they crumbled and fell to pieces as if they had been burnt to ashes. At this the miller stared, but the little old man turned paler than before, and he began to shake with fear.
“Why, man,” cried the miller, “what ails the boots? They are as rotten as an old potato. Give me another pair.” So he chose another pair, and put them on, but the same thing happened again. The moment they were upon his feet they crumbled and fell away like dry ashes. At this the miller flew into a violent rage.
“What do you mean by selling such things?” he cried. “Give me another pair, and be sure that this time they are sound, for if they go like the last I’ll beat you black and blue. No man shall serve me such a trick three times.”
But now the old man began to tremble in every limb, and his teeth chattered in his head with fear, whilst every moment he looked thinner and smaller, for he knew now that his wicked charms had been broken.
The miller took the third pair of boots, but they were just like the other two, and at this his rage knew no bounds. He seized the old man by the collar, to drag him into the marketplace, there to flog him soundly before all the people. But as he came near it he saw a great crowd, and there, in the centre of it, were Siegfrid and Handa and the five little girls.
When Handa saw her father she ran straight into his arms, and he let go the little old man, who crouched upon the ground. Siegfrid told the miller and the people all that had happened, and they all turned to look for the wicked old man who had caused all the trouble.
“What shall we do to him?” they cried.
“How shall we punish him?”
“Let us beat him,” said one.
“Let us put him in prison,” said another.
“Nay,” said Siegfrid, “his punishment will come of itself. See! it is coming already;” and when they looked at him, as he still crouched on the ground in front of the miller, they saw that he was already only half his former size, and that every moment he grew smaller and smaller. All the people stood staring at him and held their breath in intense astonishment, for the old man now shrank so fast that soon he would not be visible at all. Smaller and smaller he grew every moment, till at last he was nothing but a mere speck, and then he was gone altogether.
For a few moments everyone was silent; at last the miller said, “Let us all be thankful that he is gone. And now see here: Siegfrid has brought us back our girls, and has lost his eye for them; how shall we reward him?”
Then all the people turned and looked at Siegfrid, who stood beside Handa.
“We will give him whatever he likes best,” cried one.
“We will work for him all his life,” said another.
“Nay,” said Siegfrid, “I don’t want that, but promise me that as long as my father works well for you and makes you good shoes, you will not buy them of anyone else. You brought all your troubles on yourselves by your cruelty in leaving him to starve after he had worked for you all his life.”
“The boy is right,” said the miller; “we behaved very wickedly and selfishly, and we have been justly punished for our conduct.”
Little by little everything in the village grew better. The fever went, and the thick fogs cleared away; the cottages were rebuilt, and fresh rains fell and revived the parched grass. Still, though all soon looked bright and cheerful as ever, the people knew that it could never be the same as before the old man came to it. They knew that the charm was broken, and that theirs was no better than all the other villages in the world. But it always was a very happy home to Siegfrid, who, when he grew up, was the village shoemaker, and married Handa, and lived happily to the end of his days.
The Hair Tree
Many years ago there lived a young Queen who was said to be the most beautiful woman in the world. Her skin was white and smooth as ivory, and her eyes bright as stars. But her greatest beauty was her hair. It was neither black nor gold, but exactly halfway between, just the colour of a dead beech-leaf It was so long that it trailed behind her on the ground, and so thick that it took three maids to plait and arrange it every morning. Every day it was scented and washed by the court hairdresser, who examined it carefully to see that it was not growing thinner or falling off. The Queen’s husband, the King, was as proud of it as his wife, and gave her all sorts of lovely jewellery with which to dress it—diamond pins and golden combs—and by his special command the court gardener always kept the best flowers for the Queen to place in her hair.
And not only the King and Queen, but all the courtiers and court ladies—indeed, everyone in the country—praised and admired this beautiful hair; and although some of the court ladies were rather jealous of it, yet all agreed that it would be a real national misfortune if any harm came to it.
One morning the Queen was sitting at her window at work, when a big bird flew past. It was much like an eagle, with a hooked beak and ugly fierce eyes. It hovered around the window for some time, and at last settled on a tree outside and watched the Queen, who did not look up till she was surprised by hearing the bird say in a croaking voice—
“Good day, Queen; you’ve plenty of hair.”
The Queen laughed, well pleased that even a common eagle should notice her beautiful tresses.
“Yes,” she said, shaking it around
