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Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
flames filled the den and smothered the wicked old Alligator and
burned him to death, while the little Jackal ran up and down outside
dancing for joy and singing:
“How do you like my house, my friend? Is it nice and warm? Ding-
dong! ding-dong! The Alligator is dying! ding-dong, ding-dong! He
will trouble me no more. I have defeated my enemy! Ring-a-ting!
ding-a-ting! ding-ding-dong!”
 Why the Fish Laughed

A s a certain fisherwoman passed by a palace crying her fish, the

queen appeared at one of the windows and beckoned her to
come near and show what she had. At that moment a very big fish
jumped about in the bottom of the basket.
“Is it a he or a she?” inquired the queen. “I wish to purchase a she-
fish.”
On hearing this the fish laughed aloud.
“It’s a he,” replied the fisherwoman, and proceeded on her rounds.
The queen returned to her room in a great rage; and on coming to
see her in the evening, the king noticed that something had
disturbed her.
“Are you indisposed?” he said.
“No; but I am very much annoyed at the strange behavior of a fish.
A woman brought me one to-day, and on my inquiring whether it
was a male or female, the fish laughed most rudely.”
“A fish laugh! Impossible! You must be dreaming.”
“I am not a fool. I speak of what I have seen with my own eyes and
have heard with my own ears.”
“Passing strange! Be it so. I will inquire concerning it.”
On the morrow the king repeated to his vizier what his wife had told
him, and bade him investigate the matter, and be ready with a
satisfactory answer within six months, on pain of death. The vizier
promised to do his best, though he felt almost certain of failure. For
five months he labored indefatigably to find a reason for the
laughter of the fish. He sought everywhere and from every one. The
wise and learned, and they who were skilled in magic and in all
manner of trickery, were consulted. Nobody, however, could explain
the matter; and so he returned broken-hearted to his house, and
began to arrange his affairs in prospect of certain death, for he had
had sufficient experience of the king to know that his majesty would
not go back from his threat. Among other things, he advised his son
to travel for a time, until the king’s anger should have somewhat
cooled.
The young fellow, who was both clever and handsome, started off
whithersoever Kismet might lead him. He had been gone some days,
when he fell in with an old farmer, who also was on a journey to a
certain village. Finding the old man very pleasant, he asked him if he
might accompany him, professing to be on a visit to the same place.
The old farmer agreed, and they walked along together. The day
was hot, and the way was long and weary.
“Don’t you think it would be pleasanter if you and I sometimes gave
each other a lift?” said the youth.
“What a fool the man is!” thought the old farmer.
Presently they passed through a field of corn ready for the sickle,
and looking like a sea of gold as it waved to and fro in the breeze.
“Is this eaten or not?” said the young man.
Not understanding his meaning, the old man replied: “I don’t know.”
After a little while the two travelers arrived at a big village, where
the young man gave his companion a clasp-knife, and said: “Take
this, friend, and get two horses with it; but mind and bring it back,
for it is very precious.”
The old man, looking half amused and half angry, pushed back the
knife, muttering something to the effect that his friend was either a
fool himself, or else trying to play the fool with him. The young man
pretended not to notice his reply, and remained almost silent till they
reached the city, a short distance outside which was the old farmer’s
house. They walked about the bazaar and went to the mosque, but
nobody saluted them or invited them to come in and rest.
“What a large cemetery!” exclaimed the young man.
“What does the man mean,” thought the old farmer, “calling this
largely populated city a cemetery?”
On leaving the city their way led through a graveyard where a few
people were praying beside a tomb and distributing chapatis and
kulchas to passers-by, in the name of their beloved dead. They
beckoned to the two travelers and gave them as much as they
would.
“What a splendid city this is!” said the young man.
“Now, the man must surely be demented!” thought the old farmer. “I
wonder what he will do next? He will be calling the land water, and
the water land; and be speaking of light where there is darkness,
and of darkness when it is light.” However, he kept his thoughts to
himself.
Presently they had to wade through a stream that ran along the
edge of the cemetery. The water was rather deep, so the old farmer
took off his shoes and pajamas and crossed over; but the young
man waded through it with his shoes and pajamas on.
“Well! I never did see such a perfect fool, both in word and in deed,”
said the old man to himself.
However, he liked the fellow; and thinking that he would amuse his
wife and daughter, he invited him to come and stay at his house as
long as he had occasion to remain in the village.
“Thank you very much,” the young man replied; “but let me first
inquire, if you please, whether the beam of your house is strong.”
The old farmer left him in despair, and entered his house laughing.
“There is a man in yonder field,” he said, after returning their
greetings. “He has come the greater part of the way with me, and I
wanted him to put up here as long as he had to stay in this village.
