Told Again

by Pullman, Philip, De La Mare, Walter, Watson, A. H.

  “Shoot I dare not,” said the huntsman, “for, by Nimrod, I might pierce the heart of the Princess.”

  So first the nimble-fingered brother swam ashore, and creeping up behind the Dragon, stole and withdrew the Princess away with such ease and cunning that the monster thought only a gentle breeze had wafted upon its coils with its wings. Stealthy as a seal he slipped into the sea again and swam back to the ship, the Princess lying cradled in the water nearby him, for, though she could not swim herself, she rode almost as light on the water as a sea-bird. Then the four brothers hoisted sail and with all haste sailed away.

  They saw that the Princess was now asleep . . . and that her head lay so close to the Dragon that her hair was spread out like yellow silk upon its horny scales.

  But the ship had hardly sailed a league and a league when the Dragon, turning softly in his drowsiness, became aware that a fragrance had gone out of the morning. And when he found that his captive was lost to him he raised his head with so lamentable a cry the very rocks resounded beneath the screaming of the sea-birds; then writhing his neck this way and that, he descried the white sails of the ship on the horizon like a bubble in the air. Whereupon he spread his vast, bat-like wings and, soaring into the heavens, pursued the ship across the sea.

  The four brothers heard from afar the dreadful clanging of his scales, but waited till he was near at hand. When at last he was circling overhead, his hooked and horny wings darkening the very light of the sun, the huntsman, with one mighty twang of his bowstring, let fly an arrow, and the arrow sped clean through the Dragon from tip of snout to utmost barb of tail, and he fell like a millstone. So close, however, in his flight had he approached the ship, that his huge carcase crashed flat upon it in the sea and shattered it to pieces.

  But by marvellous good fortune the Dragon fell on that half of the ship which is between bowsprit and mainmast, so that neither the Princess nor the four brothers came to any harm (for they were in the parts abaft the mainmast), except that one and all were flung helter-skelter into the sea. There they would certainly have drowned but for the tailor son, who at once straddled a baulk of timber, and, drawing in every plank within reach as it came floating by, speedily stitched up a raft with his magic needle. Soon all the other three brothers had clambered up out of the sea on to the raft, and having lifted the Princess as gently as might be after them, they came at last safely ashore.

  There, sitting on the sunny shingle of the beach, they dried their clothes in the sun, and the Princess sleeked her hair, and when she had refreshed herself with a morsel of honeycomb which the Stargazer found in the heart of a hollow tree, the four brothers led her safely back to the Palace; and great were the rejoicings.

  The King, having listened to their story, marvelled, and bade that a great feast should be prepared. A little before the hour fixed for this feast, he sent for these brothers, and they stood beside his chair.

  “Now, which of you,” he said, “is to have the Princess to wife? For each did wondrous well: the spying out, the stealing away, the death-wound, and the rafting. Her life is yours, but she cannot be cut into quarters,” and he smiled at them all. “Still, a King is as good as his word; and no man can do better. Do you decide.”

  Then the four brothers withdrew a little and talked together in a corner of the great hall. Then they came back to the King, and the eldest thanked the King for them all, and said:

  “We are, Liege, sons of one dear father, who is a farmer. If of your graciousness your Majesty would see that he is never in want, and that he prospers howsoever long he lives, and even though he live to be an old, old man and can work no more, we shall be your happy and contented subjects to the end of our days. You see, we might die, your Majesty, and then our poor old father would have to live alone with none to help him.”

  The King stroked his beard and smiled on them.

  “Besides, your Majesty,” he went on, “never was Princess more beautiful than she we have brought back in safety, but a dragon dead is dead for ever, and no pretty maid we ever heard of, high or low, but wished to choose a husband for herself, whatever dragons there might be to prevent her.”

  At this the King laughed aloud, and the Queen bade the four brothers come and sit on either side of her at the banquet, two by two, and the Princess kissed each of them on the cheek. Then they showed their marvels and their skill; and there was music and delight until the stars in the heavens showed it to be two in the morning.

