with them, and said, "Mr. Whittington has nothing to do but to put it in some place of safety."

Poor Dick hardly knew how to behave himself for joy. He begged his master to take what part of it he pleased, since he owed it all to his kindness. "No, no," answered Mr. Fitzwarren, "this is all your own, and I have no doubt but you will use it well."

Dick next asked his mistress, and then Miss Alice, to accept a part of his good fortune; but they would not, and at the same time told him they felt great joy at his good success. But this poor fellow was too kind-hearted to keep it all to himself; so he made a present to the captain, the mate, and the rest of Mr. Fitzwarren's servants, and even to the ill-natured old cook.

After this Mr. Fitzwarren advised him to send for a proper tradesman and get himself dressed like a gentleman, and told him he was welcome to live in his house till he could provide himself with a better.

When Whittington's face was washed, his hair curled, and his hat cocked, and he was dressed in a nice suit of clothes, he was as handsome and genteel as any young man who visited at Mr. Fitzwarren's; so that Miss Alice, who had once been so kind to him and thought of him with pity, now looked upon him as fit to be her sweetheart; and the more so, no doubt, because Whittington was now always thinking what he could do to oblige her and making her the prettiest presents that could be.

Mr. Fitzwarren soon saw their love for each other and proposed to join them in marriage, and to this they both readily agreed. A day for the wedding was soon fixed; and they were attended to church

The next story came from Suffolk, England, and the original is in the pronounced dialect of that county. Mr. Jacobs thinks it one of the best folk tales ever collected. The version given follows Jacobs in reducing the dialect. There is enough left, however, to raise the question of the use of dialect in stories for children. Some modern versions eliminate the dialect altogether. It is certain that the retention of some of the qualities of the folk-telling makes it more dramatically effective and appropriate. The original form of the story may be seen in Hartland's English Fairy and Folk Tales. Teachers should feel free to use their judgment as to the best form in which to tell a story to children. Name-guessing stories are very common, and may be "a 'survival' of the superstition that to know a man's name gives you power over him, for which reason savages object to tell their names." The Grimm story of "Rumpelstiltskin" is the best known of many variants (No. 178). "Tom Tit Tot" has a rude vigor and dramatic force not in the continental versions, and it will be interesting to compare it with the Grimm tale.

Jacobs suggests that "it may be necessary to explain to the little ones that Tom Tit can be referred to only as 'that,' because his name is not known until the end."

TOM TIT TOT

Once upon a time there was a woman, and she baked five pies. And when they came out of the oven, they were that overbaked the crusts were too hard to eat. So she says to her daughter: "Darter," says she, "put you them there pies on the shelf, and leave 'em there a little, and they'll come again."-She meant, you know, the crust would get soft.

But the girl, she says to herself, "Well, if they'll come again, I'll eat 'em now." And she set to work and ate 'em all, first and last.

Well, come supper-time the woman said, “Go you and get one o' them there pies. I dare say they've come again now."

The girl went and she looked, and there was nothing but the dishes. So back she came and says she, "Noo, they ain't come again."

"Not one of 'em?" says the mother. "Not one of 'em," says she.

"Well, come again or not come again," said the woman, "I'll have one for supper."

"But you can't if they ain't come," said the girl.

"But I can," says she. "Go you and bring the best of 'em."

"Best or worst," says the girl, "I've ate 'em all, and you can't have one till that's come again."

Well, the woman she was done, and she took her spinning to the door to spin, and as she span she sang:

"My darter ha' ate five, five pies to-day. My darter ha' ate five, five pies to-day."

The king was coming down the street, and he heard her sing, but what she sang he could n't hear, so he stopped and said, "What was that you were singing, my good woman?"

The woman was ashamed to let him hear what her daughter had been doing, so she sang, instead of that:

"My darter ha' spun five, five skeins to-day. "My darter ha' spun five, five skeins to-day." "Stars o' mine!" said the king, "I never heard tell of any one that could do that."

Then he said, "Look you here, I want a wife, and I'll marry your daughter. But look you here," says he, "eleven months out of the year she shall have all she likes to eat, and all the gowns she likes to get, and all the company she likes to keep; but the last month of the year she'll have to spin five skeins every day, and if she don't I shall kill her."

"All right," says the woman; for she thought what a grand marriage that was. And as for the five skeins, when the time came, there'd be plenty of ways of getting out of it, and likeliest, he'd have forgotten all about it.

