The Dreaming Priest

The Dreaming Priest

Long time ago there lived a priest who was extremely lazy and poor at the same time. He did not want to do any hard work but used to dream of being rich one day. He got his food by begging for alms. One morning he got a pot of milk as part of the alms. He was extremely delighted and went home with the pot of milk. He boiled the milk, drank some of it and put the remaining milk in a pot. He added slight curds in the pot for converting the milk to curd. He then lay down to sleep.

Soon he started imagining about the pot of curd while he lay asleep. He dreamed that if he could become rich somehow all his miseries would be gone. His thoughts turned to the pot of milk he had set to form curd. He dreamed on; "By morning the pot of milk would set, it would be converted to curd. I would churn the curd and make butter from it. I would heat the butter and make ghee out of it. I will then go to that market and sell that ghee, and make some money. With that money i will buy a hen. The hen will lay may eggs which will hatch and there will be many chicken. These chicken will in turn lay hundreds of eggs and I will soon have a poultry farm of my own." He kept on imagining.

"I will sell all the hens of my poultry and buy some cows, and open a milk dairy. All the town people will buy milk from me. I will be very rich and soon I shall buy jewels. The king will buy all the jewels from me. I will be so rich that I will be able to marry an exceptionally beautiful girl from a rich family. Soon I will have a handsome son. If he does any mischief I will be very angry and to teach him a lesson, I will hit him with a big stick."During this dream, he involuntarily picked up the stick next to his bed and thinking that he was beating his son, raised the stick and hit the pot. The pot of milk broke and he awoke from his day dream.

Moral: There is no substitute for hard work. Dreams cannot be fulfilled without hard work.

THE REAL PRINCESS

THE REAL PRINCESS

There was once a Prince who wished to marry a

Princess; but then she must be a real Princess. He travelled

all over the world in hopes of finding such a lady; but

there was always something wrong. Princesses he found in

plenty; but whether they were real Princesses it was

impossible for him to decide, for now one thing, now

another, seemed to him not quite right about the ladies.

At last he returned to his palace quite cast down, because

he wished so much to have a real Princess for his wife.

One evening a fearful tempest arose, it thundered and

lightened, and the rain poured down from the sky in

torrents: besides, it was as dark as pitch. All at once there

was heard a violent knocking at the door, and the old

King, the Prince’s father, went out himself to open it.

It was a Princess who was standing outside the door.

What with the rain and the wind, she was in a sad

condition; the water trickled down from her hair, and her

clothes clung to her body. She said she was a real Princess.

‘Ah! we shall soon see that!’ thought the old Queenmother;

however, she said not a word of what she was

going to do; but went quietly into the bedroom, took all

the bed-clothes off the bed, and put three little peas on the

bedstead. She then laid twenty mattresses one upon

another over the three peas, and put twenty feather beds

over the mattresses.

Upon this bed the Princess was to pass the night.

The next morning she was asked how she had slept.

‘Oh, very badly indeed!’ she replied. ‘I have scarcely

closed my eyes the whole night through. I do not know

what was in my bed, but I had something hard under me,

and am all over black and blue. It has hurt me so much!’

Now it was plain that the lady must be a real Princess,

since she had been able to feel the three little peas through

the twenty mattresses and twenty feather beds. None but a

real Princess could have had such a delicate sense of

feeling.

The Prince accordingly made her his wife; being now

convinced that he had found a real Princess. The three

peas were however put into the cabinet of curiosities,

where they are still to be seen, provided they are not lost.

Wasn’t this a lady of real delicacy?

THE SWINEHERD

THE SWINEHERD

There was once a poor Prince, who had a kingdom.

His kingdom was very small, but still quite large enough

to marry upon; and he wished to marry.

It was certainly rather cool of him to say to the

Emperor’s daughter, ‘Will you have me?’ But so he did;

for his name was renowned far and wide; and there were a

hundred princesses who would have answered, ‘Yes!’ and

‘Thank you kindly.’ We shall see what this princess said.

Listen!

