After a while the princess flew away home again, for it was nearly the break of day, and she must be back before the sun rose. And the drummer flew close behind her, but she knew nothing of that.
The next morning up he marched to the king's castle and knocked at the door, and they let him in.
There sat the king and the princess, and lots of folks besides. Well, had he come to answer her question? That was what the princess wanted to know.
Yes; that was the very business he had come about.
Very well, this was the question, and he might have three guesses at it; what was she thinking of at that minute?
Oh, it could be no hard thing to answer such a question as that, for lasses' heads all ran upon the same things more or less; was it a fine silk dress with glass buttons down the front that she was thinking of now?
No, it was not that.
Then, was it of a good stout lad like himself for a sweetheart, that she was thinking of?
No, it was not that.
No? Then it was the bad tooth that had been grumbling in the head of the one-eyed witch for a day or two past, perhaps.
Dear, dear! but you should have seen the princess's face when she heard this! Up she got and off she packed without a single word, and the king saw without the help of his spectacles that the drummer had guessed right. He was so glad that he jumped up and down and snapped his fingers for joy. Besides that he gave out that bonfires should be lighted all over the town, and that was a fine thing for the little boys.
The next night the princess flew away to the house of the one-eyed witch again, but there was the drummer close behind her just as he had been before.
"Uff!" said the one-eyed witch, "here is a smell of Christian blood, for sure and certain." But all the same, she saw no more of the drummer than if he had never been born.
"See, mother," said the princess, "that rogue of a drummer answered my question without winking over it."
"So," said the old witch, "we have missed for once, but the second time hits the mark; he will be asking you a question to-morrow, and here is a book that tells everything that has happened in the world, and if he asks you more than that he is a smart one and no mistake."
After that they sat down to supper again, but it was little the princess ate, for the drummer helped himself out of her plate just as he had done before.
After a while the princess flew away home, and the drummer with her.
"And, now, what will we ask her that she cannot answer?" said the drummer; so off he went back of the house, and blew a turn or two on his whistle, and there stood King Stork.
"And what will we ask the princess," said he, "when she has a book that tells her everything?"
King Stork was not long in telling him that; "Just ask her so and so and so and so," said he, "and she would not dare to answer the question."
Well, the next morning there was the drummer at the castle all in good time; and, had he come to ask her a question? that was what the princess wanted to know.
Oh, yes, he had come for that very thing.
Very well, then, just let him begin, for the princess was ready and waiting, and she wet her thumb, and began to turn over the leaves of her Book of Knowledge.
Oh, it was an easy question the drummer was going to ask, and it needed no big book like that to answer it. The other night he dreamed that he was in a castle all built of shining steel, where there lived a witch with one eye. There was a handsome bit of a lass there who was as great a witch as the old woman herself, but for the life of him he could not tell who she was; now perhaps the princess could make a guess at it.
There the drummer had her as tight as a fly in a bottle, for she did not dare to let folks know that she was a wicked witch like the one-eyed one; so all she could do was to sit there and gnaw her lip. As for the Book of Knowledge, it was no more use to her than a fifth wheel under a cart.
But if the king was glad when the drummer answered the princess's question, he was twice as glad when he found she could not answer his.
All the same, there is more to do yet, and many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip. "The bird I want is the one-eyed raven," said the princess; "Now bring her to me if you want to keep your head off of the wall yonder."
Yes; the drummer thought he might do that as well as another thing. So off he went back of the house to talk to King Stork of the matter.
"Look," said King Stork, and he drew a net out of his pocket as fine as a cobweb and as white as milk; "take this with you when you go with the princess to the one-eyed witch's house to-night, throw it over the witch's head, and then see what will happen; only when you catch the one-eyed raven you are to wring her neck as soon as you lay hands on her, for if you don't it will be the worse for you."
Well, that night off flew the princess just as she had done before, and off flew the drummer at her heels, until they came to the witch's house, both of them.
"And did you take his head this time?" said the witch.
No, the princess had not done that, for the drummer had asked such and such a question, and she could not answer it; all the same, she had him tight enough now, for she had set it as a task upon him that he should bring her the one-eyed raven, and it was not likely he would be up to doing that. After that the princess and the one-eyed witch sat down to supper together, and the drummer served the princess the same trick that he had done before, so that she got hardly a bite to eat.
"See," said the old witch when the princess was ready to go, "I will go home with you to-night, and see that you get there safe and sound:" So she brought out a pair of wings, just like those the princess had, and set them on her shoulders, and away both of them flew with the drummer behind. So they came home without seeing a soul, for the drummer kept his cap of darkness tight upon his head all the while.
"Good-night," said the witch to the princess, and "Good-night" said the princess to the witch, and the one was for going one way and the other the other. But the drummer had his wits about him sharply enough, and before the old witch could get away he flung the net that King Stork had given him over her head.
"Hi!" but you should have been there to see what happened; for it was a great one-eyed raven, as black as the inside of the chimney, that he had in his net.
