A Picture-book of Merry Tales Page 12

  "Old Hagan was loath to part with one of his calves at such a price,but was so frightened by what I had told him, that he let me have theone that is outside in my cart, saying, 'I know, Neighbour, that youare not a man likely to be over-reached, and that you would not sell atsuch a price if you saw a chance of getting a better one.'

  "Now," the Butcher continued, "does either of you think he could makeas good a bargain as that?" And he chuckled, again rubbing his hands,as they both confessed that they gave in to him.

  Shortly after, the cobbler rose to go, saying, as the butcher offeredto give him a lift in his cart, that he was going another way; andas he went out, he made a sign to the landlord to follow him. Whenthey were outside together he whispered, "I should like to play ourboasting friend a good trick." "I wish, with all my heart, you could,"the Landlord answered; "but he is a cunning fellow." "Cunning as he is,I've a great mind to steal the calf he's so proud of having cheated oldHagan out of, and then sell it him again, but at double the price," theCobbler said. "He's too deep for you," said the Landlord; "you can't doit." "What will you bet?" the Cobbler asked. "Anything you like!" wasthe answer. "Well, then," the Cobbler again said, "let it be a gallonof your very best ale. Now you go back, and manage--as if without anyparticular motive--to tell our friend that you have a calf (that can beeasily done as he is getting into his cart), when you may as well saythat it is just like the one he has. You do this, and leave the rest tome."

  "I hope, with all my heart, that you'll succeed," the Landlord said, ashe went back into the house; and the cobbler hastened along the roadwhich he knew was the butcher's way. When he had got some distancefrom the house, he dropped one of the shoes he was carrying home by theside of the road, where it would be sure to be seen, and then ran onsome distance further, where he dropped the other shoe, choosing thespot close by an opening in the hedge by the road-side.

  Shortly after, the butcher came the same way, still chuckling over hismorning's bargain, and when he saw the shoe, drew in his horse. He wasabout to get out, when he thought better of it, saying, "There's someof that careless cobbler's work. He evidently has come this way, anddropped one of the shoes I saw him carrying--but I'm not going to takethe trouble to carry it after him. Let him come back, and that willteach him not to refuse a civil offer again. If he had but dropped thepair, I should not mind getting out to pick them up--though certainlyit would not be to give them to him, but to keep them myself."

  With these friendly thoughts he drove on, and, before long, saw theother shoe. "Hallo!" he said; "why, that lazy rascal of a cobbler,rather than go back when he discovered the loss of the one shoe, hasthrown the other away as useless; but I'll not be such a fool, andwon't begrudge a little trouble for the sake of a good pair of shoes."So saying, he jumped out of his cart and picked up the shoe, and,finding it was a good one, ran back for the other, leaving his cartstanding in the road.

  No sooner had he turned a corner in the road, than the cobbler jumpedout from behind the hedge where he had hidden himself, and havinglifted the calf out of the cart, took it on his shoulders, and hurriedback with his load, as fast as possible, a short cut to Tom Turner'shouse.

  Tom received him with an acclamation of joy; and as soon as they hadstowed the calf away in a shed, he produced some of his very best ale,over which they discussed what was further to be done. The Cobblersaid, "As soon as the butcher finds that his calf has disappeared, andthat there are no signs of it, he will be sure to come back to you,having heard you had one; but be sure you do not let him have it afarthing under three pounds, for you know that was the price named byhimself, and that he said he must have one to-day at any price. Whenwe have had our joke out, we will give him back his money, making himpay the amount of our wager, and another gallon to boot. But he is aslippery rogue, so mind you do not part with the calf without receivingthe money down. And now, what will you bet that I do not steal thisvery calf again?"

  The landlord, enjoying the joke, betted another gallon, and hiscompanion continued, "To prepare for another sale, tell him, as he isdriving off--tell him you have another calf, the twin brother to thisone, and so like it that no one can tell one from the other."

