by Howard Pyle
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 bargains, no matter what happens.
You can guess how glad the father and the mother were to have their son back home again. But the lad just sat back of the stove and warmed his shins, and stared into the Land of Nowhere, without doing a stroke of work from morning till night. At last the father could stand it no longer, for, though one is glad to have one’s own safe under the roof at home, it is another thing to have one’s own doing nothing the livelong day but sit back of the stove and eat good bread and meat; for the silver pine-cones were gone by this time, and good things were no more plentiful in the blacksmith’s house than they had been before.
“Come!” says he to lazy-boots one day, “is there nothing at all that you can do to earn the salt you eat?”
“Oh, yes,” said the lad, “I have learned many things, and one over at the dwarf’s house yonder, for the dwarf is a famous blacksmith.” So out he came from behind the stove, and brushed the ashes from his hair, and went out into the forge.
“Give me a piece of iron,” says he, “and I will show you a trick or two worth knowing.”
“Yes,” says the blacksmith, “you shall have the iron; all the same I know that it is little or nothing that you know about the hammer and the tongs.”
But the young fellow answered nothing. He made a bed of hot coals, and laid the iron in it.
“Here,” said he to his father, “do you blow the bellows till I come back, and be sure that you do not stop for so much as a wink, or else all will be spoiled.” So he gave the handle into the blacksmith’s hand and off he went.
The old man blew the bellows and blew the bellows, but the dwarf over in the forest knew what was being done as well as though he stood in the forge. He was not for letting the lad steal his tricks if he could help it. So he changed himself into a great fly, and came and lit on the blacksmith’s neck, and bit him till the blood ran; but the blacksmith just shut his eyes tight, and grinned and bore it, and blew the bellows and blew the bellows.
By and by the lad came in, and the fly flew away. He drew the iron out of the fire, and dipped it in the water, and what do you think it was? Why, a golden tree with a little golden bird sitting in the branches, with bright jewels for its eyes.
The lad drew a little silver wand from his pocket, and gave the tree a tap, and the bird began to hop from branch to branch, and to sing so sweetly that it made one’s heart stand still to listen to it.
As for the blacksmith, he just stood and gaped and stared, with his mouth and eyes as wide open as if they never would shut again.
Now there was no king in that country, but a queen who lived in a grand castle on a high hill, and was as handsome a one as ever a body’s eyes looked upon.
“Here,” says the lad to his father, “take this up to the queen at the castle yonder, and she will pay you well for it.” Then he went and sat down back of the stove again, and toasted his shins and stared at nothing at all.
Up went the blacksmith to the queen’s castle with the golden bird and the golden tree wrapped up in his pocket-handkerchief. Dear, dear, how the queen did look and listen and wonder, when she saw how pretty it was, and heard how sweetly the little golden bird sang. She called her steward and bade him give the blacksmith a whole bag of gold and silver money for it, and off went the man as pleased as pleased could be.
And now they lived upon the very best of good things over at the blacksmith’s house; but good things cost money, and by and by the last penny was spent of what the queen had given him, and nothing would do but for the lad to go out and work a little while at the forge. So up he got from back of the stove, and out he went into the forge. He made a bed of coals and laid the iron upon it.
“Now,” says he to his father, “do you blow the bellows till I come back,” and off he went.
Well, the old man took the handle and blew and blew, but the dwarf knew what was going on this time, just as well as he had done before. He changed himself into a fly, and came and lit on the blacksmith’s neck, and dear, dear, how he did bite! The blacksmith shut his eyes and grinned, but at last he could bear it no longer. He raised his hand and slapped at the fly, but away it flew with never a hair hurt.
In came the lad and drew the iron out of the fire and plunged it into the water, and there it was a beautiful golden comb that shone like fire. But the lad was not satisfied with that. “You should have done as I told you,” said he, “and have stopped at nothing; for now the work is spoiled.”
The blacksmith vowed and declared that he had not stopped from blowing the bellows, but the lad knew better than that; for there should have been a golden looking-glass as well as the comb. The one was of no use without the other, for when one looked in the golden looking-glass, and combed one’s hair with the golden comb, one grew handsomer every day, and the lad had intended both for the queen.
“All the same,” said the old man, “I will take the golden comb up to the castle;” and it did no good for the lad to shake his head and say no. “For,” says the father, “old heads are wise heads; and the queen will like this as well as the other.” So up the castle he would go, and up to the castle he went.
But when the queen saw the golden comb her brows grew as black as a thunder-storm. “Where is the looking-glass?” said she; and though the old man vowed and declared that no looking-glass belonged with the comb, she knew a great deal better. So, now the blacksmith might have his choice; he should either bring her the looking-glass that belonged to the golden comb or bring her that which was the best in all the world. If he did neither of these he should be thrown into a deep pit full of toads and vipers.