Dear, dear, how it flapped its wings and struck with its great beak! But that did no good, for the drummer just wrung its neck, and there was an end of it.
The next morning he wrapped it up in his pocket-handkerchief and off he started for the king's castle, and there was the princess waiting for him, looking as cool as butter in the well, for she felt sure the drummer was caught in the trap this time.
"And have you brought the one-eyed raven with you?" she said.
"Oh, yes," said the drummer, and here it was wrapped up in this handkerchief.
But when the princess saw the raven with its neck wrung, she gave a great shriek and fell to the floor. There she lay and they had to pick her up and carry her out of the room.
But everybody saw that the drummer had brought the bird she had asked for, and all were as glad as glad could be. The king gave orders that they should fire off the town cannon, just as they did on his birthday, and all the little boys out in the street flung up their hats and caps and cried, "Hurrah! Hurrah!"
But the drummer went off back of the house. He blew a turn or two on his whistle, and there stood King Stork. "Here is your dark-cap and your feather," says he, "and it is I who am thankful to you, for they have won me a real princess for a wife."
"Yes, good," says King Stork, "you have won her, sure enough, but the next thing is to keep her; for a lass is not cured of being a witch as quickly as you seem to think, and after one has found one's eggs one must roast them and butter them into the bargain. See now, the princess is just as wicked as ever she was before, and if you do not keep your eyes open she will trip you up after all. So listen to what I tell you. Just after you are married, get a great bowl of fresh milk and a good, stiff switch. Pour
the milk over the princess when you are alone together, and after that hold tight to her and lay on the switch, no matter what happens, for that is the only way to save yourself and to save her."
Well, the drummer promised to do as King Stork told him, and by and by came the wedding-day. Off he went over to the dairy and got a fresh pan of milk, and out he went into the woods and cut a stout hazel switch, as thick as his finger.
As soon as he and the princess were alone together he emptied the milk all over her; then he caught hold of her and began laying on the switch for dear life.
It was well for him that he was a brave fellow and had been to the wars, for, instead of the princess, he held a great black cat that glared at him with her fiery eyes, and growled and spat like anything. But that did no good, for the drummer just shut his eyes and laid on the switch harder than ever.
Then--puff!--instead of a black cat it was like a great, savage wolf, that snarled and snapped at the drummer with its red jaws; but the drummer just held fast and made the switch fly, and the wolf scared him no more than the black cat had done.
So out it went, like a light of a candle, and there was a great snake that lashed its tail and shot out its forked tongue and spat fire. But no; the drummer was no more frightened at that than he had been at the wolf and the cat, and, dear, dear! how he dressed the snake with his hazel switch.
Last of all, there stood the princess herself. "Oh, dear husband!" she cried, "let me go, and I will promise to be good all the days of my life." "Very well," says the drummer, "and that is the tune I like to hear."
That was the way he gained the best of her, whether it was the bowl of milk or the hazel switch, for afterwards she was as good a wife as ever churned butter, but what did it is a question that you will have to answer for yourself. All the same, she tried no more of her tricks with him, I can tell you. And so this story comes to an end, like everything else in the world.
XIV
Twelve O'clock.
Twelve O'clock.
Hist, Hark!
The Watch-dogs bark.
The Fire is covered,
The Bricks grow cold;
In the warmest Corner's
The brown Kobold.
He sits quite still,
And his Eyes are bright.
The Clock strikes twelve;
'Tis the dead of Night.
Snuggle down closer
Into your Bed,
And pull the Coverlets
Over your Head.
The Best that Life has to give.
XXIV.
THERE was a blacksmith who lived near to a great, dark pine forest. He was as poor as charity soup; but dear knows whether that was his fault or not, for he laid his troubles upon the back of ill-luck, as everybody else does in our town.
One day the snow lay thick all over the ground, and hunger and cold sat in the blacksmith's house. "I'll go out into the forest," says he, "and see whether I cannot get a bagful of pine-cones to make a fire in the stove." So off he stumped, but could find no cones, because they were all covered up with white. On into the woods he went, farther and farther and deeper and deeper, until he came to a high hill, all of bare rock. There he found a clear place and more pine-cones scattered over the ground than a body could count. He filled his basket, and it did not take him long to do that.
But he was not to get his pine-cones for nothing: click! clack!--a great door opened in the side of the hill, and out stepped a little dwarf, as ugly as ugly could be, for his head was as big as a cabbage, his hair as red as carrots, and his eyes as green as a snake's.
"So," said he, "you are stealing my pine-cones, are you? And there are none in the world like them. Look your last on the sunlight, for now you shall die."
Down fell the blacksmith on his knees. "Alas!" said he, "I did not know that they were your pine-cones. I will empty them out of my sack and find some elsewhere."
"No," said the dwarf, "it is too late to do that now. But listen, you might hunt the world over, and find no such pine-cones as these; so we will strike a bit of a bargain between us. You shall go in peace with your pine-cones if you will give me what lies in the bread-trough at home."