  After all that had been arranged, the cobbler related everycircumstance of the past adventure--not forgetting the butcher'ssoliloquy--to Tom's infinite amusement, and added, "Take particularnotice whether he says anything about finding the shoes; for if heintends to act dishonestly we may alter our determination aboutgiving him back his money." He had scarcely finished when they sawthe butcher's cart at the door, so he hastened away to his formerhiding-place.

  _The Cobbler carrying off the Calf._]

  The next moment the butcher was in the house, and he cried out, "Tom!you must positively let me have that calf of yours, for mine has playedme an infernal trick, and has run off! I saw the brute, and ran afterit. But it doesn't matter, for I know where it is, and can easily catchit again. But I'm in a hurry, so I thought it better to come back foryours."

  "How did it happen?" Tom asked.

  "Why, my horse got a stone in its hoof, and as I had to go a few yardsoff to get a dry stick to pick it out with, the brute took advantage ofmy being away, jumped out of the cart and got into a field by the sideof the road. When I got back, though I saw it, it had the start of me,and I was not inclined to run far after it. But, now, I'm in a hurry;so tell me at once, Tom, what you want for your calf."

  Tom answered, "You know that I do not quite believe in veal beingpoison, in spite of the great Doctor's opinion; but, to accommodate afriend, I don't mind parting with it cheap, though I really can't takeless than three pounds."

  The butcher, finding that his own words were used against him, made nodifficulty, but, paying the money, carried off the calf, Tom callingafter him that if he lost that he had his twin brother for him. Hecongratulated himself, as he drove along, that, though he paid dearlyfor the calf, he had, at least, got a good pair of shoes for nothing.To make up for lost time he put his horse to its best trot, but drewin suddenly when he got to the spot of his misfortune, for he heard asound like the bleating of a calf. He listened for a moment, and thenexclaimed, in glee, "Oh! it's you is it, my runaway? Now, take my wordfor it, you shall suffer for this."

  He jumped out of the cart and got into the field, but the bleatingseemed to proceed from the next field, and when he got there fromanother, till he was led on to a considerable distance from his cart.

  The cobbler, who had imitated the bleating of a calf, when he had ledon the butcher till he got confused, hurried back to where the cartwas, and hastily taking out the calf, got safely back with it to TomTurner's.

  Tom, who had scarcely expected success this time, was fit to split hissides with laughter, when he heard an account of this last adventure,and in his turn told what had passed between him and the butcher.

  "Why, the rascal!" exclaimed the Cobbler, who was a honest fellowhimself, "so he intends to steal the shoes, for he knows well enoughthat they belong to me. We'll give him another chance when he comesback, for I'll tell him that I lost the shoes; but if then he does notrestore them, why I'll sell them to him for his calf and the money weget out of him. Don't you think it will serve him right?" The landlordagreed, that if he persisted in dishonestly keeping the shoes, he woulddeserve to pay dearly for them, adding,--

  "If we could manage it, it would be well to let him have his calf thistime for nothing." But the Cobbler, who was very indignant at thefellow's shuffling dishonesty, said, "No, no, he deserves no manner ofconsideration, but I hope he won't prove quite as bad as I think him."

  The butcher soon returned, and this time told the truth of the mannerin which he had lost the calf; but when the cobbler told him of hisloss he was far from confessing that he had found the shoes, andthat they were then in his cart, hidden under some straw. He was outof humour at his own losses, and said, rather brutally, "You are socareless that your loss serves you right. What is your loss to mine?I have now paid four pounds ten for a calf, and still haven
't got onefor my customers. Come, Tom, my good Friend, you must be merciful thistime, and let me have your other calf a little cheaper. If you'll letme have it for two pounds here's the money, but if not I must go backto old Hagan's for one."

  Whilst this bargain was being concluded the cobbler went out, andlooking in the butcher's cart soon found the shoes, which he took,replacing the straw as he found it.

  Tom accepted the two pounds that were offered him, and the butcher wasthis time allowed to get his dearly-bought calf safely home; but I'msorry to say the owner of the shoes had to wait another day for them,as the cobbler spent the remainder of that one with his friend, andmerrily they spent it.

  XXXVIII.

