by Howard Pyle
Much shall have more and little shall have less.
Once upon a time there was a king who did the best he could to rulewisely and well, and to deal justly by those under him whom he hadto take care of; and as he could not trust hearsay, he used everynow and then to slip away out of his palace and go among his peopleto hear what they had to say for themselves about him and the wayhe ruled the land.
Well, one such day as this, when he was taking a walk, he strolledout past the walls of the town and into the green fields until hecame at last to a fine big house that stood by the banks of ariver, wherein lived a man and his wife who were very well to do inthe world. There the king stopped for a bite of bread and a drinkof fresh milk.
“I would like to ask you a question,” said the king to the richman; “and the question is this: Why are some folk rich and somefolk poor?”
“That I cannot tell you,” said the good man; “only I remember myfather used to say that much shall have more and little shall haveless.”
“Very well,” said the king; “the saying has a good sound, but letus find whether or not it is really true. See; here is a purse withthree hundred pieces of golden money in it. Take it and give it tothe poorest man you know; in a week’s time I will come again, andthen you shall tell me whether it has made you or him the richer.”
Now in the town there lived two beggars who were as poor as povertyitself, and the poorer of the twain was one who used to sit in ragsand tatters on the church step to beg charity of the good folk whocame and went. To him went the rich man, and, without so much as agood-morning, quoth he: “Here is something for you,” and so sayingdropped the purse of gold into the beggar’s hat. Then away he wentwithout waiting for a word of thanks.
As for the beggar, he just sat there for a while goggling andstaring like one moon-struck. But at last his wits came back tohim, and then away he scampered home as fast as his legs couldcarry him. Then he spread his money out on the table and countedit--three hundred pieces of gold money! He had never seen suchgreat riches in his life before. There he sat feasting his eyesupon the treasure as though they would never get their fill. Andnow what was he to do with all of it? Should he share his fortunewith his brother? Not a bit of it. To be sure, until now they hadalways shared and shared alike, but here was the first great lumpof good-luck that had ever fallen in his way, and he was not forspoiling it by cutting it in two to give half to a poor beggar-mansuch as his brother. Not he; he would hide it and keep it all forhis very own.
Now, not far from where he lived, and beside the river, stood awillow-tree, and thither the lucky beggar took his purse of moneyand stuffed it into a knot-hole of a withered branch, then wenthis way, certain that nobody would think of looking for money insuch a hiding-place. Then all the rest of the day he sat thinkingand thinking of the ways he would spend what had been given him,and what he would do to get the most good out of it. At last cameevening, and his brother, who had been begging in another part ofthe town, came home again.
“I nearly lost my hat to-day,” said the second beggar so soon as hehad come into the house.
“Did you?” said the first beggar. “How was that?”
“Oh! the wind blew it off into the water, but I got it again.”
“How did you get it?” said the first beggar.
“I just broke a dead branch off of the willow-tree and drew my hatashore,” said the second beggar.
“A dead branch!!”
“A dead branch.”
“Off of the willow tree!!”
“Off of the willow tree.”
The first beggar could hardly breathe.
“And what did you do with the dead branch after that?”
“I threw it away into the water, and it floated down the river.”
The beggar to whom the money had been given ran out of the househowling, and down to the river-side, thumping his head with hisknuckles like one possessed. For he knew that the branch that hisbrother had broken off of the tree and had thrown into the water,was the very one in which he had hidden the bag of money.
Yes; and so it was.
The next morning, as the rich man took a walk down by the river, hesaw a dead branch that had been washed up by the tide. “Halloo!”says he, “this will do to kindle the fire with.”
So he brought it to the house, and, taking down his axe, began tosplit it up for kindling. The very first blow he gave, out tumbledthe bag of money.
* * * * *
But the beggar--well, by-and-by his grieving got better of itsfirst smart, and then he started off down the river to see if hecould not find his money again. He hunted up and he hunted down,but never a whit of it did he see, and at last he stopped at therich man’s house and begged for a bite to eat and lodgings forthe night. There he told all his story--how he had hidden themoney that had been given him from his brother, how his brotherhad broken off the branch and had thrown it away, and how he hadspent the whole live-long day searching for it. And to all the richman listened and said never a word. But though he said nothing,he thought to himself, “Maybe, after all, it is not the will ofHeaven that this man shall have the money. Nevertheless, I willgive him another trial.”
