THE GHOUL WHO WAS THWARTED (Revised by BOST 2025)

 THE GHOUL WHO WAS THWARTED 

(Revised by BoSt 2025)

In ancient times in Northern lands, there was a brilliant, tall, stout, handsome, long shoulder length blond haired, blue eyed, young man called Endre Bjorn who had successfully passed the State military examination in Capital, and had been ordered to go, by a specific date, to report for duty at frontier Telon Province.

As it was the rainy season, he was dressed appropriately with his belongings wrapped in waterproof skins and loaded on horseback. Following the main highways, he rode and whenever possible, galloped with eagerness to reach his destination in time.

On this day the weather had not been particularly cooperative. Gusting winds and sudden downpours hindered his progress all along the way. Dusk was fast approaching, and he was nowhere near a town or an inn where he could pass the night in relative, dry comfort.

01- ENDRE BJORN

The buildup of ominous clouds above persuaded him to veer off onto a side road leading to a small village nestled in the woods. He needed to seek (shelter) immediate accommodations before darkness blanketed the earth. He spotted a peasant, returning from the fields at the end of the day’s work loaded with fresh fodder for the animals and inquired as to a possible night’s lodging.

The peasant shook his head, “It’s not that we are inhospitable, but there are only impoverished families in this village. You are certain not to find any room in any of the huts.”  Then in conciliatory mood he directed the stranger to an old, dilapidated Temple still standing just outside of the village. At least there he could spend the night somewhat sheltered from the harsh elements.

Endre Bjorn thanked the peasant and rode away.  He eventually came upon the badly neglected structure, half buried in vines, runners and rampant vegetation. With some difficulty he pushed open the creaking door and stepped in. At once his lungs were assailed by a musky smell and dust lay inches high everywhere. Thick cobwebs hid most of the surfaces. In the niches he saw barely visible statues of gods so decayed through years of neglect that he could not distinguish one from the other.

The suffocating air forced Endre to go outside.  He gasped and gasped then looked about him when he could breathe bit more easily. As night cloaked the premises he fetched a candle from his bundle and lit it. Going around the main temple structure he came upon a portion of the second story that was precariously attached, barely hanging on to the main structure.   Following the trellises off to the side he found a protected alcove under an old flight of stone steps that ended abruptly, going nowhere.

“This will do for the night.” He grumbled under his breath then, fetching his knapsack, spread it out under the stone steps. He tied his horse to an old tree and placed some fodder before him. Next he took his flask from the saddle and wet his dry throat. He leaned back and began washing down some dry rations to satiate his sudden grumbling tummy. The rains came and went until the dark sky cleared of the ominous clouds which were replaced with scattered puffs that parted periodically to let the waning new moon peep through.

Endre Bjorn, rather exhausted from travel, had just closed his eyes in sleep when a rustling sound in the temple startled him awake. What’s more, a sudden icy breeze swept over his face making him shudder involuntarily.

The moonlight just then revealed a chalk-faced woman dressed in a dirty old style, long white gown coming out of the temple. She stole past quietly as though she were afraid of being seen.

Endre quickly swallowed his fear. Lying perfectly still he pretended to be asleep and covertly watched her with half-closed eyes. Curiously, the woman drew a rope from her sleeve and looked at it for a time before instantly vanishing into thin air.  This confirmed she was an apparition, most likely a ghost of one who had hung herself. He got up quietly and traced her steps. 

Sure enough, she went into the village and when she came to a certain house she slipped into the courtyard through a crack in the door.  As he was keen to find out her reason for haunting this premise, Endre abandoned propriety and leapt over the wall after her. Standing before him was a modest three roomed house. Crossing the rather empty courtyard, he reached the rear room where a lamp was burning dimly. Endre looked through the window into the room, and there he spotted a young woman of about twenty sitting on the bed, sighing deeply. Her kerchief however was soaked through with tears. Beside her in a crib lay a little child fast asleep.

The woman repeatedly looked up toward the beam of the ceiling. She appeared in great dismay, one moment she would weep and the next she would gently, lovingly, stroke the child. Endre, following her gaze positioned himself so as to see more clearly the object of her attention.  His eyes avidly searched the high ceiling and finally he spotted the dark apparition dressed in white, sitting up on the beam. Momentarily she glowed. He could see clearly now as she, with an eerie smile, passed the rope around her neck and then, eyes bulging, tongue sticking out, she mimicked being hanged.  Egging on the poor woman on, the ghost hissed with hostility one moment then in the next beckoned alluringly with a hand gesture.

Each time the young woman looked up as though drawn by an irresistible command, remained focused as if mesmerized, then snapped out of her reverie only when the child wiggled or gurgled.  This went on for some time.

Unexpectedly the young woman in a resolute voice addressed the Ghost: "You say it would be best for me to die. Very well, then, I will die; but oh, I cannot bear to part with my baby!" Once more cupping her face, she burst into heart-wrenching tears, but the heartless ghost merely scoffed and threatened her. In an undecipherable communication the apparition next reached out softly in order to coax her.

When the exhausted young woman finally yielded to all that pressure and in resignation declared: "Enough, do not torture me any more… I’ll do as you wish, I will die. Just leave my baby in peace."

Endre for a time was lost for what to do. He could make noise or force his way in to stop or at least impede the evil apparition’s aim. The very real consequence of being chastised for impropriety or charged as trespasser however, made him hesitate.

“But can I just stand by and do nothing?”  As he struggled to find the right course of action, the young woman meanwhile had gone over to her chest of clothes, put on new garments, and painted her face before the mirror. Then she drew up a bench and climbed up on it. She undid her girdle and knotted it to the beam. She had already stretched forth her neck and was about to tie the other end around her neck when the child suddenly awoke and began to cry.

To Endre’s relief, the woman aborted the suicide, climbed down and, taking the baby to her bosom, stroked the infant's head and chest as she rocked her body slowly back and forth. Tears streamed from her eyes like a string of pearls and fell onto her child. She wept and wept.

 The irate ghost meanwhile heartlessly growled and hissed at this delay. She was so close to reaching her objective.  She had haunted this young woman for many months wearing away her resolve. In a short while the child had again fallen asleep, and the woman once more began to look aloft. Then she rose, again climbed on the bench, and was about to lay the noose about her neck when Endre, risking all, began to call out loudly and drum on the windowpane to stop her. Then, with one hard punch, he broke through the pane and climbed into the room. The shocked and frightened woman fell to the ground unconscious while the ghost vanished into thin air.