But the fellow is such a fool that I cannot make anything out of him.
He wants to know if the beam of this house is all right. The man
must be mad!” and saying this, he burst into a fit of laughter.
“Father,” said the farmer’s daughter, who was a very sharp and wise
girl, “this man, whosoever he is, is no fool, as you deem him. He
only wishes to know if you can afford to entertain him.”
“Oh, of course,” replied the farmer. “I see. Well, perhaps you can
help me to solve some of his other mysteries. While we were
walking together he asked whether he should carry me or I should
carry him, as he thought that would be a pleasanter mode of
proceeding.”
“Most assuredly,” said the girl; “he meant that one of you should tell
a story to beguile the time.”
“Oh, yes. Well, we were passing through a corn-field, when he asked
me whether it was eaten or not.”
“And didn’t you know the meaning of this, father? He simply wished
to know if the man was in debt or not; because, if the owner of the
field was in debt, then the produce of the field was as good as eaten
to him; that is, it would have to go to his creditors.”
“Yes, yes, yes, of course! Then, on entering a certain village, he
bade me take his clasp-knife and get two horses with it, and bring
back the knife again to him.”
“Are not two stout sticks as good as two horses for helping one
along on the road? He only asked you to cut a couple of sticks and
be careful not to lose his knife.”
“I see,” said the farmer. “While we were walking over the city we did
not see anybody that we knew, and not a soul gave us a scrap of
anything to eat, till we were passing the cemetery; but there some
people called to us and put into our hands some chapatis and
kulchas; so my companion called the city a cemetery, and the
cemetery a city.”
“This also is to be understood, father, if one thinks of the city as the
place where everything is to be obtained, and of inhospitable people
as worse than the dead. The city, though crowded with people, was
as if dead, as far as you were concerned; while, in the cemetery,
which is crowded with the dead, you were saluted by kind friends
and provided with bread.”
“True, true!” said the astonished farmer. “Then, just now, when we
were crossing the stream, he waded through it without taking off his
shoes and pajamas.”
“I admire his wisdom,” replied the girl. “I have often thought how
stupid people were to venture into that swiftly flowing stream and
over those sharp stones with bare feet. The slightest stumble and
they would fall, and be wetted from head to foot. This friend of
yours is a most wise man. I should like to see him and speak to
him.”
“Very well,” said the farmer; “I will go and find him, and bring him
in.”
“Tell him, father, that our beams are strong enough, and then he will
come in. I’ll send on ahead a present to the man, to show him that
we can afford to have him for our guest.”
Accordingly she called a servant and sent him to the young man with
a present of a basin of ghee, twelve chapatis, and a jar of milk, and
the following message: “O friend, the moon is full; twelve months
make a year, and the sea is overflowing with water.”
Half-way the bearer of this present and message met his little son,
who, seeing what was in the basket, begged his father to give him
some of the food. His father foolishly complied. Presently he saw the
young man, and gave him the rest of the present and the message.
“Give your mistress my salaam,” he replied, “and tell her that the
moon is new, and that I can find only eleven months in the year, and
the sea is by no means full.”
Not understanding the meaning of these words, the servant
repeated them word for word, as he had heard them, to his
mistress; and thus his theft was discovered, and he was severely
punished. After a little while the young man appeared with the old
farmer. Great attention was shown to him, and he was treated in
every way as if he were the son of a great man, although his humble
host knew nothing of his origin. At length he told them everything—
about the laughing of the fish, his father’s threatened execution, and
his own banishment—and asked their advice as to what he should
do.
“The laughing of the fish,” said the girl, “which seems to have been
the cause of all this trouble, indicates that there is a man in the
palace who is plotting against the king’s life.”
“Joy, joy!” exclaimed the vizier’s son. “There is yet time for me to
return and save my father from an ignominious and unjust death,
and the king from danger.”
The following day he hastened back to his own country, taking with
him the farmer’s daughter. Immediately on arrival he ran to the
palace and informed his father of what he had heard. The poor
vizier, now almost dead from the expectation of death, was at once
carried to the king, to whom he repeated the news that his son had
just brought.
“Never!” said the king.
“But it must be so, your majesty,” replied the vizier; “and in order to
prove the truth of what I have heard, I pray you to call together all
the maids in your palace and order them to jump over a pit, which
must be dug. We’ll soon find out whether there is any man there.”
The king had the pit dug, and commanded all the maids belonging
to the palace to try to jump it. All of them tried, but only one
succeeded. That one was found to be a man!
Thus was the queen satisfied, and the faithful old vizier saved.
Afterward, as soon as could be, the vizier’s son married the old
farmer’s daughter; and a most happy marriage it was.
 The Selfish Sparrow and the Houseless Crows