  _The Miller and his Donkey._

  There was a miller, never mind in what part of the country, who hada tall, gawky son; but their combined wit had not proved sufficientto keep their business in a flourishing condition, for the poor mangot poorer and poorer, selling one thing after another that was notabsolutely required to keep the mill going, when, indeed, there waswork for it to do, till the turn came for the donkey to be sold.

  This donkey had been a faithful servant to the miller, who looked uponit as a friend, and being a kind feeling man, it was with a heavy hearthe made up his mind to take it to the fair to sell--but there is noresisting necessity.

  On the day of the fair, having some distance to go, he started early,and took his son with him, that they might both see the last of theirfriend.

  The donkey walked on in front, thoughtfully and demurely, as donkeysare wont to do, whilst the father and son followed sorrowfully. Theysoon got into the high road, which was crowded with people going tothe fair, and the two poor simple fellows soon became the butt of thedifferent wits. "That is a hopeful son of yours," one would say tothe father; "you must feel proud of him I should think." And anotherwould say to the son, pointing with his thumb to his father, "The old'un looks a tartar; does he whip you much?" Many of the like remarkswe made to father and son, loud enough to be heard by both, thoughpretended to be in a whisper; but the principal shafts were shot atthem in conversations carried on round about, not a word of which couldthey fail to hear.

  "Did you ever see such an old fool as that," said one, "to be walkingalong this hot road, and his donkey going on in front with nothing tocarry?" "Oh," another said, "that's the donkey behind, for he in frontis much the wiser of the two." "I wonder," another joined in, "the oldfellow doesn't take more care of himself at his time of life, if notfor his own sake, at least for his baby's, for what would become of thepoor child if anything were to happen to him?"

  Stung by these remarks the old man got on to the donkey, though heregretted giving the poor beast such a load to carry, and he soughtto lighten it by partly walking, for his long legs easily reachedthe ground. This made matters worse, for he soon heard one of histormentors say, "Look there, was there ever such an old brute? He'staking it easy, and lets his poor boy toil along as best he can. Suchan interesting child, too! Oh, if its mother did but know how cruellyher darling child is being treated."

  Hearing this the miller made his son take his place, and wondered, ashe walked by his side, whether he was now doing right.

  He was as far from it as ever, poor man, for he very shortly heard anexclamation, and this time from an old man, whose opinion should carrysome weight. "Well, this is too bad; what will the world come to next?Here's a big lout of a fellow riding whilst his old father's walking.It's disgraceful, that it is, for if even the fellow's lame, at anyrate he should make room for the old man. The donkey's strong enough tocarry the two."

  _The Burdened Beast._]

  Now the miller got on the donkey in front of his son, to whom hewhispered not to weigh too heavily on the poor beast's back, and theygot on for some distance in peace. But it was not to last long, forwhen the donkey happened to stumble, from kicking against a stone,there was a general outcry: "They want to kill the poor beast. Is thereno one to interfere? But it's one comfort that cruelty to animals canbe punished. Who'll inform against these two big brutes? Why eitherof them is strong enough to carry the poor little thing, instead ofbreaking its back, as they are doing with their weight."

  "When shall we do what's right?" said the poor Miller. "Get off, mySon, and so will I, and we'll carry the donkey between us. Surely thenwe shall not be blamed."

  _The Beast a Burden._]

  Having borrowed a strong pole, they tied the donkey's four legs to it,and each taking an end of the pole across his shoulder, they managed,though with great difficulty, to carry it; but it seemed impossibleto please the people. There was a general shout of laughter as the twopoor fellows toiled along, nearly weighed down by the load they werecarrying; but that was not enough, for the most insulting epithets wereshowered upon them, till worried and distressed beyond endurance, theOld Man exclaimed, in despair, "I see there is no doing right, but aslong as we remain together fault will be found, so we must part, my oldfriend;" and as they just then came to a bridge, with his son's help,he threw the donkey over the side into the river below.

  [Decoration]

  XXXIX.