Fortunately for him there was no other about. Endre picked up the unconscious woman and gently laid her on her bed. Then gently slapped her cheeks tried to bring her around.  As she was about to regain consciousness, he drew away to a distance, intent on leaving. Suddenly however, something hanging down from the beam, like a cord without an end caught his eye. Knowing that it belonged to the ghost of the hanged woman he reached for it and tugged at it. Wrapping it into a coil he placed it in his inner pocket. 

By this time the young woman had gained her full faculties. She trembled with fright at the perceived danger from an intruder.

Endre Bjorn with a placating smile and in a soothing voice tried to reassure the young woman: "Forgive this intrusion. I mean you no harm, but I could not just simply stand by and have you throw your life away.  Your child needs you to take good care of him! You have but one life to lose in this world!"  Convinced that she was now calmer, he left her and went outside.

His thoughts, nevertheless, turning to the vindictive ghost and expecting retaliatory trouble from her, he headed straight for the Temple where he had left his sword right by his baggage.

He never made it to the Temple however, as halfway there, he encountered the angry ghost looking even more menacing, waiting for him in centre of the road.

Barring his way, the ghost growled: “You have interrupted my plans and have thus wronged me terribly. I was the former wife of that faithless man; one so callously cast me aside in favour of that woman because of my inability to give him an offspring. His cold and cruel ways drove me in the end to suicide where I am now condemned to roam the Earth and suffer this vile existence for all eternity. He happens to be away for a long time, and I used this opportunity to affect my revenge on him. She was blameless yes, but …” The phantom appeared for a moment or two truly remorseful but then quickly rebounded and again glowered (looked daggers). “As you have interceded, there remains little for me to do now. Unfortunately I cannot depart without that thing I left behind me in my hurry. I know you have it, and so I demand you return the item that rightfully belongs to me."

Endre Bjorn showed her the rope, "Is this the thing you mean? I’m sorry for what has happened to you. But why exact revenge on an innocent being? Your grievance is with your husband not her. I fear if I were to give it back to you may once I’m gone try again to snuff out an innocent life.  And that I cannot be party to."

With these words he wound the rope around his arm and said: "Now be off with you!"

The ghost in her desperation now grew furious. Her face turned greenish-black, her hair fell in wild disorder down her neck, her eyes grew bloodshot, and her tongue hung far out of her mouth. She stretched forth both hands and tried to seize Endre, but he struck out at her with his clenched fist.

Ghoul fought back fiercely and at one instance her long razor-sharp talons (fingernails like pincers) succeeded in inflicting a deep cut right through the cloth in Endre’s arm and from the deep slash oozed blood which stained his sleeve crimson. Endre did not wince (flinch, recoil) instead, he cooly, dipped his finger at the wound and flecked (splattered) those few drops of blood targeting her face and, since the ghosts cannot endure human blood, with a shrilling hiss she ceased her attack, jumped back (moved off) a few paces to safe distance. Her fury unleashed, growling she next hurled threats and vile abuses at him. Fortunately, just then, announcing the daybreak, the cock in the village had begun to crow. Then the ghost let out an ear deafening shrill cry and disappeared before the first rays of the morning sun hit her.

In the meantime, the farmer-folk of the village having been apprised of the happenings, had rushed forth to thank Endre Bjorn. It seems that after he had left the woman, her husband had unexpectedly come home early and despite her effort to conceal it, recognizing her still lingering, traumatized state, had asked to learn the reason for it.  Subsequently, for the first time ever, he had learned of her long-suffering ordeal and, what had transpired that very night. Her husband and the busybody neighbours, hence, had set out together in haste to intercept and (forgiving his, albeit unintentional, impropriety) thank the stranger for thwarting the evil ghost’s design.

When they came upon Endre, he was still beating the air with his fists and talking wildly. So they called out to him and he told them what had taken place. The rope could still be seen on his blood drenched arm; yet it had grown fast to it and surrounded it in the shape of a red ring of flesh.

Later that morning, dismissing all the fuss, and refusing any reward, Endre, anxious to resume his journey, quietly packed his belongings, then swung himself into his saddle and galloped into distance.

His heart was at peace, knowing that now that things had come to light, the husband and the villagers would effectively deal with the pesky, evil ghoul, if she dared, to ever try harming the innocent young woman again.  

The End

 

THE HUNTER AND THE BOBCAT (REVISED 2025)

THE HUNTER AND THE BOBCAT 

(REVISED BY BOST 2025)

Once there was a great hunter and his family who lived, at high altitude and in a remote part of the Northern wilderness. As they were a long distance from any other dwelling or settlement, it was seldom that they saw any faces other than those of their own household.

The mighty hunter, tall, stout, with long shoulder length black hair and raven black eyes, was nevertheless content living in isolation, for he had a fair wife and two healthy, boisterous sons. Sons that were so much like him in both character and in temperament. One day they will also be a mighty hunters same as him. He was glad of that. But for now, each day his two young sons were left in the lodge while he went out hunting in quest of the game whose flesh was their primary source of food. 

Game was very abundant in those days and his labors in the hunt and chase were often well rewarded. His two sons were still too young to accompany him and so all day long they were free to play make believe and discover things so long as they played within the confines of the lodge.

Observant as they were, they once espied a young man who visited the lodge during their father’s absence, and noted that these visits became more frequent as time went by.

Curiosity winning over, once the elder of the two asked his mother in all innocence:

"Mommy, tell us who this tall young man is that comes here so often during our father's absence.  Does the stranger wished to see father, but misses him? Shall we tell father when he comes back this evening so he can delay his departure time just a little?"

"Donquri, you little fool," said the mother angrily, "this is grown up business, mind your bow and arrows, and do not be afraid to enter the forest in search of birds and squirrels, with your little brother. It is not manly to be ever about the lodge. Nor will you ever grow up to become a warrior if you tell fibs or all the little things that you see and hear to your father. Say not a word to him about this."

The boys obeyed, but as they grew older and still noticed the visits of the stranger, their gut feeling being ill at ease, they resolved to speak again to their mother.

They now told her that they meant to make known to their father all that they had witnessed, for they frequently saw this young man passing through the woods, and he did not walk in the path, nor did he carry anything to eat. If he had any message to deliver at their lodge, why did he not give it to their father? For they had observed in other cases, that messages were always addressed to men, and not to women.