A sparrow once built a nice little house for herself, and lined it well
with wool and protected it with sticks, so that it resisted equally
the summer sun and the winter rains. A Crow who lived close by had
also built a house, but it was not such a good one, being only made
of a few sticks laid one above another on the top of a prickly-pear
hedge. The consequence was that one day, when there was an
unusually heavy shower, the Crow’s nest was washed away, while
the Sparrow’s was not at all injured.
In this extremity the Crow and her mate went to the Sparrow, and
said: “Sparrow, Sparrow, have pity on us and give us shelter, for the
wind blows and the rain beats, and the prickly-pear hedge-thorns
stick into our eyes.” But the Sparrow answered: “I’m cooking the
dinner; I cannot let you in now; come again presently.”
In a little while the Crows returned and said: “Sparrow, Sparrow,
have pity on us and give us shelter, for the wind blows and the rain
beats, and the prickly-pear hedge-thorns stick into our eyes.” The
Sparrow answered: “I’m eating my dinner; I cannot let you in now;
come again presently.”
The Crows flew away, but in a little while returned, and cried once
more: “Sparrow, Sparrow, have pity on us and give us shelter, for
the wind blows and the rain beats, and the prickly-pear hedge-
thorns stick into our eyes.” The Sparrow replied: “I’m washing the
dishes; I cannot let you in now; come again presently.”
The Crows waited a while and then called out: “Sparrow, Sparrow,
have pity on us and give us shelter, for the wind blows and the rain
beats, and the prickly-pear hedge-thorns stick into our eyes.” But the
Sparrow would not let them in; she only answered: “I’m sweeping
the floor; I cannot let you in now; come again presently.”
Next time the Crows came and cried: “Sparrow, Sparrow, have pity
on us and give us shelter, for the wind blows and the rain beats, and
the prickly-pear hedge-thorns stick into our eyes.” She answered:
“I’m making the beds; I cannot let you in now; come again
presently.”
So, on one pretense or another she refused to help the poor birds.
At last, when she and her children had had their dinner, and she had
prepared and put away the dinner for next day, and had put all the
children to bed and gone to bed herself, she cried to the Crows:
“You may come in now and take shelter for the night.” The Crows
came in, but they were much vexed at having been kept out so long
in the wind and the rain, and when the Sparrow and all her family
were asleep, the one said to the other: “This selfish Sparrow had no
pity on us; she gave us no dinner, and would not let us in till she and
all her children were comfortably in bed; let us punish her.” So the
two Crows took all the nice dinner the Sparrow had prepared for
herself and her children to eat the next day, and flew away with it.
 The Lambikin

O nce upon a time there was a wee, wee Lambikin, who frolicked
about on his little tottery legs, and enjoyed himself amazingly.
Now one day he set off to visit his granny, and was jumping with joy
to think of all the good things he should get from her, when whom
should he meet but a jackal, who looked at the tender young morsel
and said: “Lambikin! Lambikin! I’ll EAT YOU!”
But Lambikin only gave a little frisk, and said:
“To granny’s house I go,
Where I shall fatter grow,
Then you can eat me so.”

The jackal thought this reasonable, and let Lambikin pass.