Back went the old man home again and told the lad all that had happened from beginning to end. And then he wanted to know what he should do to get himself out of his pickle.
Well, it was no easy task to make what the queen wanted; all the same, the lad would try what he could do. So he rolled up his sleeves and out he went into the forge and laid a piece of iron upon the bed of hot coals.
This time he would not trust the old man to blow the bellows for him, but took the handle into his own hand and blew and blew.
The dwarf knew what was happening this time as well as before. He changed himself into a fly and came and sat on the lad’s forehead, and bit until the blood ran down into his eyes and blinded him; but the lad blew the bellows and blew the bellows.
First the fire burned red, and then it burned white, and then it burned blue, and after that the work was done.
Then the young man raised his hand and struck the fly and killed it, and that was an end of the dwarf for good and all.
What he had made he dipped into the water and it was a gold ring, nothing less nor more. He took a sharp knife and drew charms upon it, and inside of the circle he wrote these words:
“WHO WEARS THIS SHALL HAVE THE BEST
THAT THE WORLD HAS TO GIVE.”
“Here,” said the lad to his father, “take this up to the queen, for it is what she wants, and there is nothing better in the world.”
Off marched the old man and gave the ring to t
he queen, and she slipped it on her finger.
That was how the blacksmith saved his own skin; but the poor queen did nothing but just sit and look out of the window, and sigh and sigh.
After a while she called her steward to her and bade him go over and tell the blacksmith’s son to come to her.
There sat the lad back of the stove. “Prut!” said he, “she must send a better than you if she would have me come to her.” So the steward had just to go back to the castle again and tell the queen what the lad had said.
Then the queen called her chief minister to her. “Do you go,” said she, “and bid the lad come to me.”
There sat the lad back of the stove. “Prut!” said he, “she must send a better than you if she would have me come to her.”
Off went the minister and told the queen what he had said, and the queen saw as plain as the nose on her face that she must go herself if she would have the lad come at her bidding.
There sat the lad back of the stove. And would he come with her now?
Yes, indeed that he would. So he slipped from behind the stove and took her by the hand, and they walked out of the house and up to her castle on the high hill, for that was where he belonged now. There they were married, and ruled the land far and near. For it is one thing to be a blacksmith of one kind, and another thing to be a blacksmith of another kind, and that is the truth, whether you believe it or not.
And did the queen really get the best in the world? Bless your heart, my dear, wait until you are as old as I am, and have been married as long, and you will be able to answer that question without the asking.
Twilight Land (1895)
CONTENTS
The Stool of Fortune
The Talisman of Solomon.
Ill-Luck and the Fiddler.
Empty Bottles.
Good Gifts and a Fool’s Folly.
The Good of a Few Words.
Woman’s Wit.
When man’s strength fails, woman’s wit prevails.
A Piece of Good Luck.
The Fruit of Happiness.
Not a Pin to Choose.
Much shall have more and little shall have less.
Wisdom’s Wages and Folly’s Pay.
The Enchanted Island.
All Things are as Fate wills.
Where to Lay the Blame.
The Salt of Life.
The first edition
Introduction
I FOUND MYSELF in Twilight Land.
How I ever got there I cannot tell, but there I was in Twilight Land.
What is Twilight Land? It is a wonderful, wonderful place where no sun shines to scorch your back as you jog along the way, where no rain falls to make the road muddy and hard to travel, where no wind blows the dust into your eyes or the chill into your marrow. Where all is sweet and quiet and ready to go to bed.
Where is Twilight Land? Ah! that I cannot tell you. You will either have to ask your mother or find it for yourself.
There I was in Twilight Land. The birds were singing their good-night song, and the little frogs were piping “peet, peet.” The sky overhead was full of still brightness, and the moon in the east hung in the purple gray like a great bubble as yellow as gold. All the air was full of the smell of growing things. The high-road was gray, and the trees were dark.
I drifted along the road as a soap-bubble floats before the wind, or as a body floats in a dream. I floated along and I floated along past the trees, past the bushes, past the mill-pond, past the mill where the old miller stood at the door looking at me.
I floated on, and there was the Inn, and it was the Sign of Mother Goose.
The sign hung on a pole, and on it was painted a picture of Mother Goose with her gray gander.
It was to the Inn I wished to come.
I floated on, and I would have floated past the Inn, and perhaps have gotten into the Land of Never-Come-Back-Again, only I caught at the branch of an apple-tree, and so I stopped myself, though the apple-blossoms came falling down like pink and white snowflakes.
The earth and the air and the sky were all still, just as it is at twilight, and I heard them laughing and talking in the tap-room of the Inn of the Sign of Mother Goose — the clinking of glasses, and the rattling and clatter of knives and forks and plates and dishes. That was where I wished to go.
So in I went. Mother Goose herself opened the door, and there I was.
