Wonder Tales from Many Lands 5

Wonder Tales from Many Lands 5

And after that they all stayed up on the mountain together, and the

smaller goats ate so much grass and grew so fat and big that after a

while no one could have told one Billy Goat from the other.

 

 

 

 

THE STONES OF PLOUVINEC

 

A TALE FROM BRITTANY

 

 

IN the little village of Plouvinec there once lived a poor stone-cutter

named Bernet.

 

Bernet was an honest and industrious young man, and yet he never seemed

to succeed in the world. Work as he might, he was always poor. This was

a great grief to him, for he was in love with the beautiful Madeleine

Pornec, and she was the daughter of the richest man in Plouvinec.

 

Madeleine had many suitors, but she cared for none of them except

Bernet. She would gladly have married him in spite of his poverty, but

her father was covetous as well as rich. He had no wish for a poor

son-in-law, and Madeleine was so beautiful he expected her to marry

some rich merchant, or a well-to-do farmer at least. But if Madeleine

could not have Bernet for a husband, she was determined that she would

have no one.

 

There came a winter when Bernet found himself poorer than he had

ever been before. Scarcely anyone seemed to have any need for a

stone-cutter, and even for such work as he did get he was poorly paid.

He learned to know what it meant to go without a meal and to be cold as

well as hungry.

 

As Christmas drew near, the landlord of the inn at Plouvinec decided

to give a feast for all the good folk of the village, and Bernet was

invited along with all the rest.

 

He was glad enough to go to the feast, for he knew that Madeleine was

to be there, and even if he did not have a chance to talk to her, he

could at least look at her, and that would be better than nothing.

 

The feast was a fine one. There was plenty to eat and drink, and all

was of the best, and the more the guests feasted, the merrier they

grew. If Bernet and Madeleine ate little and spoke less, no one noticed

it. People were too busy filling their own stomachs and laughing at the

jokes that were cracked. The fun was at its height when the door was

pushed open, and a ragged, ill-looking beggar slipped into the room.

 

At the sight of him the laughter and merriment died away. This beggar

was well known to all the people of the village, though none knew

whence he came nor where he went when he was away on his wanderings. He

was sly and crafty, and he was feared as well as disliked, for it was

said that he had the evil eye. Whether he had or not, it was well known

that no one had ever offended him without having some misfortune happen

soon after.

 

“I heard there was a great feast here to-night,” said the beggar in

a humble voice, “and that all the village had been bidden to it.

Perhaps, when all have eaten, there may be some scraps that I might

pick up.”

 

“Scraps there are in plenty,” answered the landlord, “but it is not

scraps that I am offering to anyone to-night. Draw up a chair to the

table, and eat and drink what you will. There is more than enough for

all.” But the landlord looked none too well pleased as he spoke. It was

a piece of ill-luck to have the beggar come to his house this night of

all nights, to spoil the pleasure of the guests.

 

The beggar drew up to the table as the landlord bade him, but the fun

and merriment were ended. Presently the guests began to leave the

table, and after thanking their host, they went away to their own homes.

 

When the beggar had eaten and drunk to his heart’s content, he pushed

back his chair from the table.

 

“I have eaten well,” said he to the landlord. “Is there not now some

corner where I can spend the night?”

 

“There is the stable,” answered the landlord grudgingly. “Every room

in the house is full, but if you choose to sleep there among the clean

hay, I am not the one to say you nay.”

 

Well, the beggar was well content with that. He went out to the stable,

and there he snuggled down among the soft hay, and soon he was fast

asleep. He had slept for some hours, and it was midnight, when he

suddenly awoke with a startled feeling that he was not alone in the

stable. In the darkness two strange voices were talking together.

 

“Well, brother, how goes it since last Christmas?” asked one voice.

 

“Poorly, brother, but poorly,” answered the other. “Methinks the work

has been heavier these last twelve months than ever before.”

 

The beggar, listening as he lay in the hay, wondered who could be

talking there at this hour of the night. Then he discovered that the

voices came from the stalls near by; the ox and the donkey were talking

together.

 

The beggar was so surprised that he almost exclaimed aloud, but he

restrained himself. He remembered a story he had often heard, but had

never before believed, that on every Christmas night it is given to

the dumb beasts in the stalls to talk in human tones for a short time.

It was said that those who had been lucky enough to hear them at such

times had sometimes learned strange secrets from their talk. Now the

beggar lay listening with all his ears, and scarcely daring to breathe

lest he should disturb them.