When her sons spoke thus to her, the mother was greatly perturbed. Fear took hold in her heart and she in great fury admonished them:

“You are still both young and have no real comprehension of things.  Hence, you should not interfere in adult concerns. If you insist with your meddling and cause trouble, I will be forced to be more severe. “She said, "I warn you both, do not speak of this to your father or me ever again!"

In fear they, for a time, held their peace, but still noted that the stranger’s frequent stealthy visits to the lodge persisted, they long at last resolved to brave any consequence and disclose this fact their father. Their loyalty to their father demanded it after all!

Accordingly, one day when they were out in the woods, by then having grown up and learned to follow the chase, they caught up with their father and quickly told him all that they had seen in the past.

They watched with worrying eyes as the anger manifested on their father’s face then grew unnaturally dark. He remained silent and still for a while, and when at length he looked up there was unholy fire flaming in his pupils.

"It is done!" he said. "My children I ask that you tarry here until the hour of the setting sun, and then come to the lodge and you will find me there."

In two shakes of a hat, he was at the lodge. The door flew open, and he barged right in resembling a big fierce bear ready to tear everything about him into smithereens.

But she was seated lone mending some tears in the children’s coats.

“Where is he?” He bellowed.

“Who?” She cried out in fear.

“You know very well who?” He murderously grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her senseless. “You broke your promise... Now I shall not beholden to my promise. I shall vanquish your kind one and all.” He growled at her.

She knew no amount of pleading will be of any use. He was heartless, a brutal hunter that had no compunction about killing entire species and wiping them from the mountains.  Long ago on that terrible day he’d cornered her and her younger brother after killing her parents, the two little bobcat pups were shivering with fright.

He was   about to deal both a death blow when she had stood in front of her brother to protect him and swore by the Great Spirit of the Mountains, that if spared, she would serve him (this brute) without complaint to the end of her days. The Great Spirit moved by pity, had answered her prayers, and turned her into a human. The hunter in turn had promised never to hunt her kind, so long as she stayed away even from her brother and served only him.  

Tears streamed from her face remembering that cursed day and all the miserable days after that when she was not free and missed her brother terribly.  Her only solace was that her kind was left alone from then on to thrive and hunt in the mountain whereas all other predators faced extinction without mercy from the Hunter. Some species were hunted to extinction. Meanwhile her brother had grown up among other bobcats that adopted him. Missing his sister terribly, he’d eventually tracked her scent and found her for the bond of kinship was very strong.

She was fearful for what the Hunter might do if he ever found out; still she could not help herself, for she loved her brother dearly. He called on her frequently and relayed to her all the news about her kind which somewhat mitigated her homesickness.

She pleaded and pleaded with the hunter for his mercy.  But he was bent on revenge and called on the Great Spirit to punish her.  The Great Spirit constrained by Heavenly laws, punished her for violating her promise; hence, she was turned into a horrid version of a Bobcat. And so from then on she was barred from having any contact with her children as well as being shunned by her own kind. Tragically, she was condemned to live a horrible existence for the duration of her natural life, always lurking in the shadows.

Meanwhile, the two ingrate sons, that had more their father’s genes (DNA) than their mother’s, remained sporting away the time till the hour for their return had come.

When they reached the lodge the mother was not there. They dared not to ask their father whither she had gone, and from that day forth her name was never spoken again in the lodge.

In the course of time the two boys grew to be men and, although the mother was nevermore seen neither in the lodge nor on the paths in the forest, nor by the river side, bound by maternal affection (love), she still lingered near the lodge.

Changed, but the same, with ghastly looks and arms that were withered, she appeared to her sons as they returned from the hunt, in the twilight.

At night she darkly unlatched the lodge-door and glided in and bent over them as they sought to sleep. Oftenest it was her bare brow, white, and bony, and bodiless, that they saw floating in the air, and making a mock of them in the wild paths of the forest, or in the midnight darkness of the lodge.

Fuelled with false facts, with outraged bias against her, the sons viewed their mother as a terror that hunted their peace and lives.  They cursed her existence for according to them she made every spot where they had seen her, hideous to the living eye. The hunter never witnessed such; still he was frustrated and grew somewhat weary of his sons’ complaints. Finally, his sons were resolved, together with their father, now stricken in years, to leave the wilderness.

They began a journey toward the South, where there would be settlements. After traveling many days along the shore of a great lake, they passed around a craggy bluff, and came upon a scene where there was a rough fall of waters, and a river issuing forth from the lake.

In pursuit of them the mother came out of the woods in the form of a giant, grotesque, rabid bobcat. At this moment, one of them looked out and saw a stately crane sitting on a rock in the middle of the rapids. They called out to the bird, "See, grandfather, how we are persecuted? Come and take us across the falls that we may escape her."

The crane so addressed was of extraordinary size, and had arrived at a great old age, and, as might be expected, he sat, when first described by the two sons, in a state of profound thought, revolving his long experience of life there in the midst of the most violent eddies.

When he heard himself appealed to, the crane stretched forth his neck with great deliberation, and lifting himself slowly by his wings, he flew across to their assistance.

"Be careful," said the old crane, "that you do not touch the crown of my head. I am bald from age and long service and very tender at that spot. Should you be so unlucky as to lay a hand upon it, I shall not be able to avoid throwing you both in the rapids."

They paid strict heed to his directions and were soon safely landed on the other shore of the river. He returned and carried the father in the same way; and then took his place once more where he had been first seen in the very midst of the eddies of the stream.

But the woman, who had by this time reached the shore, cried out, "Come, my grandfather, and carry me over, for I have lost my children, and I am sorely distressed."

The aged bird, now questioning his earlier judgement, at first obeyed her summons, and flew to her side. He was a suspicious sort and seeing how hideous she looked in her grotesque bobcat form, once more doubted her story.  She had to have been an evil spirit in pursuit. She would harm them soon as she crossed the water. And so feeling rather noble he harboured a secret desire to harm this evil spirit and defend them. He carefully repeated the warning, expecting her to disregard it, that she was not to touch the crown of his head. Outwardly he begged her to bear in mind that she should respect his old age, if there was any sense of virtue left in her.

She promised to obey; but they were no sooner fairly embarked in the stream, that instantly the crane cast her into the rapids, and shook his wings as if to free himself of all acquaintance with her.

“Why have you wronged me?” She cried as she sunk in the raging stream. The woman disappeared, was straightway carried by the rapid currents far out into the waters, and in the wide wilderness of shore-less depth, without companion or solace, and was lost forever.

