Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Children's stories; Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Fairy tales; Fantasy literature
“Then follow me,” said the servant, and thereupon the travelling
companion tucked away his pipe and entered, with the other at his
heels.
The house-servant led the way from one room to another, each
grander than the one they left behind, until at last he came to a
great hall where dozens of servants were serving a fine feast. But
only one man sat at table--a young man with a face so sorrowful
that it made a body’s heart ache to look upon him. “Can you play
good music, piper?” said he.
“Yes,” said the piper, “that I can, for I know a tune that can cure
sorrow. But before I blow my pipe I and my friend here must have
something to eat and drink, for one cannot play well with an empty
stomach.”
“So be it,” said the young man; “sit down with me and eat and
drink.”
So the two did without second bidding, and such food and drink
the serving-man had never tasted in his life before. And while
they were feasting together the young man told them his story, and
why it was he was so sad. A year before he had married a young
lady, the most beautiful in all that kingdom, and had friends and
comrades and all things that a man could desire in the world.
But suddenly everything went wrong; his wife and he fell out and
quarrelled until there was no living together, and she had to go
back to her old home. Then his companions deserted him, and now he
lived all alone.
“Yours is a hard case,” said the travelling companion, “but it is
not past curing.” Thereupon he drew out his pipes and began to
play, and it was such a tune as no man ever listened to before.
He played and he played, and, after a while, one after another of
those who listened to him began to get drowsy. First they winked,
then they shut their eyes, and then they nodded until all were
as dumb as logs, and as sound asleep as though they would never
waken again. Only the servant and the piper stayed awake, for the
music did not make them drowsy as it did the rest. Then, when all
but they two were tight and fast asleep, the travelling companion
arose, tucked away his pipe, and, stepping up to the young man,
took from off his finger a splendid ruby ring, as red as blood and
as bright as fire, and popped the same into his pocket. And all
the while the serving-man stood gaping like a fish to see what his
comrade was about. “Come,” said the travelling companion, “it is
time we were going,” and off they went, shutting the door behind
them.
As for the serving-man, though he remembered his promise and said
nothing concerning what he had beheld, his wits buzzed in his head
like a hive of bees, for he thought that of all the ugly tricks
he had seen, none was more ugly than this--to bewitch the poor
sorrowful young man into a sleep, and then to rob him of his ruby
ring after he had fed them so well and had treated them so kindly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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