Tales of Folk and Fairies. Katharine Pyle

hear what he has to say; for ’twould seem there is no help in any of us for this evil that has come upon us.”

      So the sorcerer was brought, and he stood up in the council and looked from one to another. Last of all he looked at the King, and there his eyes rested.

      “There is one way, and only one,” said he, “by which the land can be saved from destruction. Let the King’s only daughter, the Princess Gemlovely, be given to the Stoorworm as a sacrifice, and he will be satisfied and quit us.”

      No sooner had the sorcerer said this than a great tumult arose in the council. The councillors were filled with horror, and cried aloud that the sorcerer should be torn to pieces for speaking such words.

      But the King arose and bade them be silent—and he was as white as death.

      “Is this the only way to save my people?” he asked.

      “It is the only way I know of,” answered the sorcerer.

      The King stood still and white for a time. “Then,” said he, “if it is the only way, so let it be. But first let it be proclaimed, far and wide throughout my kingdom, that there is an heroic deed to be done. Whosoever will do battle with the Stoorworm and slay it, or drive it off, shall have the Princess Gemlovely for a bride, and the half of my kingdom, and my sword Snickersnapper for his own; and after my death he shall rule as king over all the realm.”

      Then the King dismissed the Council, and they went away in silence, with dark and heavy looks.

      A proclamation was sent out as the King commanded, saying that whoever could kill the Stoorworm or drive it away should have the Princess, and the half of the kingdom as a reward, and the King’s sword, and after the King’s death should reign over the whole realm.

      When this news went out many a man wished he might win these three prizes for himself, for what better was there to be desired than a beauteous wife, a kingdom to reign over, and the most famous sword in all the world. But fine as were the prizes, only six-and-thirty bold hearts came to offer themselves for the task, so great was the fear of the Stoorworm. Of this number the first twelve who looked at the Stoorworm fell ill at sight of him and had to be carried home. The next twelve did not stay to be carried, but ran home on their own legs and shut themselves up in strong fortresses; and the last twelve stayed at the King’s palace with their hearts in their stomachs, and their wrists too weak with fear to strike a blow, even to win a kingdom.

      So there was nothing left but for the Princess to be offered up to the Stoorworm, for it was better that one should be lost, even though that one were the Princess, than that the whole country should be destroyed.

      Then there was great grief and lamenting throughout the land, for the Princess Gemlovely was so kind and gentle that she was beloved by all, both high and low. Only Ashipattle heard it all unmoved. He said nothing, but sat by the fire and thought and thought, and what his thoughts were he told to nobody.

      The day was set when the Princess was to be offered up to the Stoorworm, and the night before there was a great feast at the palace, but a sad feast it was. Little was eaten and less was said. The King sat with his back to the light and bit his fingers, and no one dared to speak to him.

      In the poorer houses there was a great stir and bustle and laying out of coats and dresses, for many were planning to go to the seashore to see the Princess offered up to the Stoorworm—though a gruesome sight ’twould be to see. Ashipattle’s father and brothers were planning to go with the rest, but his mother and sister wept, and said they would not see it for anything in the world.

      Now Ashipattle’s father had a horse named Feetgong, and he was not much to look at. Nevertheless the farmer treasured him, and it was not often he would let any one use him but himself. When the farmer rode Feetgong he could make him go like the wind—none faster—and that without beating him, either. Then when the farmer wished him to stop Feetgong would stand as still as though he were frozen to the ground; no one could make him budge. But if any one other than the farmer rode him, then it was quite different. Feetgong would jog along, and not even a beating would drive him faster, and then if one wanted him to stop that was as hard to do as it was to start him. Ashipattle was sure there was some secret about this; that his father had a way to make him go that no one knew about; but what that way was he could not find out.

      The day before the beauteous Gemlovely was to be sacrificed Ashipattle said to his mother, “Tell me something; how is it that Feetgong will not go for you or my brothers or any one, but when my father mounts him he goes like the wind—none faster?”

      Then his mother answered, “Indeed, I do not know.”

      “It seems a strange thing that my father would not tell you that,” said Ashipattle, “and you his own true wife.”

      To this his mother answered nothing.

      “A strange thing,” said Ashipattle; “and in all the years you’ve lived together not a thing have you kept back from him, whether he wished it or no. But even a good husband always holds back some secret from his wife.”

      Still his mother spoke never a word, but Ashipattle could see that she was thinking.

      That night Ashipattle lay awake long after the others were asleep. He heard his father snoring and his brothers, too, but it seemed his mother could not sleep. She turned and twisted and sighed aloud, until at last she awakened her husband.

      “What ails you,” he asked, “that you turn and twist in bed and sigh so loud that a body scarce can sleep.”

      “It’s no wonder I sigh and cannot sleep,” answered his wife. “I have been thinking and turning things over in my mind, and I can see very plainly that you do not love me as a good husband should love his wife.”

      “How can you say that?” asked her husband. “Have I not treated you well in all these years? Have I not shown my love in every way?”

      “Yes, but you do not trust me,” said his wife. “You do not tell me what is in your heart.”

      “What have I not told you?”

      “You have never told me about Feetgong; you have never told me why it is that he goes like the wind whenever you mount him, and when any one else rides him he is so slow there is no getting anywhere with him.” Then she began to sob as if her heart would break. “You do not trust me,” said she.

      “Wait, wait!” cried the Goodman. “That is a secret I had never thought to tell any one, but since you have set your heart on knowing—listen! Only you must promise not to tell a living soul what I tell you now.”

      His wife promised.

      “Then this is it,” said her husband. “When I want Feetgong to go moderately fast I slap him on the right shoulder; when I want him to stop I slap him on the left shoulder, and when I want him to go like the wind I blow upon the dried windpipe of a goose that I always carry in the right-hand pocket of my coat.”

      “Now indeed I know that you love me when you tell me this,” said his wife. And then she went to sleep, for she was satisfied.

      Ashipattle waited until near morning, and then he arose and dressed himself. He put on the coat of one brother, and the breeches of another, and the shoes of a third, and so on, for his own clothes were nothing but rags. He felt in the right-hand pocket of his father’s coat, and there, sure enough, he found the dried windpipe of a goose. He took that and he took a pot of burning peat, and covered it over so it would keep hot; and he took also a big kitchen knife. Then he went out and led Feetgong from the stable. He sprang upon his back and slapped him on the right shoulder, and away they went.

      The noise awoke the goodman and he jumped from bed and ran to the window. There was some one riding away on his dear Feetgong. Then he called out at the top of his voice:

“Hie! Hie! Ho! Feetgong, whoa!”

      When Feetgong heard his master calling he stopped and