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One winter’s day, Tom Poker went out chopping wood. (It was a hard winter, and times were bad.)
He’d not gone far when he trod on some ice; and he slipped and he fell, and it took his breath away. Tom Poker said to the ice, “Ice, ice,” said Tom Poker, “you’ve knocked me down. You must be strong.”
“I am,” said the ice. “You may depend on it.”
“But when the sun comes, you run away,” said Tom Poker.
“Oh,” said the ice, “that’s very true.”
“Well, then,” said Tom Poker; “sun is stronger.”
And the ice said, “He is, seemingly.”
Tom Poker said to the sun, “Sun, sun,” said Tom Poker, “are you strong?”
“I am,” said the sun. “You may depend on it.”
“But when cloud comes, you hide,” said Tom Poker.
“Oh,” said the sun, “that’s very true.”
“Well, then,” said Tom Poker; “cloud is stronger.”
And the sun said, “She is, seemingly.”
Tom Poker said to the cloud, “Cloud, cloud,” said Tom Poker, “are you strong?”
“I am,” said the cloud. “You may depend on it.”
“But when wind comes, you’re blown to bits,” said Tom Poker.
“Oh,” said the cloud, “that’s very true.”
“Well, then,” said Tom Poker; “wind is stronger.”
And the cloud said, “She is, seemingly.”
Tom Poker said to the wind, “Wind, wind,” said Tom Poker, “are you strong?”
“I am,” said the wind. “You may depend on it.”
“But can you shift hill?” said Tom Poker.
“I can’t,” said the wind. “That’s very true.”
“Well, then,” said Tom Poker; “hill is stronger.”
And the wind said, “He is, seemingly.”
Tom Poker said to the hill, “Hill, hill,” said Tom Poker, “are you strong?”
“I am,” said the hill. “You may depend on it.”
“But can you stand on tree?” said Tom Poker.
“I can’t,” said the hill.
“But tree can stand on you,” said Tom Poker.
“She can,” said the hill. “That’s very true.”
“Well, then,” said Tom Poker; “tree is stronger.”
And the hill said, “She is, seemingly.”
Tom Poker said to the tree, “Tree, tree,” said Tom Poker, “are you strong?”
“I am,” said the tree. “You may depend on it.”
Tom Poker swung his axe. “Then have that! and have that! and have that!” said Tom Poker. “Have that! And now who is strong?” said Tom Poker.
But the tree said never a word; for he’d chopped the tree down.
“Me, seemingly! Strongest of all!” said Tom Poker. And he gave a hop. But he hopped on the ice, and he slipped; and the ice took his breath away from Tom Poker.
Jack and his mother kept hens; and one night, thieves came to the house and took twelve pullets and a cockerel, while Jack and his mother slept sound and heard nothing.
“Well!” said Jack’s mother in the morning. “The cheek and impudence! Jack,” she says, “tonight, you see that you keep an eye on the hencote door.”
“Yes, mother,” says Jack. “I shall that; never fret.”
so,the next night, Jack took the hencote door up to bed with him and had it for his pillow. And the thieves came again, they did, and this time they took all the chickens there were, and left the hencote empty, while Jack and his mother slept sound and heard nothing.
“Well!” says Jack’s mother in the morning. “The cheek and impudence! Jack,” she says, “I thought I told you to keep an eye on the hencote door last night.”
“Yes, mother,” says Jack. “And it makes a hard pillow.”
“Well!” says Jack’s mother. “Sooner than trust you to do the job right, you blunderskull, you big dunce, I’d have you wind rope out of sand!”
“Yes, mother,” says Jack. “I shall that; never fret.” And Jack went up the road to the sandhole, a big quarry place where people went when they wanted some sand; and he took a load of sand, and he set about winding rope out of it.
Now in this sandhole there lived a boggart; and when he saw Jack winding rope out of the sand, the boggart says, “Whatever are you doing, Jack?”
“I’m winding rope out of sand,” says Jack, “to throttle boggarts with who live in our sandhole and won’t pay rent.”
“Wait on, Jack,” says the boggart. “I must go tell my grandad about this.” And off went the boggart down the hole, while Jack got on with his winding.
Sooner or later, the boggart came back with a big stick; and he says, “Jack,” he says, “Grandad says we’ll pay rent if you chuck his stick higher than I can. And if not, we’ll eat you.”
“Fair do’s,” says Jack.
So the boggart threw his grandad’s stick into the air, and it went so high that Jack could scarce see it, and when it came down again it went so deep into the ground that Jack could scarce catch hold on it.
“There,” says the boggart. “Now it’s your turn.”
But the stick was so fast in the ground that Jack could scarce shift it.
“Buck