By and by he met a vulture, and the vulture, looking hungrily at the
tender morsel before him, said: “Lambikin! Lambikin! I’ll EAT YOU!”
But Lambikin only gave a little frisk, and said:
“To granny’s house I go,
Where I shall fatter grow,
Then you can eat me so.”

The vulture thought this reasonable, and let Lambikin pass.

And by and by he met a tiger, and then a wolf, and a dog, and an
eagle; and all these, when they saw the tender little morsel, said:
“Lambikin! Lambikin! I’ll EAT YOU!”
But to all of them Lambikin replied, with a little frisk:
“To granny’s house I go,
Where I shall fatter grow,
Then you can eat me so.”

At last he reached his granny’s house, and said, all in a hurry:

“Granny dear, I’ve promised to get very fat; so, as people ought to
keep their promises, please put me into the corn-bin at once.”
So his granny said he was a good boy, and put him into the corn-bin,
and there the greedy little Lambikin stayed for seven days, and ate,
and ate, and ate, until he could scarcely waddle, and his granny said
he was fat enough for anything, and must go home. But cunning
little Lambikin said that would never do, for some animal would be
sure to eat him on the way back, he was so plump and tender.
“I’ll tell you what you must do,” said Master Lambikin; “you must
make a little drumikin out of the skin of my little brother who died,
and then I can sit inside and trundle along nicely, for I’m as tight as
a drum myself.”
So his granny made a nice little drumikin out of his brother’s skin,
with the wool inside, and Lambikin curled himself up snug and warm
in the middle, and trundled away gaily. Soon he met the eagle, who
called out:
“Drumikin! Drumikin!
Have you seen Lambikin?”

And Mr. Lambikin, curled up in his soft warm nest, replied:

“Fallen into the fire, and so will you
On, little Drumikin. Tum-pa, tum-too!”

“How very annoying!” sighed the eagle, thinking regretfully of the

tender morsel he had let slip.
Meanwhile Lambikin trundled along, laughing to himself, and
singing:
“Tum-pa, tum-too;
Tum-pa, tum-too!”

Every animal and bird he met asked him the same question:
“Drumikin! Drumikin!
Have you seen Lambikin?”

And to each of them the little slyboots replied:

“Fallen into the fire, and so will you
On, little Drumikin. Tum-pa, tum-too;
Tum-pa, tum-too; tum-pa, tum-too!”

Then they all sighed to think of the tender little morsel they had let
slip.
At last the jackal came limping along, for all his sorry looks as sharp
as a needle, and he too called out:
“Drumikin! Drumikin!
Have you seen Lambikin?”

And Lambikin, curled up in his snug little nest, replied gaily:

“Fallen into the fire, and so will you
On, little Drumikin. Tum-pa——”

But he never got any farther, for the jackal recognized his voice at
once, and cried: “Hullo! you’ve turned yourself inside out, have you?
Just you come out of that!”
Whereupon he tore open drumikin and gobbled up Lambikin.
 The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse

