Then he once more buckled on his sword, bade the robbers goodbye, and
took to the road. First, he went to work with some masters, but he had
no liking for that, and at last he hired himself as man-servant in an
inn. The maids, however, could not endure him, for he saw all they did
secretly, without their seeing him, and he told their master and
mistress what they had taken off the plates, and carried away out of
the cellar, for themselves. Then said they, “Wait, and we will pay thee
off!” and arranged with each other to play him a trick. Soon afterwards
when one of the maids was mowing in the garden, and saw Thumbling
jumping about and creeping up and down the plants, she mowed him up
quickly with the grass, tied all in a great cloth, and secretly threw
it to the cows. Now amongst them there was a great black one, who
swallowed him down without hurting him. Down below, however, it pleased
him ill, for it was quite dark, neither was any candle burning. When
the cow was being milked he cried,
“Strip, strap, strull,
Will the pail soon be full?”
But the noise of the milking prevented his being understood. After this
the master of the house came into the cow-byre and said, “That cow
shall be killed to-morrow.” Then Thumbling was so alarmed that he cried
out in a clear voice, “Let me out first, for I am shut up inside her.”
The master heard that quite well, but did not know from whence the
voice came. “Where art thou?” asked he. “In the black one,” answered
Thumbling, but the master did not understand what that meant, and went
out.
Next morning the cow was killed. Happily Thumbling did not meet with
one blow at the cutting up and chopping; he got among the sausage-meat.
And when the butcher came in and began his work, he cried out with all
his might, “Don’t chop too deep, don’t chop too deep, I am amongst it.”
No one heard this because of the noise of the chopping-knife. Now poor
Thumbling was in trouble, but trouble sharpens the wits, and he sprang
out so adroitly between the blows that none of them touched him, and he
escaped with a whole skin. But still he could not get away, there was
nothing for it but to let himself be thrust into a black-pudding with
the bits of bacon. His quarters there were rather confined, and besides
that he was hung up in the chimney to be smoked, and there time did
hang terribly heavy on his hands.
At length in winter he was taken down again, as the black-pudding had
to be set before a guest. When the hostess was cutting it in slices, he
took care not to stretch out his head too far lest a bit of it should
be cut off; at last he saw his opportunity, cleared a passage for
himself, and jumped out.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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