I. Fairy Ointment

Dame Goody was a nurse that looked after sick people, and minded babies. One night she woke up at midnight, and when she went downstairs, she saw a strange squinny-eyed, little ugly old fellow, who asked her to come to his wife who was too ill to mind her baby. Dame Goody didn’t like the look of the old fellow, but business is business; so she popped on her things, and went down to him. And when she got down to him, he whisked her up on to a large coal-black horse with fiery eyes, that stood at the door; and soon they were going at a rare pace, Dame Goody holding on to the old fellow like grim death.

They rode, and they rode, till at last they stopped before a cottage door. So they got down and went in and found the good woman abed with the children playing about; and the babe, a fine bouncing boy, beside her.

Dame Goody took the babe, which was a fine baby boy. The mother, when she handed the baby to Dame Goody to mind, gave her a box of ointment, and told her to stroke the baby’s eyes with it as soon as it opened them. After a while it began to open its eyes. Dame Goody saw that it had squinny eyes just like its father. So she took the box of ointment and stroked its two eyelids with it. But she wondered what it was for, as she had never seen such a thing before. So she looked to see if the others were looking, and, when they were not noticing, she stroked her own right eyelid with the ointment.

No sooner had she done so, than everything seemed changed about her. The cottage became elegantly furnished. The mother in the bed was a beautiful lady, dressed up in white silk. The little baby was still more beautiful then before, and its clothes were made of a sort of silvery cloth. Its little brothers and sisters around the bed were flat-nosed imps with pointed ears, who made faces at one another, and scratched their heads. Sometimes they pulled the sick lady’s ears with their long and hairy paws. In fact, they were up to all kinds of mischief; and Dame Goody knew that she was in a house of pixies. But she said nothing to nobody, and as soon as the lady was well enough to mind the baby, she asked the old fellow to take her back home. So he came round to the door with the coal-black horse with eyes of fire, and off they went as fast as before, or perhaps a little faster, till they came to Dame Goody’s cottage, where the squinny-eyed old fellow lifted her down and left her, thanking her civilly, and paying her more than she had ever been paid before for such service.

Next day happened to be market-day, and as Dame Goody had been away from home, she wanted many things in the house, and trudged off to get them at the market. As she was buying the things she wanted, who should she see but the squinny-eyed old fellow who had taken her on the coal-black horse. And what do you think he was doing? He went about from stall to stall taking things from each, here some fruit, and there some eggs, and so on; and no one seemed to take any notice.

Now Dame Goody did not think it her business to interfere, but she thought she ought not to let so good a customer pass without speaking. So she went to him and said: ‘Good day, sir, I hope as how your good lady and the little one are as well as —’

But she couldn’t finish what she was saying, for the funny old fellow started back in surprise, and he says to her:

‘What! Do you see me today?’

‘See you,’ says she, ‘why, of course I do, as plain as the sun in the skies, and what’s more,’ says she, ‘I see you are busy, too, into the bargain.’

‘Ah, you see too much,’ said he; ‘now, with which eye do you see all this?’

‘With the right eye to be sure,’ said she, as proud as can be to find him out.

‘The ointment! The ointment!’ cried the old pixy thief. ‘Don’t meddle with what don’t concern you: you shall see me no more.’ And with that he struck her on the right eye, and she couldn’t see him any more; and, what was worse, she was blind on the right side from that hour till the day of her death.

II. The Pied Piper

Newtown is a sleepy little town that was once noisy enough, and what made the noise was – rats. They ate their way into every barn, store-room and a cupboard. Even beer in the barrels was not safe from them.

Why didn’t the good people of the town have cats? Well, they did, and there was a fair fight, but in the end the rats were too many, and the pussies were defeated. Poison, I hear you say? They poisoned so many that it nearly caused a plague. Ratcatchers? Many of them tried their luck but there seemed to be more rats than ever.

The Mayor and the town council were desperate. As they were sitting one day in the town hall trying to figure up what to do, the town messenger run in. ‘Please your Honour,’ he said, ‘here is one fellow come to town. I don’t know what to think of him.’ ‘Show him in,’ said the Mayor, and he stepped in. He was tall and thin, and had piercing eyes. His clothes was painted in all colours of the rainbow.

‘I’m called the Pied Piper,’ he said. ‘What will you pay me if I free your town of every single rat?’

Fifty pounds were promised him (and it meant a lot of money in those days) as soon as not a rat was left in Newtown.

The Piper laid his pipe to his lips and started playing it. Every rat came out from its hole and followed the sound of his pipe.

The Piper went through town to the harbour, and when he was at the water’s edge he stepped into a boat, and all of the rats followed him. On and on he played and played until each rat sank.

