry. “I was tricked by the little rascal that time,” he said, “but if I get hold of him again he will not escape so easily.”
Once more the alligator hid in the mud and waited. But the little jackal came no more to the river. He was afraid, and he stayed in the woods living on figs that he gathered under a wild fig tree.
Day after day passed and it became plain to the alligator that the little jackal was avoiding the river. So early one morning he crawled out of the water and dragged himself to the wild fig tree. There he gathered togethera great heap of figs and hid under them.
Shortly afterward the jackal came running to the fig tree, licking his lips, for he was very hungry. At sight of the great heap of figs he was delighted. “Now I will not have the trouble of picking up the figs scattered about on the ground,” he said. “Somebody has piled them up all ready for me. How nice!”
But when he went nearer he became suspicious, and thought, “It looks as though something might be hidden under those figs.”
Then he cried out: “What is the matter here? Usually, when I come to the fig tree, all the figs that are any good roll about in the wind. Those figs in the pile lie so still that I doubt if they are fit to eat. I will have to go to some other place to get good figs.”
The jackal’s words made the alligator fear that he had failed again, and he thought: “This little jackal is very particular. I will just shake myself and make the figs roll about a trifle. Then he will come near enough for me to grab him.”
So the alligator shook himself, and away rolled the figs in all directions.
“Oh, you stupid old alligator!” the jackal shouted; “if you had stayed still you might have caught me. Ring-a-ting, ring-a-ting! Thank you for shaking yourself and letting me know you were there!” Then away he ran as fast as his legs would carry him.
The alligator gnashed his teeth with rage. “Never mind! I will catch this little jackal yet,” he declared, and he hid in the tall grass beside the path that led to the fig tree.
He waited there for several days, but hesaw nothing of his intended victim. The jackal was afraid to come to the fig tree any more. He stayed in the jungle and fed on such roots and berries as he could find there, but found so little that he grew thin and miserable.
One morning the alligator made his way to the jackal’s house while the jackal was away. He squeezed in through the narrow doorway and hid under the heap of dead leaves that was the jackal’s bed.
Toward evening the little jackal came running home. He was very hungry, for he had found scarcely anything to eat all day, and he was very tired too. Just as he was about to go in and lie down on his bed he noticed that the sides of the doorway were scraped and broken as if some big animal had forced its way through.