“I’m preventing you from harming any other, you foul creature!” He responded very much pleased with himself for doing the noble thing. 

Suddenly however the gust of wind derailed him and unable to find his bearing, he too plummeted into the waters.

“What a fool!” The hunter gritted his teeth for the loss of such a fine meal. They picked themselves off the ground and trudged along to find some other game to satisfy their growing hunger.

The mountain spirit could stand this injustice no longer, and in one breath, turned the hunter and his sons all to field mouse.

They deservedly from then on live in fear and hunted by many.

Meanwhile, the mountain spirit, being merciful, had also breathed life into her lungs, and no, she did not perish as the rest had assumed. Her unconscious body was delicately carried off by torrents (fast flowing streams) to further down the river and reaching a tributary, therefore, missing the dangerous, cascading waterfall, she was gently deposited on the shoreline. Heaven works in mysterious ways; it so happened that her brother the bobcat had been in pursuit of a game which led him to that very spot where she was beached. To cut the long story short, the two siblings were re-united, and from then on, she lived blissfully (joyfully) among her kind, forsaking forever the human form, as a beautiful bobcat.

Fin

THE FIGHTING CRICKET (Revised 2025)

 

THE FIGHTING CRICKET 

(Revised 2025)

 

In the reign of Hsuan Te in the Ming Dynasty, cricket fighting was a popular entertainment in the court.

At that time a poor scholar, Ch'eng Ming, was given the task of procuring crickets for the court. Ch'eng had no money to buy crickets from his neighbors, and he didn't want to beg, so he became very anxious. His wife advised him, “It’s useless to worry. Why don't you go out and hunt for the crickets yourself?"

So, Ch'eng went out with a copper-wired cage, and from morning to night, he searched among the rugged rocks and the weeds. Sometimes he would catch two or three crickets, but they were always too weak to submit to the local government.

When the date for submitting the crickets arrived, Ch'eng had none, and the magistrate gave him a sound whipping. Ch'eng's legs were so sore that he wanted to die.

Meanwhile, Ch'eng's wife went to a fortune-teller who told her to hunt for crickets at a temple near the village, so she urged Ch'eng to get out of bed and resume his search. Ch'eng, leaning on a cane, went to the temple and at last he caught a fine cricket. He brought it home and waited for the magistrate to call for a cricket.

Ch'eng had a nine-year-old son. One day he opened the cage when Ch'eng was away, and the cricket jumped out. The boy tried to catch it but broke one of its legs and soon it died.

Ch'eng's wife turned ashen when she saw it, she cried, “Beast! Troublemaker! Your father will finish you when he comes back!"The child rushed out of the door in tears.

When Ch'eng returned home and found out what had happened, he flew into a rage, but the boy was nowhere to be found.

Ch'eng searched for half a day and finally found his son's body at the bottom of a well. His anger turned to grief, and his wife prepared to bury the child. But that evening, as they undressed the body, they found it warm to the touch. The boy was alive! They put him to bed, but he remained unconscious.

Ch'eng was very anxious, staying awake the rest of the night to take care of the sick child. At dawn, he heard the chirp of a cricket outdoors. He went out and there was a cricket that looked very much like the one he had lost.

The little insect hopped away from him, and then he found it crouching on the wall. Very small and brownish black, it seemed so feeble that Ch'eng lost interest, but suddenly the insect jumped on his sleeve, and he saw it was actually a very fine insect.

To test its abilities, Ch'eng decided to let it fight with a champion cricket raised by his neighbour.

They put the two insects into a bowl, and Ch'eng's cricket stayed motionless. Then, the neighbour burst into laughter and tickled it with a hog's hair

This aroused the little cricket, and it rushed ferociously at the champion and would have destroyed it if the owner had not removed it. Ch'eng was delighted and didn't notice as the little cricket leapt out of the bowl. Suddenly, a rooster came along and snapped up the cricket.

Ch'eng turned pale, but the rooster stretched its neck, screamed and fell to the ground, for the cricket had bitten its comb.

Ch'eng was overjoyed and quickly put the little insect back into its cage.

The next day Ch'eng gave the cricket to the local government. The magistrate saw the size of it and bitterly scolded Ch'eng, but Ch'eng told him about the rooster, and then the cricket displayed its ferocity. Impressed, the magistrate sent it on to the governor.

The governor put the insect in a golden cage and sent it to the emperor along with a report on its unusual quality. The emperor was doubtful but let it fight with various specimens from other places, all of which were defeated.

The emperor was pleased and rewarded the governor with horses and silk clothing. The magistrate was also rewarded and in gratitude, he released Ch'eng from his duties.

Ch'eng's son did not regain consciousness until a year later. When he awoke, he told them he had dreamt he was a cricket, and that he had fought in the emperor’s palace with many famous champions and defeated them all.

 

 A MAN WITHOUT AVARICE (Revised 2025)

HEAVEN

In the Halls of the Immortals, where the virtuous and brave dwell after their time spent on the mortal coil was done, there was great consternation. There were no more recruits from Earth, not in the last hundred years.

A conclave was called and the situation on the Earth was viewed, and reviewed. The problem was immediately apparent; greed and materialism had taken hold in every part of the globe. Nobody did anything anymore unless it produced material gain for themselves or, blocked their competitor from attaining an advantage.

One would assume that all this preoccupation with wealth would lead to a cornucopia of abundance, however quite the opposite was true. People, afraid of theft or jealousy, hid their possessions while the rest of the populace lived in abject poverty. Those who could not contribute to the economic engine or whose lives could not be gainfully exploited were cast aside with no further consideration. They were of no value, and therefore of no concern.

The Immortals, however, could not believe that humanity had deteriorated so far and chose to believe there was some semblance of virtue still in existence. Surely there was someone on Earth who had not been tainted by the rot of materialism. Keeping alight this hope they resolved to send an emissary to the mortal realm to find this exceptional being, and they commissioned a discerning member Briannhon, who could turn base rock into fine gold nuggets with his touch.

02-BRIANNHON

Dispatched to the Earthly realm, Briannhon wandered the four corners of the globe, repeatedly using the same method to test those candidates who seemed most likely to rise above their base instincts.

Presented with a likely applicant, the Immortal tested him. He would first turn a small pebble into a large gold nugget and offer it to him.