  Next day the four brothers set out together for home, with twelve fen horses, which have long manes and tails and are of a rusty red, and each of these horses was laden with two sacks one on either side, and each sack was bulging full of gifts for the four brothers and for their old father. And a pleasant journey home that was.

  The Musicians

  Once upon a time, there was a poor old ass. After toiling for eighteen years carrying meal for his master, who was a miller, he was now nothing much better than a bag of bones. And one cold, frosty night, as he was standing close up beside the mill to get a little warmth from the wall behind which was the kitchen fire, he heard the miller say to his wife:

  “The old ass must go, my love. He’s been a good servant, but now he’s long past his prime. Why, he doesn’t even earn his keep. He’s not worth a ha’penny-more than his skin.”

  “If skin it is,” said his wife, “then skin it must be. We’ll make an end of him tomorrow.”

  The old ass shivered as he heard these words; his old knobble knees shook under him; but he didn’t wait for morning. Not he. He set out at once, thinking to himself: “Whatever happens to me now, it can’t be worse than a skinning.” And because it chanced to be the first road he came to after leaving the mill, he chose the road that leads to Bremen.

  An hour or two after daybreak, he came on his journey to an ancient stone Cross, green with moss and grey with lichen; and stretched out beneath it lay an old hound. This hound told the ass that he had run away from his master, who was a huntsman.

  “After serving him all my life long I heard him say only two days ago that my scent and wind were gone, that I wasn’t worth a beef-bone, and that all I was good for was to make cat’s-meat of me.”

  “Well,” said the donkey, “to tell you the truth, sir, I am in much the same case myself. But, as you see, I can still bray a little; and you, I am sure, can raise an honest howl if need be. Let us, then, journey on to Bremen together—the two of us—and join the town band. I have heard they are fine musicians, and I am sure we shall be welcome.”

  So they went on together. But they had not gone more than a mile or two—and pretty slow they were at it—when what should they see but an old grey tabby cat, sitting up with her toes tucked in on an orchard wall in the sun, and with a face as long as three rainy days in December.

  “A very good-morning to you, madam,” said the ass. “You are not looking so bright as might be.”

  “Bright!” said the cat. “Nor would you be. The very instant my mistress can catch me, she’s going to drown me. And why?—because I am old and worn out—worn out with mousing for her and singing under her window. Night after night I have amused her with my purring when she wanted company, played games with her with her knitting, and shown her every affection. But no pity! no mercy! Ay, my friends, it’s a string and a stone for me tomorrow; and I’m basking in this warm sunshine while I can.”

  “They are all of them like that,” said the old hound.

  “Most; but not all,” said the ass. “Now, pray listen to me, madam. My friend, here, and I have a plan. We are off to Bremen to join the town band. I’ll be bound you can still pipe up a stave or two when a full moon’s up aloft. There are, I am told, very good—or, at least, very fair—musicians in Bremen. Come with us, then, and we will all three go together. I doubt if the good people of Bremen have ever had such a chance before.”

  So these three old creatures journeyed on together, and pretty slowly the miles went by, for it was a long way to trudge. Indeed, wit
hout knowing it, they had lost themselves for some time past, when they came to a tumbledown shed near a duck-pond. And there, perched on the roof of the shed, was an old barn-door cock. This old cock, all ruffled and woebegone, looked even more doleful than the cat. The ass politely asked him the way to Bremen, and the cock told them that they were at least five miles out of it.

  “As for me,” he said, “the only way I want is to a better world. My master, the Farmer yonder, says I’m no use to him now, though I have kept watch over his hens and his eggs ever since my spurs began to sprout. Not a midnight has passed, summer or winter, but I’ve warned him it would soon be time for him to get up. And who dares venture into the farmyard while I guard his dunghill! But no: all forgotten! No mercy! He’s going to wring my neck to-morrow. And my poor old bones are not even marrowy enough to be worth broiling for his supper!”

  “They are all like that,” said the hound.