The townsfolk had been throwing up their caps and hurrahing, but when the Piper stepped ashore, the Mayor said ‘you see what poor folk we are; how can we manage to pay you fifty pounds? Will you not take twenty?’

‘Fifty pounds was what I was promised,’ said the Piper shortly; ‘and if I were you I‘d pay it quickly. Because I can pipe many kinds of tunes, as folk sometimes find to their cost.’

‘Would you threaten us, tramp?’ shrieked the Mayor, and at the same time he winked to the council; ‘the rats are all dead and drowned,’ said he; and so ‘You may do your worst, my good man,’ and with that he turned short upon his heel.

‘Very well,’ said the Piper, and he smiled a quiet smile. With that he laid his pipe to his lips again, but now there came another tunes. And as he went down the streets from school-room and playroom, from nursery and workshop, children ran, following the Piper to the cool green forest full of oaks and wide-spreading beeches. In and out among the oak trees was heard the laughter of the children break and fade as deeper and deeper into the green wood.

All the while, the elders watched and waited. They mocked no longer now. And never saw they the Piper in his pied coat again. The Mayor sent his men to look for the Piper and bring the children back but none could find the lost children.

III. Princess of Canterbury

There lived formerly in the County of Cumberland a nobleman who had three sons, two of whom were clever, but the third one a natural fool, named Jack, who was a shepherd. The King of Canterbury had a beautiful daughter, who was also very clever. The King proclaimed that whoever should answer three questions put to him by the princess should marry her, and take the crown when her father dies. Soon news of it reached the ears of the nobleman’s sons, and the two clever ones desided to have a trial. They didn’t want their idiot brother to go with them, but they could not get rid of him. They had not gone far, before Jack shrieked with laughter, saying ‘I’ve found an egg.’ ‘Put it in your pocket,’ said the brothers. A little while afterwards, again he laughted because he found a crooked hazel stick, which he also put in his pocket; and a third time he again laughed because he found a nut. That also was put with his other treasures.

* * *

When they arrived at the palace, they were immediately shown into a room where the princess and her suite were sitting. Jack, who never stood on ceremony, cried, ‘What a troop of fair ladies we’ve got here!’

‘Yes,’ said the princess, ‘we are fair ladies, for we carry fire in our bosoms.’

‘Do you?’ said Jack. ‘Then roast me an egg,’ pulling out the egg from his pocket.

‘How will you get it out again?’ said the princess.

‘With a crooked stick,’ replied Jack, producing the hazel.

‘Where did that come from?’ said the princess.

‘From a nut,’ answered Jack, pulling out the nut from his pocket. ‘I’ve answered the three questions, and now I’ll have the lady.’ ‘No, no,’ said the king, ‘not so fast. You have still a test to go through. You must come here in a week’s time and watch for one whole night with the princess, my daughter. If you can manage to keep awake the whole night long you shall marry her next day.’

‘But if I can’t?’ said Jack.

‘Then off goes your head,’ said the king. ‘But you need not try unless you like.’

Well, Jack went back home for a week, and thought over whether he should try to win the princess. At last he made up his mind. ‘Well,’ said Jack, ‘I’ll have a try; so now for the king’s daughter, or a headless shepherd!’

He took his bottle and bag and went to the court. In his way he had to cross a river and he saw several pretty fish swimming there, so he caught some and put them into his pocket. When he reached the palace he knocked at the gate loudly with his crook. He was immediately led to the hall where the king’s daughter sat ready to see her lovers. He was placed in a luxurious chair, and rich wines and spices were set before him, and all sorts of delicate meats. Jack, unused to such feast, ate and drank, so that he was nearly dozing before midnight.

‘Oh, shepherd,’ said the lady, ‘I have caught you napping!’

‘No, my lady, I was fishing.’

‘Fishing,’ said the princess in the astonishment: ‘But, shepherd, there is no fish-pond in the hall.’

‘I have been fishing in my pocket, and have just caught one.’

‘Oh!’ said she, ‘let me see it.’

The shepherd pulled the fish out of his pocket and showed it her, and she said it was the finest she ever saw.

About half an hour afterwards, she said, ‘Shepherd, do you think you could get me one more?’

He replied, ‘I may, when I have baited my hook’; and after a little while he brought out another, which was finer than the first, and the princess was so delighted that she gave him leave to go to sleep, and promised to excuse him to her father.

In the morning the princess told the king, to his great astonishment, that Jack must not be beheaded, for he had been fishing in the hall all night; but when he heard how Jack had caught such beautiful fish out of his pocket, he asked him to catch one in his own. Jack readily undertook the task, and told to the king to lie down. Than Jack pretended to fish in his pocket, having another fish concealed ready in his hand, and pricking him with a needle, he held up the fish, and showed it to the king.

His majesty was surprised, and the princess and Jack were married the same day, and lived for many years in happiness and prosperity.