Well, so they were married. And for eleven months the girl had all she liked to eat and all the gowns she liked to get and all the company she liked to keep.

But when the time was getting over, she began to think about the skeins and to wonder if he had 'em in mind. But not one word did he say about 'em, and she thought he'd wholly forgotten 'em.

However, the first day of the last month he takes her to a room she'd never set eyes on before. There was nothing in it but a spinning-wheel and a stool. And says he, "Now, my dear, here you'll be shut in to-morrow with some victuals

and some flax, and if you have n't spun five skeins by the night, your head'll go off." And away he went about his business.

Well, she was that frightened, she'd always been such a gatless girl, that she didn't so much as know how to spin, and what was she to do to-morrow with no one to come nigh her to help her? She sat down on a stool in the kitchen, and law! how she did cry!

However, all of a sudden she heard a sort of a knocking low down on the door. She upped and oped it, and what should she see but a small little black thing with a long tail. That looked up at her right curious, and that said, "What are you a-crying for?"

"What's that to you?" says she.

"Never you mind," that said, "but tell me what you're a-crying for."

"That won't do me no good if I do," says she.

"You don't know that," that said, and twirled that's tail round.

"Well," says she, "that won't do no harm, if that don't do no good," and she upped and told about the pies and the skeins and everything.

"This is what I'll do," says the little black thing, "I'll come to your window every morning and take the flax and bring it spun at night."

"What's your pay?" says she.

That looked out of the corner of that's eyes, and that said, "I'll give you three guesses every night to guess my name, and if you have n't guessed it before the month's up you shall be mine."

Well, she thought she'd be sure to guess that's name before the month was up. "All right," says she, "I agree."

"All right," that says, and law! how that twirled that's tail.

Well, the next day her husband took her into the room, and there was the flax and the day's food.

"Now, there's the flax," says he, "and if that ain't spun up this night, off goes your head." And then he went out and locked the door.

He'd hardly gone when there was a knocking against the window. She upped and she oped it, and there sure enough was the little old thing sitting on the ledge.

"Where's the flax?" says he. "Here it be," says she. And she gave it to him.

Well, come the evening a knocking came again to the window. She upped and she oped it, and there was the little old thing with five skeins of flax on his arm.

"Here it be," says he, and he gave it to her. "Now, what's my name?" says he. "What, is that Bill?" says she. "Noo, that ain't," says he, and he twirled his tail. "Is that Ned?" says she. "Noo, that ain't," says he, and he twirled his tail. "Well, is that Mark?" says she. "Noo, that ain't," says he, and he twirled his tail harder, and away he flew.

Well, when her husband came in, there were the five skeins ready for him. "I see I shan't have to kill you to-night, my dear," says he; "you'll have your food and your flax in the morning," says he, and away he goes.

Well, every day the flax and the food were brought, and every day that there little black impet used to come mornings and evenings. And all the day the girl sat trying to think of names to say to it when it came at night. hit on the right one.

But she never

And as it got

towards the end of the month, the impet began to look so maliceful, and that

twirled that's tail faster and faster each

time she gave a guess.

At last it came to the last day but one. The impet came at night along with the five skeins, and that said, "What, ain't you got my name yet?" "Is that Nicodemus?" says she. "Noo, 't ain't," that says. "Is that Sammle?" says she. "Noo, 't ain't," that says. "A-well, is that Methusalem?" says she. "Noo, 't ain't that neither," that says.

Then that looks at her with that's eyes like a coal o' fire, and that says, "Woman, there's only to-morrow night, and then you'll be mine!" And away it flew.

Well, she felt that horrid. However she heard the king coming along the passage. In he came, and when he sees the five skeins, says he, “Well, my dear, I don't see but what you'll have your skeins ready to-morrow night as well and as I reckon I shan't have to kill I'll have supper in here to-night." they brought supper and another stool for him, and down the two sat.

you,

So

Well, he had n't eaten but a mouthful or so, when he stops and begins to laugh. "What is it?" says she.

"A-why," says he, "I was out a-hunting to-day, and I got away to a place in the wood I'd never seen before. And there was an old chalk-pit. And I heard a kind of a sort of humming. So I got off my hobby, and I went right quiet to the pit, and I looked down. Well, what should there be but the funniest little black thing you ever set eyes on. what was that doing, but that had a little spinning-wheel, and that was spinning wonderful fast, and twirling that's tail. And as that span that sang: "Nimmy nimmy not

My name's Tom Tit Tot."