  “Most; but not all,” said the ass. “And I’ll wager, Master Chanticleer, that you can still yell cockadoodle when dawn’s in the East.”

  “Why, so!” said the cock, at once preening himself a little out of his dumps. And softly, lest the Farmer should hear him, he flapped his sheeny wings and crowed “Cockadoodle-oo-doo!”

  The ass said: “Bravo, friend! A true note; a shrill high mellow note; an excellent note. Come along with us, sir! We are all off to Bremen to join the town band. One’s one. Two’s two. Three’s three. But four’s a Quartette!”

  So off they went together. But being all of them old, feeble, and in strange parts, they once more lost their way. Worse, it was now pitch-dark, and there was no shelter to be seen. So, after they had talked things over, the old cock flew up into a fir tree that stood nearby, and after a little while he called down to them and said: “With my round eye I see the twinkling of a light.”

  So on they went once more, but with great caution, and presently came to a fine stone house beside a stream. And a marvellous bright light was shining in its lower windows.

  They whispered together in the dark, and at last the old cat crept off, and soft as a shadow leapt up clean on to the window-sill and looked in through the glass. When she came back, she told her friends that there was a great feast going on within—a blazing fire and hosts of candles, and a table laden with food—pies, and game, and wines, and sweetmeats.

  “I could scarcely see out of my eyes for the glare,” she said. “Ay, and they must be robbers, for the tables and chairs are piled up with gold and silver dishes and goblets, and there is a huge burst bag of money on the floor. Never have I seen such a sight!”

  “Well,” said the ass, “I must confess, friends, I could munch up a loaf of fine white bread. Ay, and say grace after it.”

  The old hound’s mouth watered as he thought of chicken bones; and Grimalkin’s whiskers twitched with rapture at the memory not only of the rich soup and cream she had seen on the table, but, above all, a dish of boned, broiled fish.

  Then the cock said: “Let’s give them a stave of our music, my friends. Perhaps, robbers though they be, and though they may all live to be hanged, they might spare us a bite of supper.”

  So all four of them, in utter silence, crept up as close as might be beneath the window. Then the old hound leapt up and sat on the donkey’s back; the cat leapt up and sat on the hound’s back; and last, the cock flew up and perched on the cat’s back, so that the sound of their voices when they gave vent together should fall as one on the ears of the robbers, and not part by part.

  So off they went together.

  Then, at a signal, they all burst into song. In the dead silence of night the sudden noise and clamour of their voices was like the yelling of four score demons out of a pit. At sound of it the robbers leapt from their chairs in terror, and, supposing a whole regiment at least of the King’s soldiers were after them, made such haste to be gone that they overturned the lights, and, except for the blazing of the fire, left the whole house in darkness.

  So our four companions went in, sat down merrily together at the table and feasted as if they were never going to taste bite or sup again. But first the ass drew the curtains over the window. And when they had finished their supper—which was not too soon—these old minstrels, who were now fast friends indeed, bade each other good-night.

  The ass made himself snug and cosy on some bundles of straw in the yard; the hound lay down behind the door; the cat curled herself up head to tail in the warm ashes; and the cock flew up on to the curtain rod—there to roost till morning. Soon, in good comfort after the feast they had shared, they were all four of them fast asleep.

  About midnight, the robbers, having at last taken courage again, crept back to the house to get their plunder, and seeing that no light now shone in the windows, and that all within was still as the grave, the Captain of the robbers bade one of his men make his way into the house and see exactly what had befallen and what he could find.

  Quaking with terror, the robber crept softly in at the window. It was warm within, but pitch-dark; and supposing that the bright green eyes of the cat, as she glared up at him, were coals smouldering in the fire, he stooped down to light a candle. But puss thought this a very poor joke, and squealing with fury, spitting and scratching and claws on end, leapt straight up into his face. A fine mauling he got.

  At this the cock . . . yelled after him as he had never yelled before.