It happened that where the Prince’s father lay buried,

there grew a rose tree—a most beautiful rose tree, which

blossomed only once in every five years, and even then

bore only one flower, but that was a rose! It smelt so sweet

that all cares and sorrows were forgotten by him who

inhaled its fragrance.

And furthermore, the Prince had a nightingale, who

could sing in such a manner that it seemed as though all

sweet melodies dwelt in her little throat. So the Princess

was to have the rose, and the nightingale; and they were

accordingly put into large silver caskets, and sent to her.

The Emperor had them brought into a large hall,

where the Princess was playing at ‘Visiting,’ with the ladies

of the court; and when she saw the caskets with the

presents, she clapped her hands for joy.

‘Ah, if it were but a little pussy-cat!’ said she; but the

rose tree, with its beautiful rose came to view.

‘Oh, how prettily it is made!’ said all the court ladies.

‘It is more than pretty,’ said the Emperor, ‘it is

charming!’

But the Princess touched it, and was almost ready to

cry.

‘Fie, papa!’ said she. ‘It is not made at all, it is natural!’

‘Let us see what is in the other casket, before we get

into a bad humor,’ said the Emperor. So the nightingale

came forth and sang so delightfully that at first no one

could say anything ill-humored of her.

‘Superbe! Charmant! exclaimed the ladies; for they all

used to chatter French, each one worse than her neighbor.

‘How much the bird reminds me of the musical box

that belonged to our blessed Empress,’ said an old knight.

‘Oh yes! These are the same tones, the same execution.’

‘Yes! yes!’ said the Emperor, and he wept like a child at

the remembrance.

‘I will still hope that it is not a real bird,’ said the

Princess.

‘Yes, it is a real bird,’ said those who had brought it.

‘Well then let the bird fly,’ said the Princess; and she

positively refused to see the Prince.

However, he was not to be discouraged; he daubed his

face over brown and black; pulled his cap over his ears,

and knocked at the door.

‘Good day to my lord, the Emperor!’ said he. ‘Can I

have employment at the palace?’

‘Why, yes,’ said the Emperor. ‘I want some one to take

care of the pigs, for we have a great many of them.’

So the Prince was appointed ‘Imperial Swineherd.’ He

had a dirty little room close by the pigsty; and there he sat

the whole day, and worked. By the evening he had made

a pretty little kitchen-pot. Little bells were hung all round

it; and when the pot was boiling, these bells tinkled in the

most charming manner, and played the old melody,

‘Ach! du lieber Augustin, Alles ist weg, weg, weg!’*

* ‘Ah! dear Augustine! All is gone, gone, gone!’

But what was still more curious, whoever held his

finger in the smoke of the kitchen-pot, immediately smelt

all the dishes that were cooking on every hearth in the

city—this, you see, was something quite different from the

rose.

Now the Princess happened to walk that way; and

when she heard the tune, she stood quite still, and seemed

pleased; for she could play ‘Lieber Augustine"; it was the

only piece she knew; and she played it with one finger.

‘Why there is my piece,’ said the Princess. ‘That

swineherd must certainly have been well educated! Go in

and ask him the price of the instrument.’

So one of the court-ladies must run in; however, she

drew on wooden slippers first.

‘What will you take for the kitchen-pot?’ said the lady.

‘I will have ten kisses from the Princess,’ said the

swineherd.

‘Yes, indeed!’ said the lady.

‘I cannot sell it for less,’ rejoined the swineherd.

‘He is an impudent fellow!’ said the Princess, and she

walked on; but when she had gone a little way, the bells

tinkled so prettily

‘Ach! du lieber Augustin, Alles ist weg, weg, weg!’

‘Stay,’ said the Princess. ‘Ask him if he will have ten

kisses from the ladies of my court.’

‘No, thank you!’ said the swineherd. ‘Ten kisses from

the Princess, or I keep the kitchen-pot myself.’

‘That must not be, either!’ said the Princess. ‘But do

you all stand before me that no one may see us.’

And the court-ladies placed themselves in front of her,

and spread out their dresses—the swineherd got ten kisses,

and the Princess—the kitchen-pot.

That was delightful! The pot was boiling the whole

evening, and the whole of the following day. They knew

perfectly well what was cooking at every fire throughout

the city, from the chamberlain’s to the cobbler’s; the

court-ladies danced and clapped their hands.