Most people quickly picked up the nugget and walked away. If they were a bit wealthier they examined the nugget then pocketed it and asked for more.  For those who held out for more, Briannhon then took a larger rock and turned that one into an even larger ingot of gold.

The greed however was never satiated, they still asked for more and when, being disappointed in them, he did not deliver, they shrugged and went away with curses on their lips.

 Briannhon continued testing person after person, growing more disillusioned as time wore on.

Finally, he reached a small village on the edge of human habitation but even there, far removed from cultural influences, they still exhibited the same greedy and materialistic traits.

Then one day he heard of a person who was commonly regarded as living totally outside of the norms of society, a young man who had no regard for anyone or anything in the village. His mother had shown up one night out of nowhere, gave him birth, and then summarily died. Poor peasant looking to train him as a goat herder took him in and let him live and be nursed in the goat shed. When the orphan showed no promise, the peasant cut his losses and cast him into the streets to fend for himself.  But with his will to survive, he persisted, endured untold hardships and humiliation, often   eating the garbage people tossed at him for amusement’s sake. As he had never been given a name, people called him “The Nobody”.

04- The NOBODY

The Nobody, seated on a rock at the edge of the creek, having gone outside of the village, for he appreciated solitude, was happily chewing on a piece of vegetable he’d found discarded, hoping it would satiate his hunger pains. Briannon approaching, called out to the young man and summarily elucidated his objective of finding the right kind of person and after a test for which he would be empowered to make these worthy individual rich beyond imaginings. 

“Are you interested? “, he then asked.

The young man called Nobody, had listened intently but simply shrugged his shoulders and pretended not to care.

When the Immortal turned a pebble into a golden nugget as a demonstration, The young man appeared still to be unimpressed and continued chewing on the vegetable (which was like a turnip).  

Surprised, Briannhon turned a larger stone into a fine golden ingot in front of him, as an enticement.  The young man turned his head (askew) to see, then turned his attention right back to the vegetable, quite uninterested.

Briannhon was encouraged to see this response.

Finally, the Immortal turned the nearby, small mound consisting of pebbles and debris into fine minted ingots of gold, all of it piled up one on top of another and brilliantly shimmering under the midday sun; but once more, his efforts earned him no more than, another scowl from the young man.

“You appear not to want gold, sir. What is it that you want after all?”

The Nobody pursing his lips, looked up at this persistent stranger, who was bent on interrupting his peace and finally grunted, “Because I have no attachments, I am free, and you can’t put a price on that. So, if you don’ t mind, I ask you kindly to be on your way.”

Immortal Briannhon did not take any offense to this rude dismissal; moreover, smiling, he nodded, “I’ll be seeing you.” then, instantly vanished into thin air.

The End.

 

THE ISLAND OF THE NINE WHIRLPOOLS

(The Book of Dragons -1901- by E. Nesbit)

The dark arch that led to the witch's cave was hung with a black-and-yellow fringe of live snakes. As the Queen went in, keeping carefully in the middle of the arch, all the snakes lifted their wicked, flat heads and stared at her with their wicked, yellow eyes. You know it is not good manners to stare, even at Royalty, except of course for cats. And the snakes had been so badly brought up that they even put their tongues out at the poor lady. Nasty, thin, sharp tongues they were too.

Now, the Queen's husband was, of course, the King. And besides being a King he was an enchanter, and considered to be quite at the top of his profession, so he was very wise, and he knew that when Kings and Queens want children, the Queen always goes to see a witch. So he gave the Queen the witch's address, and the Queen called on her, though she was very frightened and did not like it at all. The witch was sitting by a fire of sticks, stirring something bubbly in a shiny copper cauldron.

"What do you want, my dear?" she said to the Queen.

"Oh, if you please," said the Queen, "I want a baby—a very nice one. We don't want any expense spared. My husband said—"

"Oh, yes," said the witch. "I know all about him. And so you want a child? Do you know it will bring you sorrow?"

"It will bring me joy first," said the Queen.

"Great sorrow," said the witch.

"Greater joy," said the Queen.

Then the witch said, "Well, have your own way. I suppose it's as much as your place is worth to go back without it?"

"The King would be very much annoyed," said the poor Queen.

"Well, well," said the witch. "What will you give me for the child?"

"Anything you ask for, and all I have," said the Queen.

 

"Then give me your gold crown."

The Queen took it off quickly.

"And your necklace of blue sapphires."

The Queen unfastened it.

"And your pearl bracelets."

The Queen unclasped them.

"And your ruby clasps."

And the Queen undid the clasps.

"Now the lilies from your breast."

The Queen gathered together the lilies.

"And the diamonds of your little bright shoe buckles."

The Queen pulled off her shoes.

Then the witch stirred the stuff that was in the cauldron, and, one by one, she threw in the gold crown and the sapphire necklace and the pearl bracelets and the ruby clasps and the diamonds of the little bright shoe buckles, and last of all she threw in the lilies.

The stuff in the cauldron boiled up in foaming flashes of yellow and blue and red and white and silver, and sent out a sweet scent, and presently the witch poured it out into a pot and set it to cool in the doorway among the snakes.

Then she said to the Queen: "Your child will have hair as golden as your crown, eyes as blue as your sapphires. The red of your rubies will lie on its lips, and its skin will be clear and pale as your pearls. Its soul will be white and sweet as your lilies, and your diamonds will be no clearer than its wits."

"Oh, thank you, thank you," said the Queen, "and when will it come?"

"You will find it when you get home."

"And won't you have something for yourself?" asked the Queen. "Any little thing you fancy—would you like a country, or a sack of jewels?"

"Nothing, thank you," said the witch. "I could make more diamonds in a day than I should wear in a year."

"Well, but do let me do some little thing for you," the Queen went on. "Aren't you tired of being a witch? Wouldn't you like to be a Duchess or a Princess, or something like that?"

"There is one thing I should rather like," said the witch, "but it's hard to get in my trade."

"Oh, tell me what," said the Queen.

"I should like some one to love me," said the witch.

Then the Queen threw her arms around the witch's neck and kissed her half a hundred times. "Why," she said, "I love you better than my life! You've given me the baby—and the baby shall love you too."

"Perhaps it will," said the witch, "and when the sorrow comes, send for me. Each of your fifty kisses will be a spell to bring me to you. Now, drink up your medicine, there's a dear, and run along home."