  Half-scared out of his wits, the robber ran to the door and, stumbling over the hound, fell headlong, whereupon the hound sprang up, and with the few teeth left in his head bit clean through his leg. The robber rushed across the yard into the straw, and so fell pell-mell over the ass, who gave him in return a mighty smart kick with his hoof. At this the cock on the curtain rod, who had been at once awakened by the din, flew down from his roosting-place and yelled after him as he had never yelled before.

  So the robber fled back to his Captain and cried, “Away, Captain, away! There’s a witch in the house! With eyes like saucers and talons like hooks! She spat at me and scravelled at me with her claws. By the door was an assassin with a knife, who stabbed me in the leg; and in the yard is a foul, four-handed monster that beat me with a club. Then a demon out of the clouds pursued me, yelling, ‘Death to the Robbers! Death to the Robbers!’ and I have but just escaped with my life.”

  This band of rascals never ventured near that house again. And it proved so snug and comfortable that the four friends decided not to go on to Bremen yet awhile, but, living there at ease, to practise their singing and their minstrelsy first. Morning and evening they raise their voices together, and a mighty fine music they make. And if ever you should happen to go that way, and should come to a fine stone house in a forest beside a stream, maybe you will hear sweet strains at the window as they sing their quartette.

  Dick Whittington

  In days of old, there was a boy named Dick who was an orphan. His father and mother had died when he was young; so he was alone in the world; and the only living he could get was by keeping pigs in the forest. He had little to eat, rags to wear, and watched his pigs with envy as they nuzzled and grunted after their beech-mast and acorns, and grew fat and hearty. And few live things are heartier than a clean, comely pig. The only friend Dick had in the world was his cat.

  Now this cat of Dick’s was a fine, sleek, black cat, very wary on its feet, and with bright green eyes. It never miaowed and seldom purred. But it was exceedingly fond of its master, ragged Dick, and—almost as if to show him its affection—would sometimes bring him a wild bird out of the bushes, and, laying it at his feet, look up through its green eyes into his face, as if to say, “Share a bite with me, master.”

  Then Dick would laugh at his cat, and scratch its head. He loved its company.

  One day in his ramblings with his pigs through the forest, Dick met a charcoal-burner, who gave him a sip out of his bottle. Dick stayed to talk, and as they sat together by his fire the charcoal-burner told him of his travels and adventures in all parts of the
country and in other countries too. And Dick asked him about London.

  “It’s a fine city,” said the charcoal-burner, “full of rich men and fine ladies and great houses, and a fine wide river with boats and bridges, and shops blazing like Old Moses, and booths, and stalls laid out with pigs’ trotters and mutton-pies, and streets paved with gold. Oh, it’s a fine city!”

  “And what would a boy like me find to do there?” said Dick Whittington, for that was his full name.

  “Why,” says the charcoal-burner, stirring up the fire with his foot, “make his fortune.” And he laughed.

  Dick looked at the charcoal-burner in the blaze of the fire, and when he had gone back to his pigs, he began thinking about what had been told him. He built a London in his mind. He could all but smell those mutton-pies. And half-believing the charcoal-burner’s stories, he vowed he would take the road next morning and tramp off to London; and when once Dick had decided on anything he did it.

  So early next morning he left his pigs in the forest, for he was afraid to go back to his master, and with his cat under his jacket, set off on his way to London. It chanced, when he reached there, that the sun was shining clear and low in the West, so that the streets with their churches and mansions looked dazzling as gold, and there was a concourse of rich men in the streets walking about or riding on horseback, and fine shops; and he came to the river, which was in flood, and there were carts and pedlars. At night, too, he saw the Lord Mayor go by—with link-boys carrying torches—in his great gilded coach, and footmen like fat porpoises.

  But next day it was different. He came to filthy alleys and courts where thieves and beggars lived, and half-starved children played in the streets. And, try as he might, Dick couldn’t get work. Nobody would look at him because of his rags. They thought him a sneak-thief or pickpocket. The women in the houses where he knocked slammed the door in his face. The curs in the streets snapped at his heels because of his cat, and Puss was soon in a worse temper than it had ever been in before.