mother were saying.
Now the wood-cutter and his wife had no sooner reached home than the lord of the manor sent them a sum of ten crowns which had been owing from him for a long time, and of which they had given up hope. This put new life into them, for the poor creatures were dying of hunger.
The wood-cutter sent his wife off to the butcher at once, and as it was such a long time since they had had anything to eat, she bought three times as much meat as a supper for two required.
When they found themselves once more at table, the wood-cutter’s wife began to lament.
‘Alas! where are our poor children now?’ she said; ‘they could make a good meal off what we have over. Mind you, William, it was you who wished to lose them: I declared over and over again that we should repent it. What are they doing now in that forest? Merciful heavens, perhaps the wolves have already eaten them! A monster you must be to lose your children in this way!’
At last the wood-cutter lost patience, for she repeated more than twenty times that he would repent it, and that she had told him so. He threatened to beat her if she did not hold her tongue.
It was not that the wood-cutter was less grieved than his wife, but she browbeat him, and he was of the same opinion as many other people, who like a woman to have the knack of saying the right thing, but not the trick of being always in the right.
‘Alas!’ cried the wood-cutter’s wife, bursting into tears, ‘where are now my children, my poor children?’
She said it once so loud that the children at the door heard it plainly. Together they all called out:
‘Here we are! Here we are!’
She rushed to open the door for them, and exclaimed, as she embraced them:
‘How glad I am to see you again, dear children! You must be very tired and very hungry. And you, Peterkin, how muddy you are—come and let me wash you!’
This Peterkin was her eldest son. She loved him more than all the others because he was inclined to be red-headed, and she herself was rather red.
They sat down at the table and ate with an appetite which it did their parents good to see. They all talked at once, as they recounted the fears they had felt in the forest.
The good souls were delighted to have their children with them again, and the pleasure continued as long as the ten crowns lasted. But when the money was all spent they relapsed into their former sadness. They again resolved to lose the children, and to lead them much further away than they had done the first time, so as to do the job thoroughly. But though they were careful not to speak openly about it, their conversation did not escape little Tom Thumb, who made up his mind to get out of the situation as he had done on the former occasion.
But though he got up early to go and collect his little stones, he found the door of the house doubly locked, and he could not carry out his plan.
He could not think what to do until the wood-cutter’s wife gave them each a piece of bread for breakfast. Then it occurred to him to use the bread in place of the stones, by throwing crumbs along the path which they took, and he tucked it tight in his pocket.
Their parents led them into the thickest and darkest part of the forest, and as soon as they were there slipped away by a side-path and left them. This did not much trouble little Tom Thumb, for he believed he could easily find the way back by means of the bread which he had scattered wherever he walked. But to his dismay he could not discover a single crumb. The birds had come along and eaten it all.
They were in sore trouble now, for with every step they strayed further, and became more and more entangled in the forest. Night came on and a terrific wind arose, which filled them with dreadful alarm. On every side they seemed to hear nothing but the howling of wolves which were coming to eat them up. They dared not speak or move.
In addition it began to rain so heavily that they were soaked to the skin. At every step they tripped and fell on the wet ground, getting up again covered with mud, not knowing what to do with their hands.
Little Tom Thumb climbed to the top of a tree, in an endeavour to see something. Looking all about him he espied, far away on the other side of the forest, a little light like that of a candle. He got down from the tree, and was terribly disappointed to find that when he was on the ground he could see nothing at all.
After they had walked some distance in the direction of the light, however, he caught a glimpse of it again as they were nearing the edge of the forest. At last they reached the house where the light was burning, but not without much anxiety, for every time they had to go down into a hollow they lost sight of it.
They knocked at the door, and a good dame opened to them. She asked them what they wanted.
Little Tom Thumb explained that they were poor children who had lost their way in the forest, and begged her, for pity’s sake, to give them a night’s lodging.
Noticing what bonny children they all were, the woman began to cry.
‘Alas, my poor little dears!’ she said; ‘you do not know the place you have come to! Have you not heard that this is the house of an ogre who eats little children?’
‘Alas, madam!’ answered little Tom Thumb, trembling like all the rest of his brothers, ‘what shall we do? One thing is very certain: if you do not take us in, the wolves of the forest will devour us this very night, and that being so we should prefer to be eaten by your husband. Perhaps he may take pity on us, if you will plead for us.’
The ogre’s wife, thinking she might be able to hide them from her husband till the next morning, allowed them to come in, and put them to warm near a huge fire, where a whole sheep was cooking on the spit for the ogre’s supper.
Just as they were beginning to get warm they heard two or three great bangs at the door. The ogre had returned. His wife hid them quickly under the bed and ran to open the door.
The first thing the ogre did was to ask whether supper was ready and the wine opened. Then without ado he sat down to table. Blood was still dripping from the sheep, but it seemed all the better to him for that. He sniffed to right and left, declaring that he could smell fresh flesh.
‘Indeed!’ said his wife. ‘It must be the calf which I have just dressed that you smell.’
‘I smell fresh flesh, I tell you!’ shouted the ogre, eyeing his wife askance; ‘and there is something going on here which I do not understand.’
With these words he got up from the table and went straight to the bed.
‘Aha!’ said he; ‘so this is the way you deceive me, wicked woman that you are! I have a very great mind to eat you too! It’s lucky for you that you are old and tough! I am expecting three ogre friends of mine to pay me a visit in the next few days, and here is a tasty dish which will just come in nicely for them!’
One after another he dragged the children out from under the bed.
The poor things threw themselves on their knees, imploring mercy; but they had to deal with the most cruel of all ogres. Far from pitying them, he was already devouring them with his eyes, and repeating to his wife that when cooked with a good sauce they would make most dainty morsels.
Off he went to get a large knife, which he sharpened, as he drew near the poor
