But alas! when everything had happened as before, and when he started to lead his brothers proudly home, he could not do it. For the crumbs were gone. The birds had eaten them.
“Never mind,” said Hop-o’-my-Thumb; “let us just walk towards the sun. We shall get out of the wood some time, and we’ll go to the first house we see and ask for a night’s lodging. Perhaps they’ll take us on as servants. I know how to work, and if the rest of you don’t, you ought to.”
None of the others could think of any better plan, so they followed Hop-o’-my-Thumb towards the setting sun. And they walked, and they walked, and they walked, and they walked, and everyone was tired out, even the sun, which had gone to bed, before they came to a big house with spiky iron railings. A light shone through a round window over the porch, and there was a big knocker to the door—too high for them to reach. But the eldest boy made a back, and Hop-o’-my-Thumb got on it, and knocked loudly.
A kind-looking old lady opened the door.
“Sakes alive!” she said, looking down at the seven tired little boys. “What do you want at this time of night?”
Hop-o’-my-Thumb said, “A night’s lodging and a bit of bread, your Majesty.”
The lady laughed a jolly laugh.
“Bless you,” she said, “I’m not the Queen! I’m Mrs. Gruffky, and my husband is an ogre, I am sorry to say, and eats little children. So you’d best be off the way you came, before he catches you. Go on to the next house. It’s only four miles away.”
“We can’t,” said Hop-o’-my-Thumb. “We’re too tired to go on for forty yards, let alone four miles. Hide us for the night, good lady, and give us a crust, and we’ll go on early in the morning.”
The other six began to cry, and the ogre’s wife was so sorry for them that she said, “Well, come in, if you must. But don’t blame me if anything goes wrong.”
With that she opened the door wide, and they followed her into the big warm kitchen, where a whole sheep was roasting before the fire for the ogre’s supper. She let the children warm themselves, and gave them bread and hot dripping with salt on it, which is called sop-in-the-pan, and is much nicer than you would think.
They soon felt very comfortable and jolly, and quite forgot their tiredness and all their misfortunes. And then suddenly there was a great knocking at the door, and it was the ogre come home.
“Quick, quick! Hide! Here he comes!” whispered Mrs. Gruffky, and pushed the seven boys behind the red window-curtains.
“Is supper ready?” said the ogre; “and have you drawn my bucket of red wine?”
“Oh, yes,” said his wife, “it’s all ready, and I’ll dish up at once.”
Soon the whole sheep was smoking in a dish, and the ogre sat down to supper. But he had not eaten more than two or three of the joints when he began to sniff.
“What’s this I smell?” he said. “Young flesh—live flesh—child’s flesh?”
“Perhaps,” said his wife, “it is the sucking-pigs that are hanging in the dairy ready for your breakfast.”
“No, no, it’s boys’ flesh,” said the ogre; “you don’t deceive me so easily.” He got up and looked about. The red curtains shook with the trembling of the children. The ogre saw the movement, pulled back the curtains, and caught up the boys, four in one hand and three in the other.
“There’s a nice trick to play on a man,” he said, and put them in the kneading-trough. Then he sharpened his knife.
“They’ll make a savoury pie,” he said. “I’ll kill them at once, and they’ll be tender eating tomorrow.”
“Nonsense!” said his wife. “Think of all the meat we’ve got in the house. How can you be so wasteful? There’s more than half that sheep, and a large calf in the larder, and a bullock, and those sucking-pigs. And I ordered three hogs to be killed this morning, which will be brought in tomorrow. Let us keep the children and fatten them up a bit. See how thin they are. That’s why I hid them. I meant them for a little surprise for you. I know how impatient you always are. Let me put them to bed. In a day or two they’ll be really nice eating.”
“Very well,” said the ogre. “Feed the little wretches and put them to bed.”
So she did. She hoped to save their lives by this delay. But the ogre could not sleep for thinking of that raised pie, and when his wife had gone to sleep he got up quietly, and went down and sharpened his knife on the hearthstone.
The ogre’s wife had put all the children to sleep in one big bed, and she had found little night-gowns and nightcaps for them. In another bed in the same room were the ogre’s seven daughters, who all slept with gold crowns on their heads. Soon everyone in that room was sleeping, except Hop-o’-my-Thumb, who had his wits about him. He got up as quietly as the ogre was doing, and, taking the crowns off the seven girls, he put them on his own and his brothers’ heads. And he put the seven little cotton nightcaps on the heads of the ogre’s daughters. And it was just as well that he did.
For when the ogre had finished sharpening his knife he came upstairs, in the dark, for he could not find the tinder-box. He came straight to the bed where the boys lay, and, feeling in the dark, his hand found the gold crowns.