O nce upon a time a Town Mouse met a Country Mouse on the

outskirts of a wood. The Country Mouse was sitting under a
hazel thicket plucking nuts.
“Busy harvesting, I see,” said the Town Mouse. “Who would think of
our meeting in this out-of-the-way part of the world?”
“Just so,” said the Country Mouse.
“You are gathering nuts for your winter store?” said the Town
Mouse.
“I am obliged to do so if we intend having anything to live upon
during the winter,” said the Country Mouse.
“The husk is big and the nut full this year, enough to satisfy any
hungry body,” said the Town Mouse.
“Yes, you are right there,” said the Country Mouse; and then she
related how well she lived and how comfortable she was at home.
The Town Mouse maintained that she was the better off, but the
Country Mouse said that nowhere could one be so well off as in the
woods and hills. The Town Mouse, however, declared she was best
off; and as they could not agree on this point they promised to visit
each other at Christmas; then they could see for themselves which
was really the more comfortable.
The first visit was to be paid by the Town Mouse.
Now, although the Country Mouse had moved down from the
mountains for the winter, the road to her house was long and tiring,
and one had to travel up hill and down dale; the snow lay thick and
deep, so the Town Mouse found it hard work to get on, and she
became both tired and hungry before she reached the end of her
journey.
“How nice it will be to get some food,” she thought.
The Country Mouse had scraped together the best she had. There
were nut kernels, polypody, and other sorts of roots, and many other
good things which grow in woods and fields. She kept it all in a hole
far under ground, so the frost could not reach it, and close by was a
running spring, open all the winter, so she could drink as much
water as she liked. There was an abundance of all she had, and they
ate both well and heartily; but the Town Mouse thought it was very
poor fare indeed.
“One can, of course, keep body and soul together on this,” said she;
“but I don’t think much of it. Now you must be good enough to visit
me and taste what we have.”
Yes, that her hostess would, and before long she set out. The Town
Mouse had gathered together all the scraps from the Christmas fare
which the woman of the house had dropped on the floor during the
holidays—bits of cheese, butter, and tallow ends, cake-crumbs,
pastry, and many other good things. In the dish under the ale-tap
she had drink enough; in fact, the place was full of all kinds of
dainties.
They ate and fared well; the Country Mouse seemed never to have
enough; she had never tasted such delicacies. But then she became
thirsty, for she found the food both strong and rich, and now she
wanted something to drink.
“We haven’t far to go for the beer we shall drink,” said the Town
Mouse, and jumped upon the edge of the dish and drank till she was
no longer thirsty; she did not drink too much, for she knew the
Christmas beer was strong. The Country Mouse, however, thought
the beer a splendid drink; she had never tasted anything but water,
so she took one sip after another, but as she could not stand strong
drink she became dizzy before she left the dish.
The drink got into her head and down into her toes and she began
running and jumping about from one beer-barrel to the other, and to
dance and tumble about on the shelves among the cups and mugs;
she squeaked and squealed as if she were intoxicated.
“You must not carry on as if you had just come from the backwoods
and make such a row and noise,” said the Town Mouse; “the master
of the house is a bailiff, and he is very strict indeed,” she said.
The Country Mouse said she didn’t care either for bailiffs or beggars.
But the cat sat at the top of the cellar steps, lying in wait, and heard
all the chatter and noise. When the woman of the house went down
to draw some beer and lifted the trap-door the cat slipped by into
the cellar and struck its claws into the Country Mouse. Then there
was quite another sort of dance.
The Town Mouse slid back into her hole and sat in safety looking on,
while the Country Mouse suddenly became sober when she felt the
claws of the cat in her back.
“Oh, my dear bailiff, oh, dearest bailiff, be merciful and spare my life
and I will tell you a fairy tale,” she said.
“Well, go on,” said the cat.
“Once upon a time there were two little mice,” said the Country
Mouse, squeaking slowly and pitifully, for she wanted to make the
story last as long as she could.
“Then they were not lonely,” said the cat dryly and curtly.
“And they had a steak which they were going to fry.”
“Then they could not starve,” said the cat.
“And they put it out on the roof to cool,” said the Country Mouse.
“Then they did not burn themselves,” said the cat.
“But there came a fox and a crow and ate it all up,” said the Country
Mouse.
“Then I’ll eat you,” said the cat. But just at that moment the woman
shut the trap-door with a slam, which so startled the cat that she let
go her hold of the mouse. One bound and the Country Mouse found
herself in the hole with the Town Mouse.
From there a passage led out into the snow, and you may be sure
the Country Mouse did not wait long before she set out homeward.
“And this is what you call living at ease and being well off,” she said
to the Town Mouse. “Heaven preserve me from having such a fine
place and such a master! Why, I only just got away with my life!”
 The Greedy Cat