"Oh, yes," said the blacksmith, "I will do that gladly."
"Very well," said the dwarf, "I will come for my pay at the end of seven days," and back he went into the hill again, and the door shut to behind him.
Off went the blacksmith, chuckling to himself. "It is the right end of the bargain that I have this time," said he.
But, bless you! he talked of that horse before he had looked into its mouth, as my Uncle Peter used to say. For, listen: while his wife sat at home spinning, she wrapped the baby in a blanket and laid it in the bread-trough, because it was empty and as good as a cradle. And that was what the dwarf spoke of, for he knew what had been done over at the blacksmith's house.
But the blacksmith was as happy as a cricket under the hearth; on he plodded, kicking up the soft snow with his toes; but all the time the basket of pine-cones kept growing heavier and heavier.
"Come," said he, at last, "I can carry this load no farther, some of the pine-cones must be left behind." So he opened the basket to throw a parcel of them out. But--
Hi! how he did stare! for every one of those pine-cones had turned to pure silver as white as the frost on the window-pane. After that he was for throwing none of them away, but for carrying all of them home, if he broke his back at it, and upon that you may depend.
"And I had them all for nothing," said he to his wife; "for the dwarf gave them to me for what was in the bread-trough, and I knew very well that there was nothing there."
"Alas," said she, "what have you done! the baby is sleeping there, and has been sleeping there all the morning."
When the blacksmith heard this he scratched his head, and looked up and looked down, for he had burned his fingers with the hot end of the bargain after all. All the same, there was nothing left but to make the best that he could of it. So he took two or three of the silver pine-cones to the town and bought plenty to eat, and plenty to drink, and warm things to wear into the bargain.
At the end of seven days up came the dwarf and knocked at the blacksmith's house.
"Well, and is the baby ready?" said he, "for I have come to fetch it."
But the blacksmith's wife begged and prayed and prayed and begged that the baby might be spared to her. "Let us keep it for seven years at least," said she, "for what can you want with a young baby in the house?"
Yes, that was very true. Young babies were troublesome things to have about the house, and the woman might keep it for seven years since she was anxious to do so. So off went the dwarf, and the woman had what she wanted, for seven years is a long time to put off our troubles.
But at the end of that time up came the dwarf a second time.
"Well, is the boy ready now?" said he, "for I have come to take him."
"Yes, yes," says the woman, "the boy is yours, but why not leave him for another seven years, for he is very young to be out in the world yet?"
Yes, that was true, and so the dwarf put off taking him for seven years longer.
But when it had passed, back he came again, and this time it did no good for his mother and father to beg and pray, for he had put off his bargain long enough, and now he was for having what was his.
"All the same," says he to the blacksmith, "if you will come after five years to the place in the woods where you saw me, you shall have your son, if you choose to take him." And off he went with the lad at his heels.
Well, after five years had passed, the blacksmith went into the forest to find the dwarf and to bring back his son again.
There was the dwarf waiting for him, and in his hand he held a basket. "Well, neighbor," says he, "and have you come to fetch your son again?"
Yes, that was what the blacksmith wanted.
"Very well," says the dwarf, "here he is, and all that you have to do is to take him." He opened the basket, and inside was
a wren, a thrush, and a dove.
"But which of the three is the lad?" says the blacksmith.
"That is for you to tell, neighbor," says the dwarf.
The blacksmith looked and looked, and first he thought it might be the wren, and then he thought it might be the thrush, and then he thought it might be the dove. But he was afraid to choose any one of the three, lest he should not be right in the choosing. So he shook his head and sighed, and was forced at last to go away with empty hands.
Out by the edge of the forest sat an old woman spinning flax from a distaff.
"Whither away, friend?" said she, "and why do you wear such a sorrowful face?"
The blacksmith stopped and told her the whole story from beginning to end. "Tut!" said the old woman, "you should have chosen the dove, for that was your son for sure and certain."
"There!" said the blacksmith, "if I had only known that in the first place it would have saved me so much leg wear," and back he went, hot-foot, to find the dwarf and to get his son again.
There was the dwarf waiting for him with a basket on his arm, but this time it was a sparrow and a magpie and a lark that were in it, and the blacksmith might take which of the three he liked, for one of them was his own son.
The man looked and looked, and could make nothing of it, so all that he could do was to shake his head and turn away again with empty hands.
Out by the edge of the forest sat the old woman spinning. "Prut!" says she, "you should have chosen the lark, for it was your son for sure and certain. But listen; go back and try again; look each bird in the eyes, and choose where you find tears; for nothing but the human soul weeps."
Back went the man into the forest for the third time, and there was the dwarf just as before, only this time it was a sparrow and a jackdaw and a raven that he had in his basket.
The man looked at each of the three in turn, and there were tears in the raven's eyes.
"This is the one I choose," said he, and he snatched it and ran. And it was his son and none other whom he held.
As for the dwarf, he stood and stamped his feet and tore his hair, but that was all he could do, for one must abide by one's bargain, no matter what happens.