‘We know who has soup, and who has pancakes for

dinner to-day, who has cutlets, and who has eggs. How

interesting!’

‘Yes, but keep my secret, for I am an Emperor’s

daughter.’

The swineherd—that is to say—the Prince, for no one

knew that he was other than an ill-favored swineherd, let

not a day pass without working at something; he at last

constructed a rattle, which, when it was swung round,

played all the waltzes and jig tunes, which have ever been

heard since the creation of the world.

‘Ah, that is superbe!’ said the Princess when she passed

by. ‘I have never heard prettier compositions! Go in and

Andersen’s Fairy Tales

ask him the price of the instrument; but mind, he shall

have no more kisses!’

‘He will have a hundred kisses from the Princess!’ said

the lady who had been to ask.

‘I think he is not in his right senses!’ said the Princess,

and walked on, but when she had gone a little way, she

stopped again. ‘One must encourage art,’ said she, ‘I am

the Emperor’s daughter. Tell him he shall, as on yesterday,

have ten kisses from me, and may take the rest from the

ladies of the court.’

‘Oh—but we should not like that at all!’ said they.

‘What are you muttering?’ asked the Princess. ‘If I can kiss

him, surely you can. Remember that you owe everything

to me.’ So the ladies were obliged to go to him again.

‘A hundred kisses from the Princess,’ said he, ‘or else let

everyone keep his own!’

‘Stand round!’ said she; and all the ladies stood round

her whilst the kissing was going on.

‘What can be the reason for such a crowd close by the

pigsty?’ said the Emperor, who happened just then to step

out on the balcony; he rubbed his eyes, and put on his

spectacles. ‘They are the ladies of the court; I must go

down and see what they are about!’ So he pulled up his

slippers at the heel, for he had trodden them down.

As soon as he had got into the court-yard, he moved

very softly, and the ladies were so much engrossed with

counting the kisses, that all might go on fairly, that they

did not perceive the Emperor. He rose on his tiptoes.

‘What is all this?’ said he, when he saw what was going

on, and he boxed the Princess’s ears with his slipper, just

as the swineherd was taking the eighty-sixth kiss.

‘March out!’ said the Emperor, for he was very angry;

and both Princess and swineherd were thrust out of the

city.

The Princess now stood and wept, the swineherd

scolded, and the rain poured down.

‘Alas! Unhappy creature that I am!’ said the Princess. ‘If

I had but married the handsome young Prince! Ah! how

unfortunate I am!’

And the swineherd went behind a tree, washed the

black and brown color from his face, threw off his dirty

clothes, and stepped forth in his princely robes; he looked

so noble that the Princess could not help bowing before

him.

‘I am come to despise thee,’ said he. ‘Thou would’st

not have an honorable Prince! Thou could’st not prize the

rose and the nightingale, but thou wast ready to kiss the

swineherd for the sake of a trumpery plaything. Thou art

rightly served.’

He then went back to his own little kingdom, and shut

the door of his palace in her face. Now she might well

sing,

‘Ach! du lieber Augustin, Alles ist weg, weg, weg!’

THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES

THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES

Many years ago, there was an Emperor, who was so

excessively fond of new clothes, that he spent all his

money in dress. He did not trouble himself in the least

about his soldiers; nor did he care to go either to the

theatre or the chase, except for the opportunities then

afforded him for displaying his new clothes. He had a

different suit for each hour of the day; and as of any other

king or emperor, one is accustomed to say, ‘he is sitting in

council,’ it was always said of him, ‘The Emperor is sitting

in his wardrobe.’

Time passed merrily in the large town which was his

capital; strangers arrived every day at the court. One day,

two rogues, calling themselves weavers, made their

appearance. They gave out that they knew how to weave

stuffs of the most beautiful colors and elaborate patterns,

the clothes manufactured from which should have the

wonderful property of remaining invisible to everyone

who was unfit for the office he held, or who was

extraordinarily simple in character.