O nce on a time there was a man who had a Cat, and she was so
awfully big, and such a beast to eat, he couldn’t keep her any
longer. So she was to go down to the river with a stone round her
neck, but before she started she was to have a meal of meat. So the
goody set before her a bowl of porridge and a little trough of fat.
That the creature crammed into her, and ran off and jumped through
the window. Outside stood the goodman by the barndoor threshing.
“Good day, goodman,” said the Cat.
“Good day, pussy,” said the goodman; “have you had any food to-
day?”
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was
only a bowl of porridge and a trough of fat—and, now I think of it,
I’ll take you too,” and so she took the goodman and gobbled him up.
When she had done that, she went into the byre, and there sat the
goody milking.
“Good day, goody,” said the Cat.
“Good day, pussy,” said the goody; “are you here, and have you
eaten up your food yet?”
“Oh, I’ve eaten a little to-day, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said pussy; “it
was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman—
and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too,” and so she took the goody
and gobbled her up.
“Good day, you cow at the manger,” said the Cat to Daisy the cow.
“Good day, pussy,” said the bell-cow; “have you had any food to-
day?”
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “I’ve only
had a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and
the goody—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too,” and so she took
the cow and gobbled her up.
Then off she set into the home-field, and there stood a man picking
up leaves.
“Good day, you leaf-picker in the field,” said the Cat.
“Good day, pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?” said the
leaf-picker.
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was
only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and
the goody, and Daisy the cow—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you
too.” So she took the leaf-picker and gobbled him up.
Then she came to a heap of stones, and there stood a stoat and
peeped out.
“Good day, Mr. Stoat of Stoneheap,” said the Cat.
“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was
only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and
the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker—and, now I think of it,
I’ll take you too.” So she took the stoat and gobbled him up.
When she had gone a bit farther, she came to a hazel-brake, and
there sat a squirrel gathering nuts.
“Good day, Sir Squirrel of the Brake,” said the Cat.
“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was
only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and
the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat—and, now
I think of it, I’ll take you too.” So she took the squirrel and gobbled
him up.
When she had gone a little farther, she saw Reynard the fox, who
was prowling about by the woodside.
“Good day, Reynard Slyboots,” said the Cat.
“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was
only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and
the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the
squirrel—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too.” So she took
Reynard and gobbled him up.
When she had gone a little farther she met Long Ears, the hare.
“Good day, Mr. Hopper the hare,” said the Cat.
“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat today?”
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was
only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and
the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the
squirrel, and the fox—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too.” So she
took the hare and gobbled him up.
When she had gone a bit farther she met a wolf.
“Good day, you Greedy Graylegs,” said the Cat.
“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was
only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and
the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the
squirrel, and the fox, and the hare—and, now I think of it, I may as
well take you too.” So she took and gobbled up Graylegs too.
So she went on into the wood, and when she had gone far and
farther than far, o’er hill and dale, she met a bear-cub.
“Good day, you bare-breeched bear,” said the Cat.
“Good day, Mrs. Pussy,” said the bear-cub; “have you had anything
to eat to-day?”
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was
only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and
the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the
squirrel, and the fox, and the hare, and the wolf—and, now I think
of it, I may as well take you too.” And so she took the bear-cub and
gobbled him up.
When the Cat had gone a bit farther, she met a she-bear, who was
tearing away at a stump till the splinters flew, so angry was she at
having lost her cub.
“Good day, you Mrs. Bruin,” said the Cat.
“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was
only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and
the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the
squirrel, and the fox, and the hare, and the wolf, and the bear-cub—
and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too,” and so she took Mrs. Bruin
and gobbled her up too.
When the Cat got still farther on, she met Baron Bruin himself.
“Good day, you Baron Bruin,” said the Cat.
“Good day, Mrs. Pussy,” said Bruin; “have you had anything to eat
to-day?”
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was
only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and
the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the
squirrel, and the fox, and the hare, and the wolf, and the bear-cub,
and the she-bear—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too,” and so
she took Bruin and ate him up too.
So the Cat went on and on, and farther than far, till she came to the
abodes of men again, and there she met a bridal train on the road.
“Good day, you bridal train on the king’s highway,” said she.
“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was
only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and
the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the
squirrel, and the fox, and the hare, and the wolf, and the bear-cub,
and the she-bear, and the he-bear—and, now I think of it, I’ll take
you too,” and so she rushed at them, and gobbled up both the bride
and bridegroom, and the whole train, with the cook and the fiddler,
and the horses and all.
When she had gone still farther, she came to a church, and there
she met a funeral.
“Good day, you funeral train,” said she.
“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was
only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and
the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the
squirrel, and the fox, and the hare, and the wolf, and the bear-cub,
and the she-bear, and the he-bear, and the bride and bridegroom,
and the whole train—and, now, I don’t mind if I take you too,” and
so she fell on the funeral train and gobbled up both the body and
the bearers.
Now when the Cat had got the body in her, she was taken up to the
sky, and when she had gone a long, long way, she met the moon.
“Good day, Mrs. Moon,” said the Cat.
“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was
only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and
the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the
squirrel, and the fox, and the hare, and the wolf, and the bear-cub,
and the she-bear, and the he-bear, and the bride and bridegroom,
and the whole train, and the funeral train—and, now I think of it, I
don’t mind if I take you too,” and so she seized hold of the moon,
and gobbled her up, both new and full.
So the Cat went a long way still, and then she met the sun.
“Good day, you sun in heaven.”
“Good day, Mrs. Pussy,” said the sun; “have you had anything to eat
to-day?”
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was
only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and
the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the
squirrel, and the fox, and the hare, and the wolf, and the bear-cub,
and the she-bear, and the he-bear, and the bride and bridegroom,
and the whole train, and the funeral train, and the moon—and, now
I think of it, I don’t mind if I take you too,” and so she rushed at the
sun in heaven and gobbled him up.
So the cat went far and farther than far, till she came to a bridge,
and on it she met a big billy-goat.
“Good day, you Billy-goat on Broad-bridge,” said the Cat.
“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?” said
the billy-goat.
“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting; I’ve only had a bowl of
porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody in
the byre, and Daisy the cow at the manger, and the leaf-picker in the
home-field, and Mr. Stoat of Stoneheap, and Sir Squirrel of the
Brake, and Reynard Slyboots, and Mr. Hopper the hare, and Greedy
Graylegs the wolf, and Bare-breech the bear-cub, and Mrs. Bruin,
and Baron Bruin, and a bridal train on the king’s highway, and a
funeral at the church, and Lady Moon in the sky, and Lord Sun in
heaven—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too.”
“That we’ll fight about,” said the billy-goat, and butted at the Cat till
she fell right over the bridge into the river, and there she burst.
So they all crept out one after the other, and went about their
business, and were just as good as ever, all that the Cat had gobbled
up. The goodman of the house, and the goody in the byre, and
Daisy the cow at the manger, and the leaf-picker in the home-field,
and Mr. Stoat of Stoneheap, and Sir Squirrel of the Brake, and
Reynard Slyboots, and Mr. Hopper the hare, and Greedy Graylegs
the wolf, and Bare-breech the bear-cub, and Mrs. Bruin, and Baron
Bruin, and the bridal train on the highway, and the funeral train at
the church, and Lady Moon in the sky, and Lord Sun in heaven.
 Well Done: Ill Paid

