More English Fairy Tales - Jacobs Joseph - Страница 29

“Now,” said the Fish, “here you are, and yon’s the stair; climb up, if you can, but hold on fast. I’ll warrant you find the stair easier at home than by such a way; ’t was ne’er meant for lassies’ feet to travel;” and off he splashed through the water.

So she clomb and she clomb and she clomb, but ne’er a step higher did she get: the light was before her and around her, and the water behind her, and the more she struggled the more she was forced down into the dark and the cold, and the more she clomb the deeper she fell.

But she clomb and she clomb, till she got dizzy in the light and shivered with the cold, and dazed with the fear; but still she clomb, till at last, quite dazed and silly-like, she let clean go, and sank down—down—down.

And bang she came on to the hard boards, and found herself sitting, weeping and wailing, by the bedside at home all alone.

News!

MR. G. Ha! Steward, how are you, my old boy? How do things go on at home?

STEWARD. Bad enough, your honour; the magpie’s dead!

MR. G. Poor mag! so he’s gone. How came he to die?

STEWARD. Over-ate himself, Sir.

MR. G. Did he indeed? a greedy dog. Why, what did he get that he liked so well?

STEWARD. Horseflesh; he died of eating horseflesh.

MR. G. How came he to get so much horseflesh?

STEWARD. All your father’s horses, Sir.

MR. G. What! are they dead too?

STEWARD. Ay, Sir; they died of over-work.

MR. G. And why were they over-worked?

STEWARD. To carry water, Sir.

MR. G. To carry water, and what were they carrying water for?

STEWARD. Sure, Sir, to put out the fire.

MR. G. Fire! what fire?

STEWARD. Your father’s house is burned down to the ground.

MR. G. My father’s house burnt down! and how came it to be on fire?

STEWARD. I think, Sir, it must have been the torches.

MR G. Torches! what torches?

STEWARD. At your mother’s funeral.

MR. G. My mother dead?

STEWARD. Ay, poor lady, she never looked up after it.

MR. G. After what?

STEWARD. The loss of your father.

MR. G. My father gone too?

STEWARD. Yes, poor gentleman, he took to his bed as soon as he heard of it.

MR. G. Heard of what?

STEWARD. The bad news, an’ it please your honour.

MR. G. What? more miseries, more bad news!

STEWARD. Yes, Sir, your bank has failed, your credit is lost and you’re not worth a shilling in the world. I make bold, Sir, to come and wait on you about it; for I thought you would like to hear the news.

Puddock, Mousie, and Ratton

The Little Bull-Calf

Centuries of years ago, when almost all this part of the country was wilderness, there was a little boy, who lived in a poor bit of property and his father gave him a little bull-calf, and with it he gave him everything he wanted for it.

But soon after his father died, and his mother got married again to a man that turned out to be a very vicious step-father, who couldn’t abide the little boy. So at last the step-father said: “If you bring that bull-calf into this house, I’ll kill it.” What a villain he was, wasn’t he?

Now this little boy used to go out and feed his bull-calf every day with barley bread, and when he did so this time, an old man came up to him—we can guess who that was, eh?—and said to him: “You and your bull-calf had better go away and seek your fortune.”

So he went on and he went on and he went on, as far as I could tell you till to-morrow night, and he went up to a farmhouse and begged a crust of bread, and when he got back he broke it in two and gave half of it to the bull-calf. And he went to another house and begged a bit of cheese crud, and when he went back he wanted to give half of it to the bull-calf. “No,” says the bull-calf, “I’m going across the field, into the wild-wood wilderness country, where there’ll be tigers, leopards, wolves, monkeys, and a fiery dragon, and I’ll kill them all except the fiery dragon, and he’ll kill me.”

The little boy did cry, and said: “Oh, no, my little bull-calf; I hope he won’t kill you.”

“Yes, he will,” said the little bull-calf, “so you climb up that tree, so that no one can come nigh you but the monkeys, and if they come the cheese crud will save you. And when I’m killed, the dragon will go away for a bit, then you must come down the tree and skin me, and take out my bladder and blow it out, and it will kill everything you hit with it. So when the fiery dragon comes back, you hit it with my bladder and cut its tongue out.”

(We know there were fiery dragons in those days, like George and his dragon in the legend; but, there! it’s not the same world nowadays. The world is turned topsy-turvy since then, like as if you’d turn it over with a spade!)

Of course, he did all the little bull-calf told him. He climbed up the tree, and the monkeys climbed up the tree after him. But he held the cheese crud in his hand, and said: “I’ll squeeze your heart like the flint-stone.” So the monkey cocked his eye as much as to say: “If you can squeeze a flint-stone to make the juice come out of it, you can squeeze me.” But he didn’t say anything, for a monkey’s cunning, but down he went. And all the while the little bull-calf was fighting all the wild beasts on the ground, and the little lad was clapping his hands up the tree, and calling out: “Go in, my little bull-calf! Well fought, little bull-calf!” And he mastered everything except the fiery dragon, but the fiery dragon killed the little bull-calf.