  _Doctor Dobbs, and his Horse Nobbs._

  Doctor Daniel Dobbs, of Doncaster, had a nag that was called Nobbs.One day, in the middle of winter, the Doctor having been summoned toattend a patient at some distance from his dwelling, and being anxiousto return home before it was dark, rode poor Nobbs very hard. On hisarrival, not finding his man in the way, the Doctor fastened Nobbs byhis bridle to a rail in the yard, and went into his parlour, wherehe sat down to warm himself by a good fire. It had happened that theDoctor's dairy-maid had brewed a barrel of strong beer, which had beendrawn off into the cooler; and the dairy-maid having been called awayto milk her cows, she had carelessly left the door of the brewhouseopen. The steam of the beer proved wonderfully inviting to poor Nobbs,who had been hard rode, and now stood in the cold extremely thirsty.After sundry efforts he got loose from the rail, and repairing to thebrewhouse, drank so heartily of the beer, that, before he was awareof it, he fell down dead drunk. The Doctor's man coming home, raninto the yard to convey Nobbs to the stable; not finding him at therail, he looked about, and at length discovered him stretched uponthe ground, cold and insensible. Bursting into the parlour, wherethe Doctor was seated with Mrs. Dobbs, he communicated to them thenews of poor Nobby's decease. The Doctor and Mrs. Dobbs were bothgood-natured people, and of course were much concerned; but as theDoctor never suffered misfortunes to get the better of his discretion,he immediately gave orders that Nobbs should without delay be flayed,and that his skin should be taken next morning to the currier.

  The Doctor's man accordingly set to work: poor Nobbs was dragged tothe dunghill, his skin was stripped off, and he was left to be eatenby the hounds. He had not, however, lain long before the novelty ofhis situation had a considerable effect upon him. As he had losthis skin, of course the coldness of the night operated with doubleactivity in dissipating the fumes of the beer which he had swallowed;and at length he awoke, got upon his legs, and trotted away to thestable-door, which happened to be close by the parlour. Not findingit open, and being both cold and hungry, he began to whinny forassistance. The Doctor and his wife had just done supper, and happenedat that moment to be talking of the accident which had befallen theirnag, over a hot bowl of brandy-punch. No sooner had Nobbs whinnied,than Mrs. Dobbs turned pale, and exclaimed, "Doctor Dobbs! as sure as Ilive, that is Nobb's voice--I know him by his whinny!"

  "My Dear," said the Doctor, "it is Nobb's whinny sure enough; but,poor thing, he is dead, and has been flayed." He had hardly said thisbefore Nobbs whinnied again--up jumps the Doctor, takes a candle in hishand, and runs into the yard. The first thing he saw was Nobbs himselfwithout his skin. The Doctor summoned all his servants, ordered sixsheep to be killed, and clapped their skins upon poor Nobbs. To make along story short, Nobbs recovered, and did his work as well as ever.The sheep-skin stuck fast, and answered his purpose as well as his ownskin ever did. But what is most remar
kable, the wool grew rapidly; andwhen the shearing season came, the Doctor had Nobbs sheared. Everyyear he gave the Doctor a noble fleece, for he carried upon his back,you know, as much as six sheep; and as long as Nobbs lived, all theDoctor's stockings, and all Mrs. Dobbs' flannel petticoats, were madeof his wool.

  _Doctor Dobbs on his Horse Nobbs._]

  XL.

  _The Brownie._

  There was once a farmer whose name was John Burdon, a kindly,industrious man, who lived happily with his wife and children, in anold house, where his father had lived before him.

  His five children were thriving and merry, with no more quarrellingthan is usual amongst children, and altogether there was a quiet in theold house, in spite of the games that were going on within. Of a suddenall this changed, and every thing seemed to go wrong.

  Whatever the game might be, one of the children was sure to be hurt. Ifthey were playing at ball, the ball would be sure to strike one or theother on the nose or in the eye, on which a bellowing followed; or ifthe game was puss-in-the-corner, or blind-man's-buff, two or more ofthe children were certain to run their heads together, or tear theirclothes, so that the good dame, whose boast it had always been thatthey never got into mischief, had now enough to do to repair the dailydamage.