So, the Queen drank the stuff in the pot, which was quite cool by this time, and she went out under the fringe of snakes, and they all behaved like good Sunday-school children. Some of them even tried to drop a curtsy to her as she went by, though that is not easy when you are hanging wrong way up by your tail. But the snakes knew the Queen was friends with their mistress; so, of course, they had to do their best to be civil.

When the Queen got home, sure enough there was the baby lying in the cradle with the Royal arms blazoned on it, crying as naturally as possible. It had pink ribbons to tie up its sleeves, so the Queen saw at once it was a girl. When the King knew this, he tore his black hair with fury.

"Oh, you are silly, silly Queen!" he said. "Why didn't I marry a clever lady? Did you think I went to all the trouble and expense of sending you to a witch to get a girl? You knew well enough it was a boy I wanted—a boy, an heir, a Prince—to learn all my magic and my enchantments, and to rule the kingdom after me. I'll bet a crown—my crown," he said, "you never even thought to tell the witch what kind you wanted! Did you now?"

And the Queen hung her head and had to confess that she had only asked for a child.

"Very well, madam," said the King, "very well—have your own way. And make the most of your daughter, while she is a child."

The Queen did. All the years of her life had never held half so much happiness as now lived in each of the moments when she held her little baby in her arms. And the years went on, and the King grew more and more clever at magic, and more and more disagreeable at home, and the Princess grew more beautiful and dearer every day she lived.

The Queen and the Princess were feeding the goldfish in the courtyard fountains with crumbs of the Princess's eighteenth birthday cake, when the King came into the courtyard, looking as black as thunder, with his black raven hopping after him. He shook his fist at his family, as indeed he generally did whenever he met them, for he was not a King with pretty home manners.

The raven sat down on the edge of the marble basin and tried to peck the goldfish. It was all he could do to show that he was in the same temper as his master.

"A girl indeed!" said the King angrily. "I wonder you can dare to look me in the face, when you remember how your silliness has spoiled everything."

"You oughtn't to speak to my mother like that," said the Princess. She was eighteen, and it came to her suddenly and all in a moment that she was a grown-up, so she spoke out.

The King could not utter a word for several minutes. He was too angry. But the Queen said, "My dear child, don't interfere," quite crossly, for she was frightened.

And to her husband she said, "My dear, why do you go on worrying about it? Our daughter is not a boy, it is true—but she may marry a clever man who could rule your kingdom after you, and learn as much magic as ever you cared to teach him."

Then the King found his tongue.

"If she does marry," he said, slowly, "her husband will have to be a very clever man—oh, yes, very clever indeed! And he will have to know a very great deal more magic than I shall ever care to teach him."

The Queen knew at once by the King's tone that he was going to be disagreeable.

"Ah," she said, "don't punish the child because she loves her mother."

"I'm not going to punish her for that," said he. "I'm only going to teach her to respect her father."

And without another word he went off to his laboratory and worked all night, boiling different-colored things in crucibles, and copying charms in curious twisted letters from old brown books with mold stains on their yellowy pages.

The next day his plan was all arranged. He took the poor Princess to the Lone Tower, which stands on an island in the sea, a thousand miles from everywhere. He gave her a dowry, and settled a handsome income on her. He engaged a competent dragon to look after her, and also a respectable griffin whose birth and upbringing he knew all about. And he said: "Here you shall stay, my dear, respectful daughter, till the clever man comes to marry you. He'll have to be clever enough to sail a ship through the Nine Whirlpools that spin around the island, and to kill the dragon and the griffin. Till he comes you'll never get any older or any wiser. No doubt he will soon come. You can employ yourself in embroidering your wedding gown. I wish you joy, my dutiful child."

And his carriage, drawn by live thunderbolts (thunder travels very fast), rose in the air and disappeared, and the poor Princess was left, with the dragon and the griffin, on the Island of the Nine Whirlpools.

The Queen, left at home, cried for a day and a night, and then she remembered the witch and called to her. And the witch came, and the Queen told her all.

"For the sake of the twice twenty-five kisses you gave me," said the witch, "I will help you. But it is the last thing I can do, and it is not much. Your daughter is under a spell, and I can take you to her. But, if I do, you will have to be turned to stone, and to stay so till the spell is taken off the child."

"I would be a stone for a thousand years," said the poor Queen, "if at the end of them I could see my dear again."

So, the witch took the Queen in a carriage drawn by live sunbeams (which travel more quickly than anything else in the world, and much quicker than thunder), and so away and away to the Lone Tower on the Island of the Nine Whirlpools. And there was the Princess sitting on the floor in the best room of the Lone Tower, crying as if her heart would break, and the dragon and the griffin were sitting primly on each side of her.

"Oh, Mother, Mother, Mother," she cried, and hung around the Queen's neck as if she would never let go.

"Now," said the witch, when they had all cried as much as was good for them, "I can do one or two other little things for you. Time shall not make the Princess sad. All days will be like one day till her deliverer comes. And you and I, dear Queen, will sit in stone at the gate of the tower. In doing this for you I lose all my witch's powers, and when I say the spell that changes you to stone, I shall change with you, and if ever we come out of the stone, I shall be a witch no more, but only a happy old woman."

Then the three kissed one another again and again, and the witch said the spell, and on each side of the door there was now a stone lady. One of them had a stone crown on its head and a stone scepter in its hand; but the other held a stone tablet with words on it, which the griffin and the dragon could not read, though they had both had a very good education.

And now all days seemed like one day to the Princess, and the next day always seemed the day when her mother would come out of the stone and kiss her again. And the years went slowly by. The wicked King died, and some one else took his kingdom, and many things were changed in the world; but the island did not change, nor the Nine Whirlpools, nor the griffin, nor the dragon, nor the two stone ladies. And all the time, from the very first, the day of the Princess's deliverance was coming, creeping nearer, and nearer, and nearer. But no one saw it coming except the Princess, and she only in dreams. And the years went by in tens and in hundreds, and still the Nine Whirlpools spun around, roaring in triumph the story of many a good ship that had gone down in their swirl, bearing with it some Prince who had tried to win the Princess and her dowry.

And the great sea knew all the other stories of the Princes who had come from very far, and had seen the whirlpools, and had shaken their wise young heads and said: "'Bout ship!" and gone discreetly home to their nice, safe, comfortable kingdoms.

But no one told the story of the deliverer who was to come. And the years went by.

Now, after more scores of years than you would like to add up on your slate, a certain sailor-boy sailed on the high seas with his uncle, who was a skilled skipper. And the boy could reef a sail and coil a rope and keep the ship's nose steady before the wind. And he was as good a boy as you would find in a month of Sundays, and worthy to be a Prince.

