“If you cannot buy yourself a gown with that you will have to wait till the berries turn brown,” he said. “For I have no more to spare.”
His granddaughter was delighted, and gave the woodcutter several kisses.
Now there was nothing to do but wait for the pedlar-woman to pass by with her silks and satins and laces, stuff for fine dresses and cloaks and petticoats.
“Stay by the door, Gobbolino!” the woodcutter’s granddaughter told him as she polished the floor and wiped the dishes. “Watch for the pedlar-woman, and don’t fail to tell me if you see her coming!”
Gobbolino waited many days in vain, but at last he saw the pedlar-woman approaching through the forest, with her bundles of silks, satins, and laces, all tied on the back of a little donkey that trotted beside her.
“Here she comes, mistress! Here she comes!” cried Gobbolino, and the next moment his mistress was at the door.
“Stop, good mistress! Stop!” she cried to the pedlar-woman. “Come in by my fire and have a bowl of milk, and show me some of your wares!”
The pedlar-woman laughed as she tied up her donkey outside the cottage door.
“No pretty girl has ever let me past her door without asking me to walk inside!” she cackled, stepping into the woodcutter’s cottage with her arms full of her wares, which she laid on the kitchen table.
There was something about the pedlar-woman’s cackle that made Gobbolino prick his ears and look at her more closely. Before he had stared at her more than a few moments he felt sure that the old woman was a witch. Only witches laughed like that, and had such long crooked fingers and such long crooked noses.
He quite made up his mind about it when the woodcutter’s granddaughter began to turn over the silks and satins.
When she exclaimed:
“Oh! How I should love that crimson silk if it were only a little shade less purple!” The old woman just passed her hand over it, and – lo and behold! – it was exactly the shade the girl had dreamed of.
“Oh!” she cried. “How beautiful is this brocade! If only it had butterflies on it instead of birds!” And the next moment the birds were gone, while in their place fluttered gorgeous butterflies as large as life.
Gobbolino knew something of these tricks, but he did not like them, or the old pedlar-woman either.
He hid himself under the kitchen table and hoped nobody would notice him there.
At last the woodcutter’s granddaughter chose a splendid material of sheer gold, so bright that it glittered in the sunlight. Once she had seen this she would look at nothing else.
“How much would it cost to make me a dress of this beautiful gold satin?” she asked.
“Oh, that would cost two silver pieces!” said the pedlar-woman.
“And I have only one!” cried the girl, bursting into tears of vexation.
“The scarlet is very pretty, or the green,” said the pedlar-woman.
“I don’t want any of them except the gold,” said the girl. “Won’t you take a little less for it, madam? Oh, do!”
“What! Do you wish me to give my wares away?” said the pedlar-woman in a huff, gathering up her stuffs.
“Oh, stop! Stop! Won’t you take something in exchange?” begged the girl. “Won’t you take my silver piece and one of those excellent dough cakes I have in the oven?”
“Dough cakes ruin my digestion!” whined the pedlar-woman. “I live on berries from the forest and clear spring water. Don’t offer me your heavy dough cakes.”
The woodcutter’s granddaughter was offended, for she was an excellent cook, but she still wanted the gold satin very badly.
“Will you take my silk counterpane, perhaps?” she offered. “I made it with my own hands.”
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” croaked the pedlar-woman. “What should I want with a silk counterpane? I sleep in the ditches, side by side with my donkey. People would laugh to see us wrapped in silk embroidery. Don’t offer me your counterpane!”
The woodcutter’s granddaughter was hurt, for the counterpane was the finest thing she possessed, but she still wanted the gold satin very much indeed.
“Perhaps you would like our cuckoo clock?” she said.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” croaked the pedlar-woman. “I tell the time by the sun and the moon! It’s the whimbrel and the lark who chime my hours. Don’t offer me your cuckoo clock!”
