“Dang it!” said the fool, as he scratched his head. “I’ve not got the right sort of coat yet, then.” And he choked and spluttered in the dust that the squire’s horse had raised.
So on he went in a melancholy mood till he came to an inn, and the landlord at his door smoking.
“Well, fool,” said he, “thou ’rt fine and dirty.”
“Ay,” said the fool, “I be dirty outside an’ dusty in, but it’s not the right thing yet.”
And he told the landlord all about the wise woman and the coat o’ clay.
“Hout-tout!” said the landlord, with a wink. “I know what’s wrong. Thou ’st got a skin o’ dirt outside and all dry dust inside. Thou must moisten it, lad, with a good drink, and then thou ’lt have a real all-over coat o’ clay.”
“Hi,” said the fool, “that’s a good word.”
So down he sat and began to drink. But it was wonderful how much liquor it took to moisten so much dust; and each time he got to the bottom of the pot he found he was still dry. At last he began to feel very merry and pleased with himself.
“Hi, yi!” said he. “I’ve got a real coat o’ clay now outside and in—what a difference it do make, to be sure. I feel another man now—so smart.”
And he told the landlord he was certainly a wise man now, though he couldn’t speak over-distinctly after drinking so much. So up he got, and thought he would go home and tell his mother she hadn’t a fool for a son any more.
But just as he was trying to get through the inn-door which would scarcely keep still long enough for him to find it, up came the landlord and caught him by the sleeve.
“See here, master,” said he, “thou hasn’t paid for thy score—where’s thy money?”
“Haven’t any!” said the fool, and pulled out his pockets to show they were empty.
“What!” said the landlord, and swore; “thou ’st drunk all my liquor and haven’t got nought to pay for it with!”
“Hi!” said the fool. “You told me to drink so as to get a coat o’ clay; but as I’m a wise man now I don’t mind helping thee along in the world a bit, for though I’m a smart fellow I’m not too proud to my friends.”
“Wise man! smart fellow!” said the landlord, “and help me along, wilt thee? Dang it! thou ’rt the biggest fool I ever saw, and it’s I’ll help
Round and round flew the imps, picking up the bones. “Arrange them,” said the king; and they placed them all in their proper positions in the hide of the cow. Then they folded the skin over them, and the king struck the heap of bone and skin with his rod. Whisht! up sprang the cow and lowed dismally. It was alive again; but, alas! as the pixies dragged it back to its stall, it halted in the off forefoot, for a bone was missing.
“The cock crew,
Away they flew.”
and the farmer crept trembling to bed.
The Blinded Giant
At Dalton, near Thirsk, in Yorkshire, there is a mill. It has quite recently been rebuilt; but when I was at Dalton, six years ago, the old building stood. In front of the house was a long mound which went by the name of “the giant’s grave,” and in the mill you can see a long blade of iron something like a scythe-blade, but not curved, which was called “the giant’s knife,” because of a very curious story which is told of this knife. Would you like to hear it? Well, it isn’t very long.
There once lived a giant at this mill who had only one eye in the middle of his forehead, and he ground men’s bones to make his bread. One day he captured on Pilmoor a lad named Jack, and instead of grinding him in the mill he kept him grinding as his servant, and never let him get away. Jack served the giant seven years, and never was allowed a holiday the whole time. At last he could bear it no longer. Topcliffe fair was coming on, and Jack begged that he might be allowed to go there.
“No, no,” said the giant, “stop at home and mind your grinding.”
“I’ve been grinding and grinding these seven years,” said Jack, “and not a holiday have I had. I’ll have one now, whatever you say.”
“We’ll see about that,” said the giant.
Well, the day was hot, and after dinner the giant lay down in the mill with his head on a sack and dozed. He had been eating in the mill, and had laid down a great loaf of bone bread by his side, and the knife I told you about was in his hand, but his fingers relaxed their hold of it in sleep. Jack seized the knife, and holding it with both his hands drove the blade into the single eye of the giant, who woke with a howl of agony, and starting up, barred the door. Jack was again in difficulties, for he couldn’t get out, but he soon found a way out of them. The giant had a favourite dog, which had also been sleeping when his master was blinded. So Jack killed the dog, skinned it, and threw the hide over his back.
“Bow, wow,” says Jack.
“At him, Truncheon,” said the giant; “at the little wretch that I’ve fed these seven years, and now has blinded me.”
“Bow, wow,” says Jack, and ran between the giant’s legs on all-fours, barking till he got to the door. He unlatched it and was off, and never more was seen at Dalton Mill.
Scrapefoot
Once upon a time, there were three Bears who lived in a castle in a great wood. One of them was a great big Bear, and one was a middling Bear, and one was a little Bear. And in the same wood there was a Fox who lived all alone, his name was Scrapefoot. Scrapefoot was very much afraid of the Bears, but for all that he wanted very much to know all about them. And one day as he went through the wood he found himself near the Bears’ Castle, and he wondered whether he could get into the castle. He looked all about him everywhere, and he could not see any one. So he came up very quietly, till at last he came up to the door of the castle, and he tried whether he could open it. Yes! the door was not locked, and he opened it just a little way, and put his nose in and looked, and he could not see any one. So then he opened it a little way farther, and put one paw in, and then another paw, and another and another, and then he was all in the Bears’ Castle. He found he was in a great hall with three chairs in it—one big, one middling, and one little chair; and he thought he would like to sit down and rest and look about him; so he sat down on the big chair. But he found it so hard and uncomfortable that it made his bones ache, and he jumped down at once and got into the middling chair, and he turned round and round in it, but he couldn’t make himself comfortable. So then he went to the little chair and sat down in it, and it was so soft and warm and comfortable that Scrapefoot was quite happy; but all at once it broke to pieces under him and he couldn’t put it together again! So he got up and began to look about him again, and on one table he saw three saucers, of which one was very big, one was middling, one was quite a little saucer. Scrapefoot was very thirsty, and he began to drink out of the big saucer. But he only just tasted the milk in the big saucer, which was so sour and so nasty that he would not taste another drop of it. Then he tried the middling saucer, and he drank a little of that. He tried two or three mouthfuls, but it was not nice, and then he left it and went to the little saucer, and the milk in the little saucer was so sweet and so nice that he went on drinking it till it was all gone.
Then Scrapefoot thought he would like to go upstairs; and he listened and he could not hear any one. So upstairs he went, and he found a great room with three beds in it; one was a big bed, and one was a middling bed, and one was a little white bed; and he climbed up into the big bed, but it was so hard and lumpy and uncomfortable that he jumped down again at once, and tried the middling bed. That was rather better, but he could not get comfortably in it, so after turning about a little while he got up and went to the little bed; and that was so soft and so warm and so nice that he fell fast asleep at once.
And after a time the Bears came home, and when they got into the hall the big Bear went to his chair and said, “WHO’S BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR?” and the middling Bear said, “WHO’S BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR?” and the little Bear said, “