O nce upon a time there was a man who had to drive his sledge to
the wood for fuel, and a bear met him on the way.
“Hand over your horse,” growled the bear, “or I’ll kill all your sheep
by summer.”
“Oh, Heaven help me!” said the man. “There’s not a stick of firewood
in the house; you must let me drive home a load of fuel, else we
shall be frozen to death. I’ll bring the horse to you to-morrow
morning.”
Yes; on these terms he might drive the wood home, that was a
bargain; but Bruin said, if he didn’t come back, he should lose all his
sheep by summer.
So the man got the wood on the sledge and rattled homeward, but
he wasn’t over-pleased with his bargain, you may fancy.
So just then a fox met him. “Why, what’s the matter?” said the fox.
“Why are you so down in the mouth?”
“Oh, if you want to know,” said the man, “I met a bear up yonder in
the wood, and I had to give my word to him to bring Dobbin back
to-morrow, at this very hour; for if he didn’t get him, he said he
would tear all my sheep to death by summer.”
“Stuff! Nothing worse than that?” said the fox. “If you’ll give me your
fattest wether I’ll soon set you free; see if I don’t.”
Yes, the man gave his word, and swore he would keep it true.
“Well, when you come with Dobbin, to-morrow, for the bear,” said
the fox, “I’ll make a clatter up in the heap of stones yonder, and so,
when the bear asks what that noise is, you must say it is Peter the
Marksman, who is the best shot in the world. And after that you
must help yourself.”
Now, next day, off set the man, and when he met the bear
something began to make a clatter up in the heap of stones.
“Hist, hist! what’s that?” said the bear.
“Oh, that’s Peter the Marksman, to be sure,” said the man. “He’s the
best shot in the world; I know him by his voice.”
“Have you seen any bear about here, Eric?” shouted out a voice in
the wood.
“Say no,” said the bear.
“No, I haven’t seen any,” said Eric.
“What’s that, then, that stands alongside your sledge?” bawled out
the voice in the wood.
“Say it’s an old fir-stump,” said the bear.
“Oh, it’s only an old fir-stump,” said the man.
“Such fir-stumps we take in our country and roll them on our
sledges,” bawled out the voice. “If you can’t do it yourself, I’ll come
and help you.”
“Say you can help yourself, and roll me up on the sledge,” said the
bear.
“No, thank ye, I can help myself well enough,” said the man, and
rolled the bear on the sledge.
“Such fir-stumps we always bind fast on our sledges in our part of
the world,” bawled out the voice. “Shall I come and help you?”
“Say you can help yourself, and bind me fast, do,” said the bear.
“No, thanks, I can help myself well enough,” said the man, who set
to binding Bruin fast with all the ropes he had, so that at last the
bear couldn’t stir a paw.
“Such fir-stumps we always drive our ax into, in our part of the
world,” bawled out the voice, “for then we guide them better going
down steep pitches.”
“Pretend to drive the ax into me, do now,” said the bear.
Then the man took up his ax, and at one blow split the bear’s skull,
so that Bruin lay dead in a trice; and so the man and the fox were
great friends, and on the best of terms.
But when they came near the farm, the fox said: “I’ve no mind to go
right home with you, for I can’t say I like your dogs; so I’ll just wait
here, and you can bring the wether to me; but mind you pick out
one nice and fat.”
Yes, the man would be sure to do that, and thanked the fox much
for his help. So when he had put the horse into the stable he went
across to the sheep-pen.
“Where are you going?” asked his wife.
“Oh, I am only going over to the sheep-pen to fetch a fat ram for
that good fox who saved our horse,” said the man, “as I have
promised him one.”
“Why on earth give that thief of a fox any ram?” said the woman.
“We have got the horse quite safe and the bear besides, and the fox
has stolen more geese from us than the ram is worth; or, if he hasn’t
already taken them, he is sure to do so some time. No, take the
most savage pair of those dogs of yours and let them loose on him,
then perhaps we’ll get rid of that thieving old rascal,” said the
woman.
The man thought this was sensible advice and took two of his
savage red dogs, put them in a bag and set out with them.
“Have you got the ram?” said the fox.
“Yes, come and fetch it,” said the man, undoing the string round the
bag and setting the dogs at the fox.
“Ugh!” said the fox, bounding away, “the old saying: ‘Well done: ill
paid,’ is only too true; and now I find it is also true that one’s
relations are one’s worst enemies,” and he panted as he saw the red
dogs at his heels.
 Reynard and Chanticleer

