Part 3 (1/2)

When he reached his own home he rapped on the window as usual, to warn his wife, and Catharine rushed out to meet him, and, throwing her arms round his neck, cried, ”Oh, Peter, I am so glad you have returned; the good cabbage soup is all ready for you; so come right in and eat it!”

”Eat!” exclaimed Wise Peter, ”how can I swallow a mouthful when I am so overwhelmed with misfortune?”

”What! you also!” said Catharine; ”alas! what has happened?”

[Ill.u.s.tration: PETER'S RETURN HOME.]

With accents that trembled with rage and grief, Wise Peter told how he had been treated in the village; but he had scarcely made an end before Catharine, bursting into tears, exclaimed, ”Oh, what will become of me! Have mercy, Peter, for it was I who poured the wine down the well!”

”Poured wine down the well!” cried Peter, starting in astonishment; ”then, for heaven's sake, why did you do that?”

”Because,” sobbed his wife, ”the water tasted of cabbages!”

”Of cabbages!” repeated the peasant, in greater surprise than ever, ”and what made it taste of cabbages?”

”Because I dipped up water in the cabbage pot,” cried Silly Catharine.

”And where was the bucket?” asked her husband.

”I burnt it, trying to dip the water out of the chimney, that had been drawn up from the cabbage pot!” gasped Catharine, feeling that everything must now be told, since she had begun.

Wise Peter took two or three strides across the room in silence; then, making a violent effort to speak quietly, he said, ”And why, Catharine, since you supposed that water could be drawn up a chimney, did you leave the pot unwatched?”

Almost in a scream, Silly Catharine broke out, ”Because I was sewing on the turkeys' heads that I struck off cutting down the bramble bus.h.!.+”

”Now, was ever any man tormented with such a fool of a wife!” shouted Peter, almost beside himself with rage. ”I could beat you with pleasure for acting so witlessly, but that, alas! would not pay for what you have lost for me this day. A hundred and five guilders of my precious money have I been made to pay for your foolery, besides losing my Tokay wine, my field of wheat, and all my fine young turkeys! at least a hundred guilders more!”

”Oh, and that's not the worst!” cried Catharine.

”What! is there any more to come?” exclaimed Peter, almost out of his senses.

”Yes,” stammered Silly Catharine; ”the man came here to gather the tax, and I told him, as you said, that you were far too clever to pay it, and that he would get nothing more out of me. Then he said you were a beggarly fellow, not worth five kreutzers, and, of course, I couldn't allow that; so I showed him the guilders in the store room, to prove that he spoke falsely, and he took every one of them! I am so sorry, but never mind, there is excellent cabbage soup for supper!”

At this, Peter could restrain himself no longer, and falling upon Silly Catharine, he trounced her well with his stick, until she cried out for mercy. ”There!” he said at last, throwing down the stick, ”you have been well punished, though not half enough to pay for the mischief you have done.”

Silly Catharine dried her eyes upon her ap.r.o.n, and with a reproachful look exclaimed, ”Still you have beaten me, Wise Peter, for what I could not help; for, if the turkeys had not been killed, I should never have stayed away so long; if the water had not flown up chimney, I should not have burnt the bucket; and if the well had not tasted of cabbages, I should not have thrown in the wine. And, above all, dear Peter, if that abominable man spoke ill of you, how could I, your wife, avoid showing him that he lied? Besides, the case is not so bad; we have lost nearly all, it is true; but, thank heaven, we still have delicious cabbages!”

In spite of himself, Wise Peter could not help bursting out laughing.

”After all, Catharine,” he exclaimed, ”I see you did not intend doing me any harm; if you are a fool, that, certainly, is not your fault; therefore, in future let us never be separated. Come, you pretty goose, let us go and eat cabbage soup.”

So saying, Wise Peter kissed his wife's blooming cheek, and led her into the house. They sat down with contented hearts to the nice, smoking soup, and after supper walked out among the spreading cabbages.

THE WONDERFUL LEGEND OF THE GOLD STONE.

IN those far away times when the world was yet in its baby clothes, and people were not as wise as they are nowadays, there dwelt in the good town of London a poor tailor's apprentice named Bartlemy Bowbell. He might be called poor in a double sense; for not only was he such a lazy, idle fellow that he scarcely ever took a st.i.tch, and so seldom had a copper of his own, but he was a miserable workman, and, like an organ-grinder's monkey, or a blind man's dog, obtained more kicks than halfpence.

In the same room with him were several other tailors; who sang together one of two tunes as they st.i.tched. If they were paid for every day's work, be it much or little, they sang, ”By the d-a-y! by the d-a-a-y! by the d-a-a-a-y!” and the needles went in and out as slowly as the coaches of a funeral procession; but if they were paid for every garment they finished, then they sang, ”By the job! by the job! by the job!” and the needles st.i.tched away like an express train! Bartlemy, however, crossed his legs, put his thimble firmly on, and st.i.tched briskly for five minutes; then his attention would wander, and presently, dropping work, thimble, shears, and needle, he began singing to himself,

”Oh, if I were only possessed of my riches, I never would sew on a pair of old breeches!