When the fish were all taken out, he fetched the net which he had laid
out to dry, folded it up very small, and ran down to the river, hoping
that he might find a place narrow enough for him to jump over; but he
soon saw that it was too wide for even the best jumper in the world.
For a few moments he stood there, wondering what was to be done, then
there darted into his head some words of a spell which he had once
heard a wizard use, while drinking from the river. He repeated them, as
well as he could remember, and waited to see what would happen. In five
minutes such a grunting and a puffing was heard, and columns of water
rose into the air, though he could not tell what had made them. Then
round the bend of the stream came fifteen huge whales, which he ordered
to place themselves heads to tails, like stepping stones, so that he
could jump from one to the other till he landed on the opposite shore.
Directly he got there he told the whales that he did not need them any
more, and sat down in the sand to rest.
Unluckily some children who were playing about caught sight of him, and
one of them, stealing softly up behind him, laid tight hold of his
ears. The hare, who had been watching the whales as they sailed down
the river, gave a violent start, and struggled to get away; but the boy
held on tight, and ran back home, as fast as he could go.
“Throw it in the pot,” said the old woman, as soon as he had told his
story; “put it in that basket, and as soon as the water boils in the
pot we will hang it over the fire!”
“Better kill it first,” said the old man; and the hare listened,
horribly frightened, but still looking secretly to see if there was no
hole through which he could escape, if he had a chance of doing so.
Yes, there was one, right in the top of the tent, so, shaking himself,
as if with fright, he let the end of his net unroll itself a little.
“I wish that a spark of fire would fall on my net,” whispered he; and
the next minute a great log fell forward into the midst of the tent,
causing every one to spring backwards. The sparks were scattered in
every direction, and one fell on the net, making a little blaze. In an
instant the hare had leaped through the hole, and was racing towards
the river, with men, women, and children after him. There was no time
to call back the whales, so, holding the net tight in his mouth, he
wished himself across the river. Then he jumped high into the air, and
landed safe on the other side, and after turning round to be sure that
there was no chance of anyone pursuing him, trotted happily home to his
grandmother.
“Didn’t I tell you I would bring you fire?” said he, holding up his
net, which was now burning briskly.
“But how did you cross the water?” inquired the old woman.
“Oh, I just jumped!” said he. And his grandmother asked him no more
questions, for she saw that he was wiser than she.
[“Indian Folk Tales.” Bureau of Ethnology.]
The Turtle and His Bride
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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