 

“It has been a hard year for me too,” said the ox, answering what the

donkey had just said. “I would our master had some of the treasure that

lies hidden under the stones of Plouvinec. Then he could buy more oxen

and more donkeys, and the work would be easier for us.”

 

“The treasure! What treasure is that?” asked the donkey.

 

The ox seemed very much surprised. “Have you never heard? I thought

every one knew of the hidden treasure under the stones.”

 

“Tell me about it,” said the donkey, “for I dearly love a tale.”

 

The ox was not loath to do this. At once it began:

 

“You know the barren heath just outside of Plouvinec, and the great

stones that lie there, each so large that it would take more than a

team of oxen to drag it from its place?”

 

Yes, the donkey knew that heath, and the stones too. He had often

passed by them on his journeys to the neighbouring town.

 

“It is said that under those stones lies hidden an enormous treasure

of gold,” said the ox. “That is the story; it is well known. But none

has seen that treasure; jealously the stones guard it. Once in every

hundred years, however, the stones go down to the river to drink. They

are only away for a few minutes; then they come rolling back in mad

haste to cover their gold again. But if anyone could be there on the

heath for those few minutes, it is a wonderful sight that he would see

while the stones are away. It is now a hundred years, all but a week,

since the stones went down to drink.”

 

“Then a week from to-night the treasure will be uncovered again?” asked

the donkey.

 

“Yes, exactly a week from now, at midnight.”

 

“Ah, if only our master knew this,” and the donkey sighed heavily. “If

only we could tell him! Then he might go to the heath and not only see

the treasure, but gather a sack full of it for himself.”

 

“Yes, but even if he did, he would never return with it alive. As I

told you, the stones are very jealous of their treasure, and are away

for only a few minutes. By the time he had gathered up the gold and was

ready to escape, the stones would return and would crush him to powder.”

 

The beggar, who had become very much excited at the story, felt a cold

shiver creep over him at these words.

 

“No one could ever bring away any of it then?” asked the donkey.

 

“I did not say that. The stones are enchanted. If anyone could find

a five-leaved clover, and carry it with him to the heath, the stones

could not harm him, for the five-leaved clover is a magic plant that

has power over all enchanted things, and those stones are enchanted.”

 

“Then all he would need would be to have a five-leaved clover.”

 

“If he carried that with him, the stones could not harm him. He might

escape safely with the treasure, but it would do him little good. With

the first rays of the sun the treasure would crumble away unless the

life of a human being had been sacrificed to the stones there on the

heath before sunrise.”

 

“And who would sacrifice a human life for a treasure!” cried the

donkey. “Not our master, I am sure.”

 

The ox made no answer, and now the donkey too was silent. The hour had

passed in which they could speak in human voices. For another year they

would again be only dumb brutes.

 

As for the beggar, he lay among the hay, shaking all over with

excitement. Visions of untold wealth shone before his eyes. The

treasure of Plouvinec! Why, if he could only get it, he would be the

richest man in the village. In the village? No, in the country—in the

whole world! Only to see it and handle it for a few hours would be

something. But before even that were possible and safe it would be

necessary to find a five-leaved clover.

 

With the earliest peep of dawn the beggar rolled from the hay, and,

wrapping his rags about him, stole out of the stable and away into the

country. There he began looking about for bunches of clover. These were

not hard to find; they were everywhere, though the most of them were

withered now. He found and examined clump after clump. Here and there

he found a stem that bore four leaves, but none had five. Night came

on, and the darkness made him give up the search; but the next day he

began anew. Again he was unsuccessful. So day after day passed by, and

still he had not found the thing he sought so eagerly.

 

The beggar was in a fever of rage and disappointment. Six days slipped

by. By the time the seventh dawned he was so discouraged that he hunted

for only a few hours. Then, though it was still daylight, he determined

to give up the search. With drooping head he turned back toward the

village. As he was passing a heap of rocks he noticed a clump of clover

growing in a crevice. Idly, and with no hope of success, he stooped and

began to examine it leaf by leaf.

 

Suddenly he gave a cry of joy. His legs trembled under him so that

he was obliged to sink to his knees. The last stem of all bore five

leaves. He had found his five-leaved clover!

 

With the magic plant safely hidden away in his bosom the beggar hurried

back toward the village. He would rest in the inn until night. Then he

would go to the heath, and if the story the ox had told were true, he

would see a sight such as no one living had ever seen before.