‘These must, indeed, be splendid clothes!’ thought the

Emperor. ‘Had I such a suit, I might at once find out what

men in my realms are unfit for their office, and also be

able to distinguish the wise from the foolish! This stuff

must be woven for me immediately.’ And he caused large

sums of money to be given to both the weavers in order

that they might begin their work directly.

So the two pretended weavers set up two looms, and

affected to work very busily, though in reality they did

nothing at all. They asked for the most delicate silk and

the purest gold thread; put both into their own knapsacks;

and then continued their pretended work at the empty

looms until late at night.

‘I should like to know how the weavers are getting on

with my cloth,’ said the Emperor to himself, after some

little time had elapsed; he was, however, rather

embarrassed, when he remembered that a simpleton, or

one unfit for his office, would be unable to see the

manufacture. To be sure, he thought he had nothing to

risk in his own person; but yet, he would prefer sending

somebody else, to bring him intelligence about the

weavers, and their work, before he troubled himself in the

affair. All the people throughout the city had heard of the

wonderful property the cloth was to possess; and all were

anxious to learn how wise, or how ignorant, their

neighbors might prove to be.

‘I will send my faithful old minister to the weavers,’

said the Emperor at last, after some deliberation, ‘he will

be best able to see how the cloth looks; for he is a man of

sense, and no one can be more suitable for his office than

be is.’

So the faithful old minister went into the hall, where

the knaves were working with all their might, at their

empty looms. ‘What can be the meaning of this?’ thought

the old man, opening his eyes very wide. ‘I cannot

discover the least bit of thread on the looms.’ However,

he did not express his thoughts aloud.

The impostors requested him very courteously to be so

good as to come nearer their looms; and then asked him

whether the design pleased him, and whether the colors

were not very beautiful; at the same time pointing to the

empty frames. The poor old minister looked and looked,

he could not discover anything on the looms, for a very

good reason, viz: there was nothing there. ‘What!’ thought

he again. ‘Is it possible that I am a simpleton? I have never

thought so myself; and no one must know it now if I am

so. Can it be, that I am unfit for my office? No, that must

not be said either. I will never confess that I could not see

the stuff.’

‘Well, Sir Minister!’ said one of the knaves, still

pretending to work. ‘You do not say whether the stuff

pleases you.’

‘Oh, it is excellent!’ replied the old minister, looking at

the loom through his spectacles. ‘This pattern, and the

colors, yes, I will tell the Emperor without delay, how

very beautiful I think them.’

‘We shall be much obliged to you,’ said the impostors,

and then they named the different colors and described the

pattern of the pretended stuff. The old minister listened

attentively to their words, in order that he might repeat

them to the Emperor; and then the knaves asked for more

silk and gold, saying that it was necessary to complete

what they had begun. However, they put all that was

given them into their knapsacks; and continued to work

with as much apparent diligence as before at their empty

looms.

The Emperor now sent another officer of his court to

see how the men were getting on, and to ascertain

whether the cloth would soon be ready. It was just the

same with this gentleman as with the minister; he surveyed

the looms on all sides, but could see nothing at all but the

empty frames.

‘Does not the stuff appear as beautiful to you, as it did

to my lord the minister?’ asked the impostors of the

Emperor’s second ambassador; at the same time making

the same gestures as before, and talking of the design and

colors which were not there.

‘I certainly am not stupid!’ thought the messenger. ‘It

must be, that I am not fit for my good, profitable office!

That is very odd; however, no one shall know anything

about it.’ And accordingly he praised the stuff he could

not see, and declared that he was delighted with both

colors and patterns. ‘Indeed, please your Imperial Majesty,’

said he to his sovereign when he returned, ‘the cloth

which the weavers are preparing is extraordinarily

magnificent.’

The whole city was talking of the splendid cloth which

the Emperor had ordered to be woven at his own

expense.

And now the Emperor himself wished to see the costly

manufacture, while it was still in the loom. Accompanied

by a select number of officers of the court, among whom

were the two honest men who had already admired the

cloth, he went to the crafty impostors, who, as soon as

they were aware of the Emperor’s approach, went on

working more diligently than ever; although they still did

not pass a single thread through the looms.