Now there is Something which is wiser than all the world—and it knows when people are worthy to be Princes. And this Something came from the farther side of the seventh world and whispered in the boy's ear.

And the boy heard, though he did not know he heard, and he looked out over the black sea with the white foam-horses galloping over it, and far away he saw a light. And he said to the skipper, his uncle: "What light is that?"

Then the skipper said: "All good things defend you, Nigel, from sailing near that light. It is not mentioned in all charts; but it is marked in the old chart I steer by, which was my father's father's before me, and his father's father's before him. It is the light that shines from the Lone Tower that stands above the Nine Whirlpools. And when my father's father was young, he heard from the very old man, his great-great-grandfather, that in that tower an enchanted Princess, fairer than the day, waits to be delivered. But there is no deliverance, so never steer that way; and think no more of the Princess, for that is only an idle tale. But the whirlpools are quite real."

So, of course, from that day Nigel thought of nothing else. And as he sailed hither and thither upon the high seas he saw from time to time the light that shone out to sea across the wild swirl of the Nine Whirlpools. And one night, when the ship was at anchor and the skipper asleep in his bunk, Nigel launched the ship's boat and steered alone over the dark sea towards the light. He dared not go very near till daylight should show him what, indeed, were the whirlpools he had to dread.

But when the dawn came, he saw the Lone Tower standing dark against the pink and primrose of the East, and about its base the sullen swirl of black water, and he heard the wonderful roar of it. So he hung off and on, all that day and for six days besides. And when he had watched seven days he knew something. For you are certain to know something if you give for seven days your whole thought to it, even though it be only the first declension, or the nine-times table, or the dates of the Norman Kings.

What he knew was this: that for five minutes out of the 1,440 minutes that make up a day the whirlpools slipped into silence, while the tide went down and left the yellow sand bare. And every day this happened, but every day it was five minutes earlier than it had been the day before. He made sure of this by the ship's chronometer, which he had thoughtfully brought with him.

So, on the eighth day, at five minutes before noon, Nigel got ready. And when the whirlpools suddenly stopped whirling and the tide sank, like water in a basin that has a hole in it, he stuck to his oars and put his back into his stroke, and presently beached the boat on the yellow sand. Then he dragged it into a cave and sat down to wait.

By five minutes and one second past noon, the whirlpools were black and busy again, and Nigel peeped out of his cave. And on the rocky ledge overhanging the sea he saw a Princess as beautiful as the day, with golden hair and a green gown—and he went out to meet her.

"I've come to save you," he said. "How darling and beautiful you are!"

"You are very good, and very clever, and very dear," said the Princess, smiling and giving him both her hands.

He shut a little kiss in each hand before he let them go.

"So now, when the tide is low again, I will take you away in my boat," he said.

"But what about the dragon and the griffin?" asked the Princess.

"Dear me," said Nigel. "I didn't know about them. I suppose I can kill them?"

"Don't be a silly boy," said the Princess, pretending to be very grown up, for, though she had been on the island time only knows how many years, she was just eighteen, and she still liked pretending. "You haven't a sword, or a shield, or anything!"

"Well, don't the beasts ever go to sleep?"

"Why, yes," said the Princess, "but only once in twenty-four hours, and then the dragon is turned to stone. But the griffin has dreams. The griffin sleeps at teatime every day, but the dragon sleeps every day for five minutes, and every day it is three minutes later than it was the day before."

"What time does he sleep today?" asked Nigel.

"At eleven," said the Princess.

"Ah," said Nigel, "can you do sums?"

"No," said the Princess sadly. "I was never good at them."

"Then I must," said Nigel. "I can, but it's slow work, and it makes me very unhappy. It'll take me days and days."

"Don't begin yet," said the Princess. "You'll have plenty of time to be unhappy when I'm not with you. Tell me all about yourself."

So, he did. And then she told him all about herself.

"I know I've been here a long time," she said, "but I don't know what Time is. And I am very busy sewing silk flowers on a golden gown for my wedding day. And the griffin does the housework—his wings are so convenient and feathery for sweeping and dusting. And the dragon does the cooking—he's hot inside, so, of course, it's no trouble to him; and though I don't know what Time is I'm sure it's time for my wedding day, because my golden gown only wants one more white daisy on the sleeve, and a lily on the bosom of it, and then it will be ready."

Just then they heard a dry, rustling clatter on the rocks above them and a snorting sound. "It's the dragon," said the Princess hurriedly. "Good-bye. Be a good boy, and get your sum done." And she ran away and left him to his arithmetic.

Now, the sum was this: "If the whirlpools stop and the tide goes down once in every twenty-four hours, and they do it five minutes earlier every twenty-four hours, and if the dragon sleeps every day, and he does it three minutes later every day, in how many days and at what time in the day will the tide go down three minutes before the dragon falls asleep?"

It is quite a simple sum, as you see: You could do it in a minute because you have been to a good school and have taken pains with your lessons; but it was quite otherwise with poor Nigel. He sat down to work out his sum with a piece of chalk on a smooth stone. He tried it by practice and the unitary method, by multiplication, and by rule-of-three-and-three-quarters. He tried it by decimals and by compound interest. He tried it by square root and by cube root. He tried it by addition, simple and otherwise, and he tried it by mixed examples in vulgar fractions. But it was all of no use. Then he tried to do the sum by algebra, by simple and by quadratic equations, by trigonometry, by logarithms, and by conic sections. But it would not do. He got an answer every time, it is true, but it was always a different one, and he could not feel sure which answer was right.

And just as he was feeling how much more important than anything else it is to be able to do your sums, the Princess came back. And now it was getting dark.

"Why, you've been seven hours over that sum," she said, "and you haven't done it yet. Look here, this is what is written on the tablet of the statue by the lower gate. It has figures in it. Perhaps it is the answer to the sum."

She held out to him a big white magnolia leaf. And she had scratched on it with the pin of her pearl brooch, and it had turned brown where she had scratched it, as magnolia leaves will do. Nigel read:

AFTER NINE DAYS

T ii. 24.

D ii. 27 Ans.

P.S.—And the griffin is artificial. R.

He clapped his hands softly.

"Dear Princess," he said, "I know that's the right answer. It says R too, you see. But I'll just prove it." So he hastily worked the sum backward in decimals and equations and conic sections, and all the rules he could think of. And it came right every time.

