English:
Identifier: crimsonfairybook00lang (find matches)
Title: The crimson fairy book
Year: 1903 (1900s)
Authors: Lang, Andrew, 1844-1912 Ford, H. J. (Henry Justice), 1860-1941, ill
Subjects:
Publisher: London New York : Longmans, Green and Co.
Contributing Library: Boston Public Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Internet Archive
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Maria. The merchantdid not reply, but went sorrowfullyback to his house, where Maria sat waiting for him. Oh, my dear child, why was I born ? The king saysthat, instead of the coat, I must deliver you up to him. * Do not be unhappy, dear father, but get a doll made,exactly like me, with a string attached to its head, w^hichI can pull for Yes and No. So the old man went out at once to see about it. The king remained patiently in his palace, feeling surethat this time Maria could not escape him; and he saidto his pages, If a gentleman should come here with hisdaughter and ask to be allowed to speak with me, put theyoung lady in my room and see she does not leave it. When the door was shut on Maria, who had concealedthe doll under her cloak, she hid herself under the couch,keeping fast hold of the string which was fastened to itshead. * Senhora Maria, I hope you are well, said the kingwhen he entered the room. The doll nodded. Now wewill reckon up accounts, continued he, and he began at
Text Appearing After Image:
nhMR & THL KING CLEVER MABIA 367 the beginning, and ended up with the flower-basket, andat each fresh misdeed Maria pulled the string, so thatthe dolls head nodded assent. Whoso mocks at memerits death, declared the king when he had ended, anddrawing his sword, cut off the dolls head. It fell towardshim, and as he felt the touch of a kiss, he exclaimed, * Ah,Maria, Maria, so sweet in death, so hard to me in life !The man who could kill you deserves to die ! And hewas about to turn his sword on himself, when the trueMaria sprung out from under the bed, and flung herselfinto his arms. And the next day they were married andlived happily for many years. (From the Portuguese.) 868 THE MAGIC KETTLE Eight in the middle of Japan, high up among themountains, an old man lived in his little house. He wasvery proud of it, and never tired of admiring the white-ness of his straw mats, and the pretty papered walls,which in warm weather always slid back, so that thesmell of the trees and flowers
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