And

Well, when the girl heard this, she felt as if she could have jumped out of her skin for joy, but she didn't say a word.

Next day that there little thing looked so maliceful when he came for the flax. And when night came she heard that knocking against the window panes. She oped the window, and that come right in on the ledge. That was grinning from ear to ear, and Oo! that's tail was twirling round so fast.

"What's my name?" that says, as that gave her the skeins. "Is that Solomon?" she says, pretending to be afeard. "Noo, 't ain't," that says, and that came further into the room. "Well, is that Zebedee?" says she again. "Noo, 't ain't," says the impet. And then that laughed and twirled that's tail till you could n't hardly see it.

"Take time, woman," that says; "next guess, and you're mine." And that stretched out that's black hands at her.

Well, she backed a step or two, and she looked at it, and then she laughed out, and says she, pointing her finger at it: "Nimmy nimmy not

Your name's Tom Tit Tot."

Well, when that heard her, that gave an awful shriek and away that flew into the dark, and she never saw it any more.

161

In 1697 the French author Charles Perrault (1628-1703) published a little collection of eight tales in prose familiarly known as The Tales of Mother Goose (Contes de Ma Mère l'Oye). These tales were "The Fairies" ("Toads and Diamonds"), "The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood," "Bluebeard," "Little Red Riding Hood," 99.66 Pussin-Boots," "Cinderella," "Rique with the

Tuft," and "Little Thumb." Perrault was prominent as a scholar and may have felt it beneath his dignity to write nursery tales. At any rate he declared the stories were copied from tellings by his elevenyear-old son. But Perrault's fairies have

not only saved him from oblivion: in countless editions and translations they have won him immortality. The charming liter

ary form of his versions, "Englished by R. S. Gent," about 1730, soon established them in place of the more somber English popular versions. It is practically certain that the name Mother Goose, as that of the genial old lady who presides over the light literature of the nursery, was established by the work of Perrault. "Little Red Riding Hood," a likely candidate for first place in the affections of childish story-lovers, is here given in its "correct" form. Many versions are so constructed as to have happy endings, either by having the woodmen appear in the nick of time to kill the wolf before any damage is done, or by having the grandmother and Little Red Riding Hood restored to life after recovering them from the "innards" of the wolf. Andrew Lang thinks that the tale as it stands is merely meant to waken a child's terror and pity, after the fashion of the old Greek tragedies, and that the narrator properly ends it by making a pounce, in the character of wolf, at the little listener. That this was the correct "business" in Scotch nurseries is borne out by a sentence in Chambers' Popular Rhymes of Scotland: "The old nurse's imitation of the gnash, gnash, which she played off upon the youngest urchin lying in her lap, was electric."

LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little country girl, the prettiest creature that was ever seen. Her mother was excessively fond of her; and her grandmother doted on her still more. This good woman got made for

her a little red riding-hood, which became the girl so extremely well that everybody called her Little Red Riding-Hood.

One day her mother, having made some custards, said to her, "Go, my dear, and see how thy grandmamma does, for I hear that she has been very ill; carry her a custard and this little pot of butter."

Little Red Riding-Hood set out immediately to go to her grandmother, who lived in another village.

As she was going through the wood, she met with Gaffer Wolf, who had a very great mind to eat her up, but he durst not because of some fagot-makers hard by in the forest. He asked her whither she was going. The poor child, who did not know that it was dangerous to stay and hear a wolf talk, said to him, "I am going to see my grandmamma and carry her a custard and a little pot of butter from my mamma."

"Does she live far off?" said the wolf. "Oh! aye," answered Little Little Red Riding-Hood, "it is beyond the mill you see there at the first house in the village."

"Well," said the wolf, "and I'll go and see her too. I'll go this way and you go that, and we shall see who will be there soonest."

The wolf began to run as fast as he could, taking the nearest way, and the little girl went by that farthest about, diverting herself by gathering nuts, running after butterflies, and making nosegays of such little flowers as she met with. The wolf was not long before he got to the old woman's house. He knocked at the door-tap, tap.

"Who's there?"

"Your grandchild, Little Red RidingHood," replied the wolf, counterfeiting