The woodcutter’s granddaughter was very annoyed, for she had loved her grandfather’s clock ever since she was a tiny girl, but the longer she looked at the gold satin the more she wanted it for her own.
“Well, I don’t want any of the others,” she said crossly, pushing them across the table to the pedlar-woman. “I shall just go without, that’s all.”
“Stop a moment, there is just one thing I will take in exchange!” said the old dame. “At present I have no cat. If you will give me the handsome cat that is hiding under your table, as well as your silver piece, I will let you have the gold satin for your dress.”
“I dare not! I dare not!” said the woodcutter’s granddaughter. “The cat belongs to my grandfather, and he would never forgive me if I gave him away.”
“Well, no matter,” said the pedlar-woman, walking towards the door. “Perhaps your grandfather will give you another silver coin if you ask him prettily.”
“But you will be gone by then!” wept the girl.
“Three miles on, through the forest, there is a tinker’s hut,” said the pedlar-woman. “There you can find me for the next three nights. Goodbye, my daughter.”
But when the woodcutter came home, not all his granddaughter’s tears and prayers could win another silver coin from him.
When he found out that she had let the pedlar-woman go he was very angry.
“What? You refused a red or a green gown for the sake of a gold one you could not buy? Shame on you! What is one colour more than another? Now the pedlar-woman is gone, and you will have to wait for your dress until she comes back again.”
The next day the woodcutter’s granddaughter sulked all day long. She burned the cakes, left the pots dirty, and threw a frying pan at Gobbolino.
When her grandfather came home in the evening she begged him again to give her a silver coin, but he would not listen to her.
The next day she would not eat a thing from dawn till dark, but still he would have nothing to say when he came home to his tea.
The next day she spent weeping and walking up and down the floor, for it was the third day, and by evening the pedlar-woman would be gone.
She clenched her hands and stamped on the floor, while Gobbolino trembled in a corner, for whenever she caught sight of him she exclaimed:
“Don’t look at me like that! How dare you cast your dreadful blue eyes upon me when you have brought me to such misery! It is all your fault, I tell you, all your fault!”
But all of a sudden in the early evening her manner changed, and her unkindness towards Gobbolino turned to tenderness and compassion.
With her own hands she poured him out a saucer of cream and stood watching him drink it, murmuring:
“Beautiful Gobbolino! How handsome you are! What a shining coat you have, and what beautiful blue eyes! When you have finished your milk, Gobbolino, I have a piece of liver for you, and I believe in my drawer I have a little velvet bag that will make you a bed.”
Gobbolino purred with gratitude, for the last three days had been very uncomfortable for him, and he had been very frightened of the girl’s ill temper and the saucepans and frying pans that she flung at him.
“But how wrong I was to think her a shrew!” he said as he lapped the cream. “How wrong and how unkind! It comes of being born a witch’s kitten, I suppose. I see the bad in other people that is in myself. The girl is young and her disappointment upset her. Her true nature is tender and bright, and how good she is to me!”
He could hear the woodcutter’s granddaughter singing in her bedroom as she looked for her little velvet bag.
“Look at this, Gobbo
lino!” she cried as she ran into the kitchen. “Isn’t this a handsome bed for you? And see! Here is a little piece of liver to go inside it, to give you pleasant dreams!”
“I thank you, dear mistress! It will make me a beautiful bed!” said Gobbolino gratefully. “But I see the sun is going down, and I must hurry off to meet my master, your grandfather.”
“How ungrateful you are!” said the girl, with tears of vexation in her eyes. “Here I have given you my velvet bag for a bed and you won’t even try it first!”
Gobbolino was ashamed of his carelessness when he saw how he had offended his young mistress.
“Well, I will just pop in and out again!” said he. “But I am quite sure there is no need to doubt the comfort of such an elegant bag, dear mistress.”
But the girl still insisted that Gobbolino should try it for himself, so to please her he hopped inside at once.