‘Is not the work absolutely magnificent?’ said the two

officers of the crown, already mentioned. ‘If your Majesty

will only be pleased to look at it! What a splendid design!

What glorious colors!’ and at the same time they pointed

to the empty frames; for they imagined that everyone else

could see this exquisite piece of workmanship.

‘How is this?’ said the Emperor to himself. ‘I can see

nothing! This is indeed a terrible affair! Am I a simpleton,

or am I unfit to be an Emperor? That would be the worst

thing that could happen—Oh! the cloth is charming,’ said

he, aloud. ‘It has my complete approbation.’ And he

smiled most graciously, and looked closely at the empty

looms; for on no account would he say that he could not

see what two of the officers of his court had praised so

much. All his retinue now strained their eyes, hoping to

discover something on the looms, but they could see no

more than the others; nevertheless, they all exclaimed,

‘Oh, how beautiful!’ and advised his majesty to have some

new clothes made from this splendid material, for the

approaching procession. ‘Magnificent! Charming!

Excellent!’ resounded on all sides; and everyone was

uncommonly gay. The Emperor shared in the general

satisfaction; and presented the impostors with the riband of

an order of knighthood, to be worn in their button-holes,

and the title of ‘Gentlemen Weavers.’

The rogues sat up the whole of the night before the

day on which the procession was to take place, and had

sixteen lights burning, so that everyone might see how

anxious they were to finish the Emperor’s new suit. They

pretended to roll the cloth off the looms; cut the air with

their scissors; and sewed with needles without any thread

in them. ‘See!’ cried they, at last. ‘The Emperor’s new

clothes are ready!’

And now the Emperor, with all the grandees of his

court, came to the weavers; and the rogues raised their

arms, as if in the act of holding something up, saying,

‘Here are your Majesty’s trousers! Here is the scarf! Here is

the mantle! The whole suit is as light as a cobweb; one

might fancy one has nothing at all on, when dressed in it;

that, however, is the great virtue of this delicate cloth.’

‘Yes indeed!’ said all the courtiers, although not one of

them could see anything of this exquisite manufacture.

‘If your Imperial Majesty will be graciously pleased to

take off your clothes, we will fit on the new suit, in front

of the looking glass.’

The Emperor was accordingly undressed, and the

rogues pretended to array him in his new suit; the

Emperor turning round, from side to side, before the

looking glass.

‘How splendid his Majesty looks in his new clothes,

and how well they fit!’ everyone cried out. ‘What a

design! What colors! These are indeed royal robes!’

‘The canopy which is to be borne over your Majesty,

in the procession, is waiting,’ announced the chief master

of the ceremonies.

‘I am quite ready,’ answered the Emperor. ‘Do my new

clothes fit well?’ asked he, turning himself round again

before the looking glass, in order that he might appear to

be examining his handsome suit.

The lords of the bedchamber, who were to carry his

Majesty’s train felt about on the ground, as if they were

lifting up the ends of the mantle; and pretended to be

carrying something; for they would by no means betray

anything like simplicity, or unfitness for their office.

So now the Emperor walked under his high canopy in

the midst of the procession, through the streets of his

capital; and all the people standing by, and those at the

windows, cried out, ‘Oh! How beautiful are our

Emperor’s new clothes! What a magnificent train there is

to the mantle; and how gracefully the scarf hangs!’ in

short, no one would allow that he could not see these

much-admired clothes; because, in doing so, he would

have declared himself either a simpleton or unfit for his

office. Certainly, none of the Emperor’s various suits, had

ever made so great an impression, as these invisible ones.

‘But the Emperor has nothing at all on!’ said a little

child.

‘Listen to the voice of innocence!’ exclaimed his father;

and what the child had said was whispered from one to

another.

‘But he has nothing at all on!’ at last cried out all the

people. The Emperor was vexed, for he knew that the

people were right; but he thought the procession must go

on now! And the lords of the bedchamber took greater

pains than ever, to appear holding up a train, although, in

reality, there was no train to hold.

If you like this story please share and comments your views.

