Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Children's stories; Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Fairy tales; Fantasy literature
The third evening of their journey the two travellers came to
a little hut, neat enough, but as poor as poverty, and there
the comrade knocked upon the door and asked for lodging. In the
house lived a poor man and his wife; and, though the two were as
honest as the palm of your hand, and as good and kind as rain in
spring-time, they could hardly scrape enough of a living to keep
body and soul together. Nevertheless, they made the travellers
welcome, and set before them the very best that was to be had in
the house; and, after both had eaten and drunk, they showed them to
bed in a corner as clean as snow, and there they slept the night
through.
[Illustration]
But the next morning, before the dawning of the day, the travelling
companion was stirring again. “Come,” said he; “rouse yourself, for
I have a bit of work to do before I leave this place.”
And strange work it was! When they had come outside of the house,
he gathered together a great heap of straw and sticks of wood, and
stuffed all under the corner of the house. Then he struck a light
and set fire to it, and, as the two walked away through the gray
dawn, all was a red blaze behind them.
Still, the servant remembered his promise to his travelling
comrade, and said never a word or asked never a question, though
all that day he walked on the other side of the road, and would
have nothing to say or to do with the other. But never a whit did
his comrade seem to think of or to care for that. On they jogged,
and, by the time evening was at hand, they had come to a neat
cottage with apple and pear trees around it, all as pleasant as the
eye could desire to see. In this cottage lived a widow and her only
son, and they also made the travellers welcome, and set before
them a good supper and showed them to a clean bed.
This time the travelling comrade did neither good nor ill to those
of the house, but in the morning he told the widow whither they
were going, and asked if she and her son knew the way to the garden
where grew the fruit of happiness.
“Yes,” said she, “that we do, for the garden is not a day’s journey
from here, and my son himself shall go with you to show you the
way.”
“That is good,” said the servant’s comrade, “and if he will do so I
will pay him well for his trouble.”
So the young man put on his hat, and took up his stick, and off
went the three, up hill and down dale, until by-and-by they came
over the top of the last hill, and there below them lay the garden.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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