“Dads-lads!” he said, “I had like to have made a pretty mistake here.” Then he went to the next bed, and felt the cotton night-caps.
“No mistake this time,” said he, and cut seven throats, so that every one in that bed died without moving. And the ogre went back to bed thinking how clever he had been.
When Hop-o’-my-Thumb knew that the ogre was asleep—it was quite easy to know, for his snores shook the house and made the doors and windows rattle—he woke his brothers, and they dressed in the dark—all but their boots, which they carried in their hands. They crept down the stairs—their hearts in their mouths at every creak of the old boards—got into the silent, warm kitchen, and then through a window into the night. Then they ran as hard as they could—not much caring where they ran, so long as it was away from that dreadful house.
When the ogre found out the mistake he had made, and that he had killed his own daughters, he was very angry. He called for his seven-league boots, and set out to find the children. He strode here and there, over mountains and rivers, taking twenty-one miles at every step, and looking high and low for Hop-o’-my-Thumb and his brothers.
When they saw him striding about in this way they were more frightened than ever, for he was taking such long steps, and no one could tell in what direction the next would be. So they hid in a cave by the river, and Hop-o’-my-Thumb stood near the entrance, and peeped out to see where the ogre was.
The ogre came close to the cave, and sat down outside. He smelt his prey, but he did not hurry now to find it.
“They are hiding somewhere near here,” he said, “and when they move I shall nab them.”
So he pulled off his boots to rest his feet, and presently he fell fast asleep. Then Hop-o’-my-Thumb whispered to his brothers to run softly and swiftly home, and he went out to take the boots away and hide them. Now the boots were, of course, fairy boots, and they were always the right size for the person who had hold of them, so that when Hop-o’-my-Thumb took hold of them to drag them away they instantly shrank till they were a fine fit for his own little legs.
His first idea was to go and tell the King about the ogre, and to get the army to come and kill him, and he set out for the city; but before he had gone eighty-four miles (or four steps) one of the fairies of the boots spoke, and said, “Stop!”
So Hop-o’-my-Thumb stopped—though he could not think where the voice came from.
“I am the eldest fairy of the boots,” the voice went on. “You are a good boy, and a brave boy, and a clever boy. You can get a fortune for your parents now, if you have the wit to do it. Never mind revenging yourself on the ogre. His fate is creeping towards him even now, rustling and evil, among the dried grass and hot stones of the riverside. Feel in your pocket, and crack the largest nut you find there.”
He felt, and sure enough ther
e was a pocketful of nuts where a moment ago no nuts had been. He cracked the largest with his teeth, and the teeth met on a paper. It was red, and on it in silver letters were these words:
“Hie thee to the ogre’s door,
These words whisper, nothing more:
‘Ogress, ogre cannot come;
Big keys give to Hop-o’-my-Thumb.’”
So he went to the ogre’s house, and when the ogress opened the door he simply said the words the red paper had told him to say.
“Oh, la!” said the ogre’s wife, “that means he’s been caught at last, and wants a ransom. Is that so?”
“I am not to say anything more,” said Hop-o’-my-Thumb.
“But why did he send you—you who were the cause of my daughters’ deaths?”
“I mustn’t say any more,” said the boy, and repeated his lesson.
“Ogress, ogre cannot come;
Big keys give to Hop-o’-my-Thumb.”
“Oh, well, here they are,” she said, and reached them down from the nail. “Come to the treasure chamber. I’ll have a pack-horse got ready to carry what you want. And be sure you take enough.”
She led him to a room with thick stone walls and narrow windows, and there were jewels and money, and treasure of all sorts—enough to keep hundreds of poor families in luxury all their lives. This was the treasure the ogre had heaped up by robbing everyone he came across.
Hop-o’-my-Thumb took as much as he wanted, and the ogre’s wife helped him to arrange it on the pack-horse, and he said goodbye to her, and went straight home to his father and mother, and gave it all to them. And I think it was very kind and forgiving of him. He himself went and laid his wits and his seven-league boots at the service of the King, who at once gave him the highest military honours, and dubbed him “General Post Office” on the spot.
The ogre was killed by a viper as he lay asleep outside that cave, and all the army turned out and dug a trench to bury him in.
The ogre’s wife inherited all the rest of his wealth, and because she had been kind to him and his brothers Hop-o’-my-Thumb persuaded the King to honour her with the title of “Duchess of Draggletail”.
The father and mother, now that they were no longer afraid of starving, were very sorry for the way they had treated their boys, and never again did anything that was not good and kind. Indeed, it was their poverty that was to blame more than they; for, after all, though wickedness sometimes makes people poor, yet much more often poverty makes them wicked. Which is not a bad thing to remember when we are judging our neighbours.
www.doverpublications.com
E. Nesbit, Fairy Tales for Young Readers
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends