Old-Fashioned Fairy Tales | Page 4

bride drove round the city in a triumphal procession.
Her hair fell over her like sunshine, but the starlight of her eyes was
cold.
In the train rode the Prince of Moonshine, dressed in silver, and with no
colour in his face.
As the bridal chariot approached one of the city gates, two black ravens
hovered over it, and then flew away, and settled on a tree.
Good Luck was sitting under the tree to see his godson's triumph, and
he heard the birds talking above him.
"Has the Prince of Gold no friend who can tell him that there is a loose
stone above the archway that is tottering to fall?" said they. And Good
Luck covered his face with his mantle as the Prince drove through.
Just as they were passing out of the gateway the stone fell on to the

Prince's head. He wore a casque of pure gold, but his neck was broken.
"We can't have all this expense for nothing," said the King: so he
married his daughter to the Prince of Moonshine. If one can't get gold
one must be content with silver.
"Will you come to the funeral?" asked Dame Fortune of the godfather.
"Not I," replied Good Luck. "I had no hand in this matter."
The rain came down in torrents. The black feathers on the ravens' backs
looked as if they had been oiled.
"Caw! caw!" said they. "It was an unlucky end."
However, the funeral was a very magnificent one, for there was no stint
of gold.

THE HILLMAN AND THE HOUSEWIFE.
It is well known that the Good People cannot abide meanness. They
like to be liberally dealt with when they beg or borrow of the human
race; and, on the other hand, to those who come to them in need, they
are invariably generous.
Now there once lived a certain Housewife who had a sharp eye to her
own interests in temporal matters, and gave alms of what she had no
use for, for the good of her soul. One day a Hillman knocked at her
door.
"Can you lend us a saucepan, good Mother?" said he. "There's a
wedding in the hill, and all the pots are in use."
"Is he to have one?" asked the servant lass who had opened the door.
"Aye, to be sure," answered the Housewife. "One must be
neighbourly."

But when the maid was taking a saucepan from the shelf, she pinched
her arm, and whispered sharply--"Not that, you slut! Get the old one
out of the cupboard. It leaks, and the Hillmen are so neat, and such
nimble workers, that they are sure to mend it before they send it home.
So one obliges the Good People, and saves sixpence in tinkering. But
you'll never learn to be notable whilst your head is on your shoulders."
Thus reproached, the maid fetched the saucepan, which had been laid
by till the tinker's next visit, and gave it to the dwarf, who thanked her,
and went away.
In due time the saucepan was returned, and, as the Housewife had
foreseen, it was neatly mended and ready for use.
At supper-time the maid filled the pan with milk, and set it on the fire
for the children's supper. But in a few minutes the milk was so burnt
and smoked that no one could touch it, and even the pigs refused the
wash into which it was thrown.
"Ah, good-for-nothing hussy!" cried the Housewife, as she refilled the
pan herself, "you would ruin the richest with your carelessness. There's
a whole quart of good milk wasted at once!"
"_And that's twopence_," cried a voice which seemed to come from the
chimney, in a whining tone, like some nattering, discontented old body
going over her grievances.
The Housewife had not left the saucepan for two minutes, when the
milk boiled over, and it was all burnt and smoked as before.
"The pan must be dirty," muttered the good woman, in great vexation;
"and there are two full quarts of milk as good as thrown to the dogs."
"_And that's fourpence_," added the voice in the chimney.
After a thorough cleaning, the saucepan was once more filled and set
on the fire, but with no better success. The milk was hopelessly spoilt,
and the housewife shed tears of vexation at the waste, crying, "Never

before did such a thing befall me since I kept house! Three quarts of
new milk burnt for one meal!"
"_And that's sixpence_," cried the voice from the chimney. "_You
didn't save the tinkering after all Mother_!"
With which the Hillman himself came tumbling down the chimney, and
went off laughing through the door.
But thenceforward the saucepan was as good as any other.

THE NECK.
A Legend of a Lake.
On a