So he told the poor beggar to come in and stay for the night; and,whilst the beggar was snoring away in his bed in the garret, therich man had his wife make two great pies, each with a fine browncrust. In the first pie he put the little bag of money; the secondhe filled full of rusty nails and scraps of iron.
The next morning he called the beggar to him. “My friend,” said he,“I grieve sadly for the story you told me last night. But maybe,after all, your luck is not all gone. And now, if you will chooseas you should choose, you shall not go away from here comfortless.In the pantry yonder are two great pies--one is for you, and onefor me. Go in and take whichever one you please.”
“A pie!” thought the beggar to himself; “does the man think thata big pie will comfort me for the loss of three hundred pieces ofmoney?” Nevertheless, as it was the best thing to be had, into thepantry the beggar went and there began to feel and weigh the pies,and the one filled with the rusty nails and scraps of iron was everso much the fatter and the heavier.
“This is the one that I shall take,” said he to the rich man, “andyou may have the other.” And, tucking it under his arm, off hetramped.
Well, before he got back to the town he grew hungry, and sat downby the roadside to eat his pie; and if there was ever an angry manin the world before, he was one that day--for there was his piefull of nothing but rusty nails and bits of iron. “This is the waythe rich always treat the poor,” said he.
So back he went in a fume. “What did you give me a pie full of oldnails for?” said he.
“You took the pie of your own choice,” said the rich man;“nevertheless, I meant you no harm. Lodge with me here one night,and in the morning I will give you something better worth while,maybe.”
So that night the rich man had his wife bake two loaves of bread,in one of which she hid the bag with the three hundred pieces ofgold money.
“Go to the pantry,” said the rich man to the beggar in the morning,“and there you will find two loaves of bread--one is for you andone for me; take whichever one you choose.”
So in went the beggar, and the first loaf of bread he laid his handupon was the one in which the money was hidden, and off he marchedwith it under his arm, without so much as saying thank you.
“I wonder,” said he to himself, after he had jogged alongawhile--“I wonder whether the rich man is up to another trick suchas he played upon me yesterday?” He put the loaf of bread to hisear and shook it and shook it, and what should he hear but thechink of the money within. “Ah ha!” said he, “he has filled it withrusty nails and bits of iron again, but I will get the better ofhim this time.”
By-and-by he met a poor woman coming home from market. “Would youlike to buy a fine fresh loaf of bread?” said the beggar.
“Yes, I would,” said the woman.
“Well, here is one you may have for two pennies,” said the beggar.
That was cheap enough, so the woman paid him his price and off shewent with the loaf of bread under her arm, and never stopped untilshe had come to her home.
Now it happened that the day before this very woman had borrowedjust such a loaf of bread from the rich man’s wife; and so, asthere was plenty in the house without it, she wrapped this loafup in a napkin, and sent her husband back with it to where it hadstarted from first of all.
“Well,” said the rich man to his wife, “the way of Heaven is notto be changed.” And so he laid the money on the shelf until he whohad given it to him should come again, and thought no more ofgiving it to the beggar.
At the end of seven days the king called upon the rich man again,and this time he came in his own guise as a real king. “Well,” saidhe, “is the poor man the richer for his money?”
“No,” said the rich man, “he is not;” and then he told the wholestory from beginning to end just as I have told it.
“Your father was right,” said the king; “and what he said was verytrue--‘Much shall have more and little shall have less.’ Keep thebag of money for yourself, for there Heaven means it to stay.”
And maybe there is as much truth as poetry in this story.
* * * * *
_And now it was the turn of the Blacksmith who had made Death sitin his pear-tree until the cold wind whistled through the ribs ofman’s enemy. He was a big, burly man, with a bullet head, and agreat thick neck, and a voice like a bull’s._
_“Do you mind,” said he, “about how I clapped a man in the fire andcooked him to a crisp that day that St. Peter came travelling myway?”_
_There was a little space of silence, and then the Soldier who hadcheated the Devil spoke up. “Why yes, friend,” said he, “I knowyour story very well.”_
_“I am not so fortunate,” said old Bidpai. “I do not know yourstory. Tell me, friend, did you really bake a man to a crisp? Andhow was it then?”_
_“Why,” said the Blacksmith, “I was trying to do what a better manthan I did, and where he hit the mark I missed it by an ell. ’Twasa pretty scrape I was in that day.”_
_“But how did it happen?” said Bidpai._
_“It happened,” said the Blacksmith, “just as it is going to happenin the story I am about to tell.”_
_“And what is your story about?” said Fortunatus._
_“It is,” said the Blacksmith, “about--”_