O nce on a time there was a cock who stood on a dungheap and

crew and flapped his wings. Then the fox came by.
“Good day,” said Reynard. “I heard you crowing so nicely; but you
can stand on one leg and crow, and wink your eyes?”
“Oh, yes,” said Chanticleer, “I can do that very well.” So he stood on
one leg and crew; but he winked only with one eye, and when he
had done that he made himself big and flapped his wings, as though
he had done a great thing.
“Very pretty, to be sure,” said Reynard. “Almost as pretty as when
the parson preaches in church; but can you stand on one leg and
wink both your eyes at once? I hardly think you can.”
“Can’t I, though!” said Chanticleer, and stood on one leg, and winked
both his eyes and crew. But Reynard caught hold of him, took him
by the throat, and threw him over his back, so that he was off to the
wood before he had crowed his crow out, as fast as Reynard could
lay legs to the ground.
When they had come under an old spruce fir, Reynard threw
Chanticleer on the ground, and set his paw on his breast, and was
going to take a bite.
“You are a heathen, Reynard!” said Chanticleer. “Good Christians say
grace, and ask a blessing before they eat.”
But Reynard would be no heathen. God forbid it! So he let go his
hold, and was about to fold his paws over his breast and say grace—
when pop! up flew Chanticleer into a tree.