 

His way led him past the heath. Dusk was falling as he approached it.

Suddenly the beggar paused and listened. From among the stones sounded

a strange tap-tapping. Cautiously he drew nearer, peering about among

the stones. Then he saw what seemed to him a curious sight for such a

place and such a time. Before the largest stone of all stood Bernet,

busily at work with hammer and chisel. He was cutting a cross upon the

face of the rock.

 

The beggar drew near to him so quietly that Bernet did not notice him.

He started as a voice suddenly spoke close to his ear.

 

“That is a strange thing for you to be doing,” said the beggar. “Why

should you waste your time in cutting a cross in such a lonely place as

this?”

 

“The sign of the cross never comes amiss, wherever it may be,” answered

Bernet. “And as for wasting my time, no one seems to have any use for

it at present. It is better for me to spend it in this way than to idle

it away over nothing.”

 

Suddenly a strange idea flashed into the beggar’s mind—a thought so

strange and terrible that it made him turn pale. He drew nearer to the

stone-cutter and laid his hand upon his arm.

 

“Listen, Bernet,” said he; “you are a clever workman and an honest

one as well, and yet all your work scarcely brings you in enough to

live on. Suppose I were to tell you that in one night you might become

rich—richer than the richest man in the village—so that there would be

no desire that you could not satisfy; what would you think of that?”

 

“I would think nothing of it, for I would know it was not true,”

answered Bernet carelessly.

 

“But it _is_ true; it is _true_, I tell you,” cried the beggar.

“Listen, and I will tell you.”

 

He drew still nearer to Bernet, so that his mouth almost touched the

stone-cutter’s ear, and in a whisper he repeated to him the story he

had heard the ox telling the donkey—the story of the treasure that was

buried under the stones of Plouvinec. But it was only a part of the

story that he told after all, for he did not tell Bernet that anyone

who was rash enough to seek the treasure would be crushed by the stones

unless he carried a five-leaved clover; nor did he tell him that if the

treasure were carried away from the heath it would turn to ashes unless

a human life had been sacrificed to the stones. As Bernet listened to

the story he became very grave. His eyes shone through the fading light

as he stared at the beggar’s face.

 

“Why do you tell me this?” he asked. “And why are you willing to share

the treasure that might be all your own? If you make me rich, what do

you expect me to do for you in return?”

 

“Do you not see?” answered the beggar. “You are much stronger than I.

I, as you know, am a weak man and slow of movement. While the stones

are away we two together could gather more than twice as much as I

could gather myself. In return for telling you this secret, all I ask

is that if we go there and gather all we can, and bring it away with

us, you will make an even division with me—that you will give me half

of all we get.”

 

“That seems only just,” said Bernet slowly. “It would be strange if

this story of the hidden treasure proved to be true. At any rate, I

will come with you to the heath to-night. We will bring with us some

large bags, and if we manage to secure even a small part of the gold

you talk of I shall never cease to be grateful to you.”

 

The beggar could not answer. His teeth were chattering, half with fear

and half with excitement. The honest stone-cutter little guessed that

the beggar was planning to sacrifice him to the stones in order that he

himself might become a rich man.

 

It was well on toward midnight when Bernet and the beggar returned

to the heath with the bags. The moon shone clear and bright, and by

its light they could see the stones towering up above them, solid and

motionless. It seemed impossible to believe that they had ever stirred

from their places, or ever would again. In the moonlight Bernet could

clearly see the cross that he had carved upon the largest stone.

 

He and the beggar lay hidden behind a clump of bushes. All was still

except for the faint sound of the river some short distance away.

Suddenly a breath seemed to pass over the heath. Far off, in the

village of Plouvinec, sounded the first stroke of twelve.

 

At that stroke the two men saw a strange and wonderful thing happen.

The motionless stones rocked and stirred in their places. With a

rending sound they tore themselves from the places where they had stood

for so long. Then down the slope toward the river they rolled, bounding

faster and faster, while there on the heath an immense treasure

glittered in the moonlight.

 

“Quick! quick!” cried the beggar in a shrill voice. “They will return!

We have not a moment to waste.”

 

Greedily he threw himself upon the treasure. Gathering it up by

handfuls he thrust it hurriedly into a sack. Bernet was not slow to

follow his example. They worked with such frenzy that soon the two

largest sacks were almost full. In their haste everything but the gold

was forgotten.

 

Some sound, a rumbling and crashing, made Bernet look up. At once he

sprang to his feet with a cry of fear.