TOM TIT TOT

TOM TIT TOT

ONCE UPON A TIME there was a woman, and she baked five

pies. And when they came out of the oven, they were that

overbaked the crusts were too hard to eat. So she says to her

daughter:

“Darter,” says she, “put you them there pies on the shelf,

and leave ‘em there a little, and they’ll come again.”--She

meant, you know, the crust would get soft.

But the girl, she says to herself: “Well, if they’ll come again,

I’ll eat ‘em now.” And she set to work and ate ‘em all, first

and last.

Well, come supper-time the woman said: “Go you, and

get one o’ them there pies. I dare say they’ve come again

now.”

The girl went and she looked, and there was nothing but

the dishes. So back she came and says she: “Noo, they ain’t

come again.”

“Not one of ‘em?” says the mother.

“Not one of ‘em,” says she.

“Well, come again, or not come again,” said the woman

“I’ll have one for supper.”

“But you can’t, if they ain’t come,” said the girl.

“But I can,” says she. “Go you, and bring the best of ‘em.”

“Best or worst,” says the girl, “I’ve ate ‘em all, and you

can’t have one till that’s come again.”

Well, the woman she was done, and she took her spinning

to the door to spin, and as she span she sang:

“My darter ha’ ate five, five pies to-day.

My darter ha’ ate five, five pies to-day.”

The king was coming down the street, and he heard her

sing, but what she sang he couldn’t hear, so he stopped and

said:

“What was that you were singing, my good woman?”

The woman was ashamed to let him hear what her daughter

had been doing, so she sang, instead of that:

“My darter ha’ spun five, five skeins to-day.

My darter ha’ spun five, five skeins to-day.”

 “Stars o’ mine!” said the king, “I never heard tell of any

one that could do that.”

Then he said: “Look you here, I want a wife, and I’ll marry

your daughter. But look you here,” says he, “eleven months

out of the year she shall have all she likes to eat, and all the

gowns she likes to get, and all the company she likes to keep;

but the last month of the year she’ll have to spin five skeins

every day, and if she don’t I shall kill her.”

“All right,” says the woman; for she thought what a grand

marriage that was. And as for the five skeins, when the time

came, there’d be plenty of ways of getting out of it, and likeliest,

he’d have forgotten all about it.

Well, so they were married. And for eleven months the

girl had all she liked to eat, and all the gowns she liked to

get, and all the company she liked to keep.

But when the time was getting over, she began to think

about the skeins and to wonder if he had ‘em in mind. But

not one word did he say about ‘em, and she thought he’d

wholly forgotten ‘em.

However, the last day of the last month he takes her to a

room she’d never set eyes on before. There was nothing in it

but a spinning-wheel and a stool. And says he: “Now, my

dear, here you’ll be shut in to-morrow with some victuals

and some flax, and if you haven’t spun five skeins by the

night, your head’ll go off.”

And away he went about his business.

Well, she was that frightened, she’d always been such a

gatless girl, that she didn’t so much as know how to spin,

and what was she to do to-morrow with no one to come

nigh her to help her? She sat down on a stool in the kitchen,

and law! how she did cry!

However, all of a sudden she heard a sort of a knocking

low down on the door. She upped and oped it, and what

should she see but a small little black thing with a long tail.

That looked up at her right curious, and that said:

“What are you a-crying for?”

“What’s that to you?” says she.

“Never you mind,” that said, “but tell me what you’re acrying

for.”

“That won’t do me no good if I do,” says she.

“You don’t know that,” that said, and twirled that’s tail

round.

 “Well,” says she, “that won’t do no harm, if that don’t do

no good,” and she upped and told about the pies, and the

skeins, and everything.

“This is what I’ll do,” says the little black thing, “I’ll come

to your window every morning and take the flax and bring

it spun at night.”

“What’s your pay?” says she.

That looked out of the corner of that’s eyes, and that said:

“I’ll give you three guesses every night to guess my name,

and if you haven’t guessed it before the month’s up you shall

be mine.”

Well, she thought she’d be sure to guess that’s name before

the month was up. “All right,” says she, “I agree.”

“All right,” that says, and law! how that twirled that’s tail.

Well, the next day, her husband took her into the room,

and there was the flax and the day’s food.

