A mother had two daughters, and their names were Bessy and Lilly. Now, Bessy was her own child, and she was the pet; but Lilly was her step-daughter, and she had a sad time of it, I can tell you. Every thing she did was amiss; it was nothing but scold, scold from morn till night. At last little Lilly could bear it no longer; số she made up her mind to run away from home-a home that was no home to her, poor thing. She took a tiny pot, a handful of flour, and a spoon; put them into a basket, and off she set. Lilly wandered on and on, until she came to a dark, gloomy forest. Into this forest she entered, and away she went through the trees. At last she could go no further, poor Lily was so hungry and tired. Down she sat on a nice mossy turf, at the foot of a tree. Having rested a little, she lit a fire, put on the pot, and began to make her porridge. Now when her porridge was boiling, and was just ready, whom should she see, but a wee old Brownie, toddling straight up to her. "What are you cooking?" asked the queer little man. "A spoonful of porridge," said Lilly. "May I just lick the back of your spoon, please?" begged Brownie. "That you may," answered Lilly; "sit down, if you like, and share my meal with me, and welcome." Brownie capered about with delight, and danced round the fire till everything was quite ready. Then down they sat together, little Lilly, and the funny wee man; and a fine feast they had on the steaming porridge. 66 May I ask your name?" said little Lilly, slyly, when they had swallowed the last mouthful. "I am Fippy Fappy," said Brownie; "and, if you like, you may come with me. A pleasant life we shall lead together, I can see." Lilly put her tiny hand in his, and off they started, as merry as two birds in spring. They travelled on and on, far into the thick forest, till at last they came to a castle. The gates opened of their own accord, and in they went. Everything was splendid to be hold. The castle belonged to Fippy Fappy. Now, Lilly's step-mother had set out, armed with a heavy club, to seek her runaway foster child. She was in a terrible rage, and vowed she would beat poor Lilly to death. Wandering about here and there, she arrived, after many days, at the castle gate. She knocked loud and strong, and was let in. Little did she think what she was going to see! She found Lilly in peace and plenty, and the mistress of this grand castle. Steppy did not carry out her horrible threat, as you may guess. No! the club dropped from her hands. Lilly was too good-natured not to forget all the wrong she had suffered. Yes, she feasted her mother right well, and treated her kindly. In a few days Steppy returned home. She told Bessy all about Lilly's good luck. So Bessy thought she would run away too. Well, off she started for the same forest; seated herself, and began to make porridge. Then Brownie came, just as he had come to Lilly. "What are you cooking here?" said he. "Porridge to be sure," replied Bessy. "Will you let me lick the back of your spoon?" asked Brownie. "No, indeed!" said the pert little thing; I can lick it myself, I suppose. Bessy sat down, and devoured all the porridge herself; wee Brownie stood looking at her all the while. When Bessy had done, he seized her, tore her body into a thousand shreds, and hung them all up in the trees. By-and-by, the mother set off to seek for Bessy. Steppy thought that for certain she had fallen on her feet, as well as Lilly. At last she came to the place where Bessy was hanging, all in little bits on the trees. At first she fancied it was linen hanging out to dry. Fancy her horror when she found what the bits of linen really were. She fell down in a swoon, and whether or not she ever got home again, is more than I know. The Fairy Poing. toll troll LET us laugh and let us sing, Harry will be Winter wild, Spring and Summer glide away, Faster! faster! round we go, Free as birds upon the wing, The Cat on the Dovrefell. ONCE on a time there was a man up in Finmark who had caught a great white bear, which he was going to take to the King of Denmark. Now it so fell out, that * Dovrefell, (or-fjeld), a mountain range in Norway. he came to the Dovrefell, just about Christmas Eve. There he turned into a cottage where a man lived whose name was Halvor. He asked the man if he could get house-room there for his bear and himself. "May I die of want, if what I say is'nt true!" said the man; "but we can't give any one houseroom just now. Every Christmas Eve such a pack of Trolls* come down upon us that we are forced to flit. Then, indeed, we haven't so much as a roof over our heads, to say nothing of lending one to anyone else." "Oh!" said the man, "if that's all, you can very well lend me your house. My bear can lie under the stove, yonder, and I can sleep in the side room." Well, he begged so hard, that at last he got leave to stay. So the people of the house flitted out, and, before they went, every thing was got ready for the Trolls. The tables were laid, and there was rich porridge, and fish boiled in butter, and sausages. And there was everything else that was nice, just as for any other feast. So, when everything was ready, down came the Trolls. Some were big, and some were little; some had long tails, and some had no tails at all. Some too had long, long noses; and they ate and drank, and tasted everything. Just then one of the little Trolls caught sight of the White Bear, who lay under the stove. So he took a piece of sausage and stuck it on a fork, and went and poked it up against the Bear's nose, screaming out, "Pussy, will you have some sau'sage?” Then the White Bear rose up and growled, and hunted the whole pack of them out of doors, both great and small. Trolls, fabled giant-ogres or mountain demons of Scandinavia. |