 

“Look! look!” he cried. “The stones are returning. They are almost on

us. We shall be crushed.”

 

“You, perhaps; but not I,” answered the beggar. “You should have

provided yourself with a five-leaved clover. It is a magic herb, and

the stones have no power to touch him who holds it.”

 

Even as the beggar spoke the stones were almost upon them. Trembling,

but secure, he held up the five-leaved clover before them. As he did so

the ranks of stones divided, passing around him a rank on either side;

then, closing together, they rolled on toward Bernet.

 

The poor stone-cutter felt that he was lost. He tried to murmur a

prayer, but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth with fear.

 

Suddenly the largest stone of all, the one upon which he had cut the

cross, separated itself from the others. Rolling in front of them, it

placed itself before him as a shield. Grey and immovable it towered

above him. A moment the others paused as if irresolute, while Bernet

cowered close against the protecting stone. Then they rolled by without

touching him and settled sullenly into their places.

 

The beggar was already gathering up the sacks. He believed himself

safe, but he wished to leave the heath as quickly as possible. He

glanced fearfully over his shoulder. Then he gave a shriek, and,

turning, he held up the five-leaved clover. The largest stone was

rolling toward him. It was almost upon him.

 

But the magic herb had no power over a stone marked with a cross. On it

rolled, over the miserable man, and into the place where it must rest

again for still another hundred years.

 

* * * * *

 

It was morning, and the sun was high in the heavens when Bernet

staggered into the inn at Plouvinec. A heavy, bulging sack was thrown

over one shoulder; a second sack he dragged behind him. They were full

of gold—the treasure from under the stones of Plouvinec.

 

From that time Bernet was the richest man in Plouvinec. Madeleine’s

father was glad enough to call him son-in-law and to welcome him into

his family. He and Madeleine were married, and lived in the greatest

comfort and happiness all their days. But for as long as he lived

Bernet could never be induced to go near the heath nor to look upon the

stones that had so nearly caused his death.

 

 

 

 

THE KING OF THE BUFFALOES

 

AN AMERICAN INDIAN TALE

 

 

A LAME Indian and his daughter once lived on the edge of a lonely

forest, apart from any tribe or village. The Indian, whose name was

Agodaguada, was a great hunter and fisher in spite of his lameness.

Every day he went off into the forest, and while he was away his

daughter, Iola, took care of the lodge and did the cooking.

 

They would have been very contented there if it had not been for a herd

of buffaloes that lived on the other side of the forest. The king of

this herd was a magician. He had seen Iola once as she was gathering

wood in the forest, and had fallen in love with her, for she was very

beautiful. Agodaguada often came upon him hiding in the bushes near

the hut, or heard him bellowing down at a stream near by. Agodaguada

cautioned his daughter never to leave the lodge while he was away, for

he feared the buffalo might seize her and carry her off.

 

He himself was tormented by the ungainly beasts. They muddied the

streams where he fished and drove away the game by their bellowing.

Gradually he was obliged to go farther and farther from the lodge to

find deer or fish. Often as he sat quietly watching for game a hoarse

voice would begin to sing at him from behind the bushes or rocks:

 

“You lame mannikin,

Don’t you think it a sin

To pen up your daughter?

—Say, Agodaguada—

To shut up your daughter,

Don’t you think it a sin?”

 

Sometimes he aimed an arrow or a stone at the place from which the

voice sounded, and then a great dark body would go lumbering and

crashing away through the forest, and Agodaguada would know that it was

one of the buffaloes that had followed him.

 

[Illustration: HE SPOKE TO HER IN THE SOFTEST VOICE HE COULD MANAGE]

 

One day, when Agodaguada was far from home, his daughter climbed up on

top of the lodge, and sat there to comb her hair, for it was very long.

Every now and then she stopped to listen and look about her, to make

sure there was no danger.

 

For a long time all was silent except for the singing of the birds.

She finished combing her hair, and was just about to go down into the

lodge when suddenly a great noise arose, a crashing of underbrush and

thundering of hoofs. The herd of buffaloes, with the king at their

head, was charging down upon the hut. Iola had no time to move before

she felt the logs breaking away beneath her. They were scattered

this way and that like straws. In another moment Iola found herself

seated on the back of the king of buffaloes. She was being carried

swiftly away through the forest, while the lodge lay in ruins behind

them.

 

On and on went the buffalo, until at last, in the deepest and darkest

part of the forest, he paused and allowed Iola to slip from his back.