“Now there’s the flax,” says he, “and if that ain’t spun up

this night, off goes your head.” And then he went out and

locked the door.

He’d hardly gone, when there was a knocking against the

window.

She upped and she oped it, and there sure enough was the

little old thing sitting on the ledge.

“Where’s the flax?” says he.

“Here it be,” says she. And she gave it to him.

Well, come the evening a knocking came again to the window.

She upped and she oped it, and there was the little old

thing with five skeins of flax on his arm.

“Here it be,” says he, and he gave it to her.

“Now, what’s my name?” says he.

“What, is that Bill?” says she.

“Noo, that ain’t,” says he, and he twirled his tail.

“Is that Ned?” says she.

“Noo, that ain’t,” says he, and he twirled his tail.

“Well, is that Mark?” says she.

“Noo, that ain’t,” says he, and he twirled his tail harder,

and away he flew.

Well, when her husband came in, there were the five skeins

ready for him. “I see I shan’t have to kill you to-night, my

dear,” says he; “you’ll have your food and your flax in the

morning,” says he, and away he goes.

every day that there little black impet used to come mornings

and evenings. And all the day the girl sat trying to think

of names to say to it when it came at night. But she never hit

on the right one. And as it got towards the end of the month,

the impet began to look so maliceful, and that twirled that’s

tail faster and faster each time she gave a guess.

At last it came to the last day but one. The impet came at

night along with the five skeins, and that said,

“What, ain’t you got my name yet?”

“Is that Nicodemus?” says she.

“Noo, t’ain’t,” that says.

“Is that Sammle?” says she.

“Noo, t’ain’t,” that says.

“A-well, is that Methusalem?” says she.

“Noo, t’ain’t that neither,” that says.

Then that looks at her with that’s eyes like a coal o’ fire,

and that says: “Woman, there’s only to-morrow night, and

then you’ll be mine!” And away it flew.

Well, she felt that horrid. However, she heard the king

coming along the passage. In he came, and when he sees the

five skeins, he says, says he,

“Well, my dear,” says he, “I don’t see but what you’ll have

your skeins ready to-morrow night as well, and as I reckon I

shan’t have to kill you, I’ll have supper in here to-night.” So

they brought supper, and another stool for him, and down

the two sat.

Well, he hadn’t eaten but a mouthful or so, when he stops

and begins to laugh.

“What is it?” says she.

“A-why,” says he, “I was out a-hunting to-day, and I got

away to a place in the wood I’d never seen before And there

was an old chalk-pit. And I heard a kind of a sort of a humming.

So I got off my hobby, and I went right quiet to the

pit, and I looked down. Well, what should there be but the

funniest little black thing you ever set eyes on. And what

was that doing, but that had a little spinning-wheel, and

that was spinning wonderful fast, and twirling that’s tail.

And as that span that sang:

“Nimmy nimmy not

My name’s Tom Tit Tot.”

Well, when the girl heard this, she felt as if she could have

jumped out of her skin for joy, but she didn’t say a word.

Next day that there little thing looked so maliceful when

he came for the flax. And when night came, she heard that

knocking against the window panes. She oped the window,

and that come right in on the ledge. That was grinning from

ear to ear, and Oo! that’s tail was twirling round so fast.

“What’s my name?” that says, as that gave her the skeins.

“Is that Solomon?” she says, pretending to be afeard.

“Noo, t’ain’t,” that says, and that came further into the room.

“Well, is that Zebedee?” says she again.

“Noo, t’ain’t,” says the impet. And then that laughed and

twirled that’s tail till you couldn’t hardly see it.

“Take time, woman,” that says; “next guess, and you’re

mine.” And that stretched out that’s black hands at her.

Well, she backed a step or two, and she looked at it, and

then she laughed out, and says she, pointing her finger at it:

“NIMMY NIMMY NOT, YOUR NAME’S TOM TIT

TOT!”

Well, when that heard her, that gave an awful shriek and

away that flew into the dark, and she never saw it any more.

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ENGLISH FAIRY TALES COLLECTED BY
JOSEPH JACOBS A PENN STATE ELECTRONIC CLASSICS SERIES PUBLICATION