The moment he had done so the deceitful girl drew the strings tightly, so that the mouth of the bag was closed, and he was a prisoner.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed the woodcutter’s granddaughter, swinging the bag by the string. “Now you are in my power. You wicked, tiresome little cat that has brought me nothing but trouble! Now I can have my gold dress! I shall give you to the witch along with my silver piece, and I hope I may never see you again!”
“Oh, my goodness!” exclaimed Gobbolino, as the girl snatched up her bonnet and ran away through the forest swinging the velvet bag. “That I should come to this! Whatever will my master, your grandfather, say?”
“I shall tell him you ran away of your own accord!” replied the girl. “He will not find out the truth in a hurry, and the pedlar-woman will never let you go. You are going back to the place where you belong – Gobbolino the witch’s cat!”
Large tears filled Gobbolino’s eyes and splashed upon his shirt front as the bag swung to and fro.
The woodcutter’s granddaughter was running very fast, for she was afraid the pedlar-woman would be gone, and then what was she to do for her gold dress? She was afraid too to be out after dark, and there were three miles to walk home when she had parted with Gobbolino.
“I will tell my grandfather I was searching for his cat,” she said to herself as she hurried along, and at last the tinker’s hut came in sight.
The old pedlar-woman was just on the point of departing. She was loading her wares on the back of the donkey standing before the door.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” she croaked as the woodcutter’s granddaughter arrived, quite out of breath with her haste. “I knew you were coming! Psst! I heard you put the cat in the bag! Bang! I heard you slam the door! Pat-a-pat! Pat-a-pat! I heard you running through the forest to meet me. You thought the old pedlar-woman would be gone!”
“Then you are a witch! I thought as much!” said the girl boldly. “Well, I have brought you a witch’s cat! Don’t let him escape, I beg of you, for if my grandfather once finds out what has happened he will turn me out of the house. Here is the cat, and here is my silver coin. Where is my gold dress?”
The pedlar-woman took the silver piece in one hand and the velvet bag in the other. She slipped the coin into her bodice, and hung the bag on the donkey’s saddle.
Then she bundled up the gold material, and the woodcutter’s granddaughter was so busy exclaiming over it and over all the other materials that it was almost dark when she turned to go home.
“Won’t you come part of the way with me, mistress?” she asked the pedlar-woman.
“Indeed, my daughter, my way lies in the opposite direction,” said the old woman. “I must be well on my journey by the time the moon rises.”
“It is so far to go alone!” said the girl, clutching her roll of gold satin and peering among the trees.
“There is your little cat!” said the pedlar-woman with a malevolent smile. “You can take him back with you and give me back the dress.”
“Oh, no! No! No!” cried the girl, running away through the trees as fast as her legs would carry her.
She ran so fast and so far she mistook her way and lost the path. Soon she was floundering waist-deep in brambles that clutched at her frock and tore great rents in the beautiful gold material that she carried.
She had no time to stop and cry about this, she was so far from home, and when she tried to find the path she fell into a swamp and nearly drowned herself. When she struggled out again the mud had stained the beautiful gold stuff black, and the woodcutter’s granddaughter was soaked to the skin.
The moon rose, but shed no light into the inky forest; the stars twinkled, but hid their faces behind the dancing branches of the trees.
Small twigs reached out to scratch at her, twisted roots tripped her up, and the beautiful gold satin she had bought from the pedlar-woman had become a handful of muddy shreds.
When at last she reached the cottage door she was in a fever, and the woodcutter, who had been nearly mad with anxiety, put her straight to bed.
She was ill for many days, and when she recovered, her grandfather had burned the shreds of her dress in the fire, taking it for a bundle of rags.
So there she was with no dress and no Gobbolino and no silver piece, and nobody to be sorry for her either.
The woodcutter thought his cat had run away, and his granddaughter was wise enough not to tell him the truth of the adventure.
15
Gobbolino the Witch’s Cat
Meanwhile Gobbolino was travelling the roads with the pedlar-woman, tied up in a velvet bag.
