Twilight Land by Howard Pyle (black authors fiction txt) đź“•
Read free book «Twilight Land by Howard Pyle (black authors fiction txt) 📕» - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
- Author: Howard Pyle
Read book online «Twilight Land by Howard Pyle (black authors fiction txt) 📕». Author - Howard Pyle
“Welcome! welcome!” they all shouted, until the beggar was nearly deafened by the noise they all made, and the lady herself stood up and smiled upon him.
Then there came three young men, and led the beggar up the carpet of velvet to the throne of gold.
“Welcome, my hero!” said the beautiful lady; “and have you, then, come at last?”
“Yes,” said the beggar, “I have.”
“Long have I waited for you,” said the lady; “long have I waited for the hero who would dare without fear to come through the two gates of death to marry me and to rule as king over this country, and now at last you are here.”
“Yes,” said the beggar, “I am.”
Meanwhile, while all these things were happening, the king of that other country had painted out the words his father had written on the walls, and had had these words painted in in their stead:
“All Things are as Man does.”
For a while he was very well satisfied with them, until, a week after, he was bidden to the wedding of the Queen of the Golden Mountains; for when he came there who should the bridegroom be but the beggar whom he had set adrift in the wooden box a week or so before.
The bridegroom winked at him, but said never a word, good or ill, for he was willing to let all that had happened be past and gone. But the king saw how matters stood as clear as daylight, and when he got back home again he had the new words that stood on the walls of the room painted out, and had the old ones painted in in bigger letters than ever:
“All Things are as Fate wills.”
All the good people who were gathered around the table of the Sign of Mother Goose sat thinking for a while over the story. As for Boots, he buried his face in the quart pot and took a long, long pull at the ale.
“Methinks,” said the Soldier who cheated the Devil, presently breaking silence—“methinks there be very few of the women folk who do their share of this story-telling. So far we have had but one, and that is Lady Cinderella. I see another one present, and I drink to her health.”
He winked his eye at Patient Grizzle, beckoning towards her with his quart pot, and took a long and hearty pull. Then he banged his mug down upon the table. “Fetch me another glass, lass,” said he to little Brown Betty. “Meantime, fair lady”—this he said to Patient Grizzle—“will you not entertain us with some story of your own?”
“I know not,” said Patient Grizzle, “that I can tell you any story worth your hearing.”
“Aye, aye, but you can,” said the Soldier who cheated the Devil; “and, moreover, anything coming from betwixt such red lips and such white teeth will be worth the listening to.”
Patient Grizzle smiled, and the brave little Tailor, and the Lad who fiddled for the Jew, and Hans and Bidpai and Boots nodded approval.
“Aye,” said Ali Baba, “it is true enough that there have been but few of the women folk who have had their say, and methinks that it is very strange and unaccountable, for nearly always they have plenty to speak in their own behalf.”
All who sat there in Twilight Land laughed, and even Patient Grizzle smiled.
“Very well,” said Patient Grizzle, “if you will have it, I will tell you a story. It is about a fisherman who was married and had a wife of his own, and who made her carry all the load of everything that happened to him. For he, like most men I wot of, had found out—”
Where to Lay the Blame.
Many and many a man has come to trouble—so he will say—by following his wife’s advice. This is how it was with a man of whom I shall tell you.
There was once upon a time a fisherman who had fished all day long and had caught not so much as a sprat. So at night there he sat by the fire, rubbing his knees and warming his shins, and waiting for supper that his wife was cooking for him, and his hunger was as sharp as vinegar, and his temper hot enough to fry fat.
While he sat there grumbling and growling and trying to make himself comfortable and warm, there suddenly came a knock at the door. The good woman opened it, and there stood an old man, clad all in red from head to foot, and with a snowy beard at his chin as white as winter snow.
The fisherman’s wife stood gaping and staring at the strange figure, but the old man in red walked straight into the hut. “Bring your nets, fisherman,” said he, “and come with me. There is something that I want you to catch for me, and if I have luck I will pay you for your fishing as never fisherman was paid before.”
“Not I,” said the fisherman, “I go out no more this night. I have been fishing all day long until my back is nearly broken, and have caught nothing, and now I am not such a fool as to go out and leave a warm fire and a good supper at your bidding.”
But the fisherman’s wife had listened to what the old man had said about paying for the job, and she was of a different mind from her husband. “Come,” said she, “the old man promises to pay you well. This is not a chance to be lost, I can tell you, and my advice to you is that you go.”
The fisherman shook his head. No, he would not go; he had said he would not, and he would not. But the wife only smiled and said again, “My advice to you is that you go.”
The fisherman grumbled and grumbled, and swore that he would not go. The wife said nothing but one thing. She did not argue; she did not lose her temper; she only said to everything that he said, “My advice to you is that you go.”
At last the fisherman’s anger boiled over. “Very well,” said he, spitting his words at her; “if you will drive me out into the night, I suppose I will have to go.” And then he spoke the words that so many men say: “Many a man has come to trouble by following his wife’s advice.”
Then down he took his fur cap and up he took his nets, and off he and the old man marched through the moonlight, their shadows bobbing along like black spiders behind them.
Well, on they
Comments (0)