"So now we must wait," said he. And they waited.

And every day the Princess came to see Nigel and brought him food cooked by the dragon, and he lived in his cave, and talked to her when she was there, and thought about her when she was not, and they were both as happy as the longest day in summer. Then at last came The Day. Nigel and the Princess laid their plans.

"You're sure he won't hurt you, my only treasure?" said Nigel.

"Quite," said the Princess. "I only wish I were half as sure that he wouldn't hurt you."

"My Princess," he said tenderly, "two great powers are on our side: the power of Love and the power of Arithmetic. Those two are stronger than anything else in the world."

So, when the tide began to go down, Nigel and the Princess ran out on to the sands, and there, in full sight of the terrace where the dragon kept watch, Nigel took his Princess in his arms and kissed her.

The griffin was busy sweeping the stairs of the Lone Tower, but the dragon saw, and he gave a cry of rage—and it was like twenty engines all letting off steam at the top of their voices inside Cannon Street Station.

And the two lovers stood looking up at the dragon. He was dreadful to look at. His head was white with age—and his beard had grown so long that he caught his claws in it as he walked. His wings were white with the salt that had settled on them from the spray of the sea. His tail was long and thick and jointed and white, and had little legs to it, any number of them—far too many—so that it looked like a very large fat silkworm; and his claws were as long as lessons and as sharp as bayonets.

"Good-bye, love!" cried Nigel, and ran out across the yellow sand toward the sea. He had one end of a cord tied to his arm.

The dragon was clambering down the face of the cliff, and next moment he was crawling and writhing and sprawling and wriggling across the beach after Nigel, making great holes in the sand with his heavy feet—and the very end of his tail, where there were no legs, made, as it dragged, a mark in the sand such as you make when you launch a boat; and he breathed fire till the wet sand hissed again, and the water of the little rock pools got quite frightened, and all went off in steam.

Still Nigel held on and the dragon after him. The Princess could see nothing for the steam, and she stood crying bitterly, but still holding on tight with her right hand to the other end of the cord that Nigel had told her to hold; while with her left she held the ship's chronometer, and looked at it through her tears as he had bidden her look, so as to know when to pull the rope.

On went Nigel over the sand, and on went the dragon after him. And the tide was low, and sleepy little waves lapped the sand's edge.

Now at the lip of the water, Nigel paused and looked back, and the dragon made a bound, beginning a scream of rage that was like all the engines of all the railways in England. But it never uttered the second half of that scream, for now it knew suddenly that it was sleepy—it turned to hurry back to dry land, because sleeping near whirlpools is so unsafe. But before it reached the shore sleep caught it and turned it to stone. Nigel, seeing this, ran shoreward for his life—and the tide began to flow in, and the time of the whirlpools' sleep was nearly over, and he stumbled and he waded and he swam, and the Princess pulled for dear life at the cord in her hand, and pulled him up on to the dry shelf of rock just as the great sea dashed in and made itself once more into the girdle of Nine Whirlpools all around the island.

But the dragon was asleep under the whirlpools, and when he woke up from being asleep, he found he was drowned, so there was an end of him.

"Now, there's only the griffin," said Nigel. And the Princess said: "Yes—only—" And she kissed Nigel and went back to sew the last leaf of the last lily on the bosom of her wedding gown. She thought and thought of what was written on the stone about the griffin being artificial—and next day she said to Nigel: "You know a griffin is half a lion and half an eagle, and the other two halves when they've joined make the leo-griff. But I've never seen him. Yet I have an idea."

So, they talked it over and arranged everything.

When the griffin fell asleep that afternoon at teatime, Nigel went softly behind him and trod on his tail, and at the same time the Princess cried: "Look out! There's a lion behind you."

And the griffin, waking suddenly from his dreams, twisted his large neck around to look for the lion, saw a lion's flank, and fastened its eagle beak in it. For the griffin had been artificially made by the King-enchanter, and the two halves had never really got used to each other. So now the eagle half of the griffin, who was still rather sleepy, believed that it was fighting a lion, and the lion part, being half asleep, thought it was fighting an eagle, and the whole griffin in its deep drowsiness hadn't the sense to pull itself together and remember what it was made of. So the griffin rolled over and over, one end of it fighting with the other, till the eagle end pecked the lion end to death, and the lion end tore the eagle end with its claws till it died. And so the griffin that was made of a lion and an eagle perished, exactly as if it had been made of Kilkenny cats.

"Poor griffin," said the Princess, "it was very good at the housework. I always liked it better than the dragon: It wasn't so hot-tempered."

At that moment there was a soft, silky rush behind the Princess, and there was her mother, the Queen, who had slipped out of the stone statue at the moment the griffin was dead and now came hurrying to take her dear daughter in her arms. The witch was clambering slowly off her pedestal. She was a little stiff from standing still so long.

When they had all explained everything over and over to each other as many times as was good for them, the witch said: "Well, but what about the whirlpools?"

And Nigel said he didn't know. Then the witch said: "I'm not a witch anymore. I'm only a happy old woman, but I know some things still. Those whirlpools were made by the enchanter-King's dropping nine drops of his blood into the sea. And his blood was so wicked that the sea has been trying ever since to get rid of it, and that made the whirlpools. Now you've only got to go out at low tide."

So, Nigel understood and went out at low tide, and found in the sandy hollow left by the first whirlpool a great red ruby. That was the first drop of the wicked King's blood. The next day Nigel found another, and next day another, and so on till the ninth day, and then the sea was as smooth as glass.

The nine rubies were used afterwards in agriculture. You had only to throw them out into a field if you wanted it plowed. Then the whole surface of the land turned itself over in its anxiety to get rid of something so wicked, and in the morning the field was found to be plowed as thoroughly as any young man at Oxford. So the wicked King did some good after all.

When the sea was smooth, ships came from far and wide, bringing people to hear the wonderful story. And a beautiful palace was built, and the Princess was married to Nigel in her gold dress, and they all lived happily as long as was good for them.

The dragon still lies, a stone dragon on the sand, and at low tide the little children play around him and over him.

But the pieces that were left of the griffin were buried under the herb-bed in the palace garden, because it had been so good at housework, and it wasn't its fault that it had been made so badly and put to such poor work as guarding a lady from her lover.

I have no doubt that you will wish to know what the Princess lived on during the long years when the dragon did the cooking. My dear, she lived on her income—and that is a thing that a great many people would like to be able to do.

THE END.