The room was all full of twilight; but there they sat, every one of them. I did not count them, but there were ever so many: Aladdin, and Ali Baba, and Fortunatis, and Jack-the-Giant-Killer, and Doctor Faustus, and Bidpai, and Cinderella, and Patient Grizzle, and the Soldier who cheated the Devil, and St. George, and Hans in Luck, who traded and traded his lump of gold until he had only an empty churn to show for it; and there was Sindbad the Sailor, and the Tailor who killed seven flies at a blow, and the Fisherman who fished up the Genie, and the Lad who fiddled for the Jew in the bramble-bush, and the Blacksmith who made Death sit in his apple-tree, and Boots, who always marries the Princess, whether he wants to or not — a rag-tag lot as ever you saw in your life, gathered from every place, and brought together in Twilight Land.
Each one of them was telling a story, and now it was the turn of the Soldier who cheated the Devil.
“I WILL tell you,” said the Soldier who cheated the Devil, “a story of a friend of mine.”
“Take a fresh pipe of tobacco,” said St. George.
“Thank you, I will,” said the Soldier who cheated the Devil.
He filled his long pipe full of tobacco, and then he tilted it upside down and sucked in the light of the candle.
Puff! puff! puff! and a cloud of smoke went up about his head, so that you could just see his red nose shining through it, and his bright eyes twinkling in the midst of the smoke-wreath, like two stars through a thin cloud on a summer night.
“I’ll tell you,” said the Soldier who cheated the Devil, “the story of a friend of mine. ’Tis every word of it just as true as that I myself cheated the Devil.”
He took a drink from his mug of beer, and then he began.
“’Tis called,” said he —
The Stool of Fortune
Once upon a time there came a soldier marching along the road, kicking up a little cloud of dust at each step — as strapping and merry and bright-eyed a fellow as you would wish to see in a summer day. Tramp! tramp! tramp! he marched, whistling as he jogged along, though he carried a heavy musket over his shoulder and though the sun shone hot and strong and there was never a tree in sight to give him a bit of shelter.
At last he came in sight of the King’s Town and to a great field of stocks and stones, and there sat a little old man as withered and brown as a dead leaf, and clad all in scarlet from head to foot.
“Ho! soldier,” said he, “are you a good shot?”
“Aye,” said the soldier, “that is my trade.”
“Would you like to earn a dollar by shooting off your musket for me?”
“Aye,” said the soldier, “that is my trade also.”
“Very well, then,” said the little man in red, “here is a silver button to drop into your gun instead of a bullet. Wait you here, and about sunset there will come a great black bird flying. In one claw it carries a feather cap and in the other a round stone. Shoot me the silver button at that bird, and if your aim is good it will drop the feather cap and the pebble. Bring them to me to the great town-gate and I will pay you a dollar for your trouble.”
“Very well,” said the soldier, “shooting my gun is a job that fits me like an old coat.” So, down he sat and the old man went his way.
Well, there he sat and sat and sat and sat until the sun touched the rim of the ground, and then, just as the old man said, there came flying a great black bird as silent as night. The soldier did not tarry to look or to think. As the bird flew by up came the gun to his shoulder, squint went his eye along the barrel — Puff! Bang! —
I vow and declare that if the shot he
fired had cracked the sky he could not have been more frightened. The great black bird gave a yell so terrible that it curdled the very blood in his veins and made his hair stand upon end. Away it flew like a flash — a bird no longer, but a great, black demon, smoking and smelling most horribly of brimstone, and when the soldier gathered his wits, there lay the feather cap and a little, round, black stone upon the ground.
“Well,” said the soldier, “it is little wonder that the old man had no liking to shoot at such game as that.” And thereupon he popped the feather cap into one pocket and the round stone into another, and shouldering his musket marched away until he reached the town-gate, and there was the old man waiting for him.
“Did you shoot the bird?” said he.
“I did,” said the soldier.
“And did you get the cap and the round stone?”
“I did.”
“Then here is your dollar.”
“Wait a bit,” said the soldier, “I shot greater game that time than I bargained for, and so it’s ten dollars and not one you shall pay me before you lay finger upon the feather cap and the little stone.”
“Very well,” said the old man, “here are ten dollars.”
“Ho! ho!” thought the soldier, “is that the way the wind blows?”— “Did I say ten dollars?” said he; “’twas a hundred dollars I meant.”
At that the old man frowned until his eyes shone green. “Very well,” said he, “if it is a hundred dollars you want, you will have to come home with me, for I have not so much with me.” Thereupon he entered the town with the soldier at his heels.
Up one street he went and down another, until at last he came to a great, black, ancient, ramshackle house; and that was where he lived. In he walked without so much as a rap at the door, and so led the way to a great room with furnaces and books and bottles and jars and dust and cobwebs, and three grinning skulls upon the mantelpiece, each with a candle stuck atop of it, and there he left the soldier while he went to get the hundred dollars.