“After all, who am I to grumble at my fate?” he said to himself. “A witch’s cat I was born, and here I am a witch’s cat again. If only I can escape from harming people, I will do my best to serve my mistress well, but make the innocent unhappy I never will.”
And he was so meek and quiet that before long the pedlar-woman let him out of the velvet bag, and allowed him to trot along at her heels along the highway. She asked him about his home, his mother, and his little sister Sootica and encouraged him to perform his tricks whenever a crowd of children collected.
She taught him too to tell fortunes, but here Gobbolino soon got into trouble.
When a pretty young girl approached him, an old woman, or a handsome young man in love, he could not bring himself to chase away their smiles or their hopeful glances by telling them bad fortunes.
“Hope enough, and all you wish for will come true!” he whispered in their ears.
The pedlar-woman was very angry with him.
“You must tell them of sorrow first, and ill luck, and distress!” she told him. “Then they will be so cast down and dispirited they will come to me for a better fortune! Then I shall say you were wrong and tell them a little better fortune, but still your cruel words will ring in their ears, and they will come back again and again! Every time they do this I will tell them something a little better and something a little sadder, at the same time. And so our pockets will be full of silver!”
But Gobbolino had not the heart to bring sorrow to anyone, however false. At the sight of their distress his beautiful blue eyes filled with tears, and he told them: “Indeed, indeed, it is not true!” although his mistress beat him every time he did so.
And he did not like to see the pretty girls bringing their hard-earned pence to the pedlar-woman to exchange for ribbons, satins, and pieces of silk. He knew that the first time they tied up their hair with the ribbons, and met their lovers decked out in their new silk dresses, the ribbons would rot to shreds, and the dresses fall into fragments, for such was the witch’s treachery.
“Don’t buy! Don’t buy!” he entreated them, but few would listen to him, and when she heard him at it the pedlar-woman boxed his ears.
At last their travels brought them to the foot of a high mountain range which the pedlar-woman told him would have to be crossed.
It seemed very high and dangerous to Gobbolino, but the donkey, who seldom spoke a word, assured him that there was a zig-zag path leading to the summit and down again the other side, an
d on the top there was a cave belonging to another witch, where they would probably spend the night.
Gobbolino looked forward rather fearfully to spending a night in another witch’s cavern.
“But after all,” he said to himself, “what else can I expect? Who am I to expect anything different? How ungrateful I am! – and how wicked! It comes of being born a witch’s cat, I suppose. I had better spend the rest of my life being a proper one.”
But nothing could make him harm people willingly, and the savage blackness of the mountains, the icy torrents, and the dark cavern filled him with dread.
Up and up they climbed, the pedlar-woman first, leading the little donkey, and Gobbolino last, on his three black paws, limping slightly on the white one that he had bruised with a stone.
“Perhaps one day we shall see the green fields and sunshine again!” he told himself. “And oh! How welcome they will be after this dreary witch-country!”
The higher they climbed the wilder the country became, and presently Gobbolino had the strange sensation that he had been here before.
He could not make it out at all.
“It comes of being born a witch’s cat, I suppose,” he said to himself. “Something inside me recognizes all this savagery, but oh! How dreary it is and how lonely!”
But the sensation grew stronger and stronger, till all of a sudden the mouth of an immense cavern yawned before them, at the entrance of which sat a black cat with emerald eyes, whom, in spite of her size, he recognized directly.
It was his little sister Sootica, and he was back on the Hurricane Mountains!
She knew him too, and her astonished cry of: “Gobbolino! My brother!” brought her mistress hurrying to the door of the cavern.
Gobbolino remembered her well, for she had not changed like his sister Sootica, whose sleek black coat, bright eyes, and forest of whiskers showed how much she enjoyed being a witch’s cat.
Once her surprise was over she looked him up and down, while the witches went into the cavern together.
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