ONCE there was a simple-minded fellow who wanted to buy a bottle of brains, for he was always getting into scrapes through his foolishness, and being laughed at by every one. Folk told him he could get whatever he wanted from the wise woman, who lived at the top of the hill, and dealt in potions and herbs and magic spells, and could tell a person all that was going to happen to him. So the simple lad asked his mother if he could seek the wise woman and buy a bottle of brains.
“To be sure,” said she, “for you are in sore need of them, my son; and if I should die, who would take care of a poor, simple fellow such as you are. But mind your manners, and speak fair to her, my lad. These wise folk are easily mispleased.”
After he had eaten supper, off he went to the wise woman on the hill, and there he found her sitting in her kitchen by the fire stirring a big pot.
“Good evening, missis,” said he, as he entered the door; “it’s a fine night.”
“Yes,” said she, and went on stirring.
“But it will maybe rain,” said he, fidgeting from one foot to the other.
“Maybe,” said she.
“And perhaps it won’t,” said he, and looked out of the window.
“Perhaps not,” said she.
He scratched his head and twisted his hat.
“Well,” said he, “I can’t think of anything else about the weather, but let me see—the crops are getting on fine.”
“Yes,” said she.
“And—and—the beasts are fattening,” said he.
“They are,” said she.
“And—and—” said he, and came to a stop. But after a few moments he remarked: “I reckon I’ve talked enough for politeness, and now we’ll tackle business. Have you any brains to sell?”
“That depends on what you want,” said she. “If you are after king’s brains, or soldier’s brains, or schoolmaster’s brains, I do not keep them.”
“Mercy, no!” he exclaimed, “I’m not after such as that, but just ordinary brains—fit for any simple fellow—the same as every one has about here—something plain and common-like, and only a bottle full.”
“Very well,” said the wise woman, “I might manage it if so be you’ll help yourself.”
“What would you have me do?” he asked.
She looked into the pot before replying, and then said, “Bring me the heart of the thing you like best, and I’ll tell you where to get your bottle of brains.”
“But how can I do that?” he questioned anxiously.
“That’s not for me to say,” she answered. “Find out for yourself, my lad, if you do not want to live to be a simpleton all your days. Now I must attend to other matters; so good evening to you,” and she bowed him out and shut the door.
Off went the lad to his mother and told her what the wise woman had said; “and I reckon I’ll have to kill our pig,” he added, “for I like fat pork better than anything else.”
“Then kill the pig,” advised his mother, “for certainly it will be a strange and good thing for you if you can buy a bottle of brains and be able to take care of yourself.”
So he killed the pig, and the next day he again visited the wise woman at her cottage on the hill. There she sat by the hearth, reading in a great book.
“Good evening, missis,” said he, “I’ve brought you the heart of the thing I like best of all. It is the heart of our pig.”
“Is that so?” said she, and looked at him through her spectacles. “Then tell me this—what runs without feet?”
He thought and thought and thought, but he could not tell.
“Go your way,” said she. “You have not fetched me the right thing yet, and I have no brains for you today.”
So saying, she clapped her book together, and turned her back, and the lad went to tell his mother.
As he drew near to the house, out ran some of the neighbors to inform him that his mother was dying. When he went in, she smiled at him feebly, and soon, without speaking a word, breathed her last. He left the room and sat down on a bench just outside of the house door, and the more he thought about his mother’s death, the worse he felt. He remembered how she had taken care of him ever since he was a tiny child, helping him with his lessons, cooking his food, mending his clothes, and bearing with his foolishness.
“Oh, mother, mother!” he sighed, “who will take care of me? You have left me all alone, and what shall I do now to get that bottle of brains?”
After the funeral was over he went once more to consult the wise woman, and he told her of his mother’s sudden death, and how he had now more need than ever of the bottle of brains.
“Well,” said she, “I can do nothing for you yet, unless you can answer me one more riddle that I have to ask. What is it that is yellow and shining, but is not gold?”
He pondered on her question for a long time without being able to give any answer, and at last she shut the door in his face, and he walked sadly away. Pretty soon he sat down by the roadside and began to cry, and he fairly howled till the tears ran down into his mouth. While he was in the midst of his grief along came a lass who lived near by, and she stopped and looked at him. “What’s troubling you?” she asked.
“Oh dear!” said he, “I’ve killed my pig and lost my mother, and I’m nothing but a simpleton.”
“That’s bad,” said she; “and haven’t you anybody to look after you?”
“No,” said he, “and what is worst of all I don’t know how to buy a bottle of brains.”
“What are you talking about?” said she; and down she sat by him, and he told her all about the wise woman, and the pig, and his mother, and the riddles, and that he was alone in the world.
The lass stopped and looked at him
“Well,” said she, “I wouldn’t mind looking after you myself.”
“Could you do it?” said he, wiping away his tears and gazing at her hopefully.
“Oh, yes,” said she, “folk say that simpletons make good husbands, and I believe I’ll have you, if you are willing.”
“Can you cook?” said he.
“Yes,” said she.
“And scrub?” said he.
“Surely,” said she.
“And mend my clothes?” said he.
“I can,” said she.
“I reckon you’ll suit me as well as anybody,” said he, “but what shall I do about getting a bottle of brains from the wise woman?”
“Wait a bit,” said she, “and perhaps we can show her that it will not matter if you are a simpleton so long as you have me to look after you.”
“All right,” said he.
Then off they trudged and got married. Afterward they went to the house where the youth’s mother had lived, and his wife kept it so clean and neat, and cooked his food so nice that one evening he said to her, “Lass, I’m thinking I like you best of anything.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said she.
“But,” said he, “have I got to kill you, do you think, and take your heart to the wise woman for that bottle of brains?”
“Law, no!” she exclaimed, looking scared, “I will not have that, but you might take me as I am, heart and all, and I’ll wager I can help you read her riddles.”
“Do you think so?” said he. “I’m afraid they are too hard for women folk.”
“Let us see,” said she. “What was the first?”
“What runs without feet?” said he.
“Why, water,” she said.
“So it does,” said he, and clapped his hands gleefully; “and what is yellow and shining but is not gold?”
“Why, the sun,” said she.
“Faith, it is!” said he. “Come, we’ll go to the wise woman at once,” and off they went.
When they climbed the hill they found the wise woman sitting in her cottage doorway. “Good evening, missis,” said the lad, “I reckon I’ve fetched you the right thing this time.”
The wise woman looked at them both and wiped her spectacles. Then she said, “Can you tell me what it is that has first no legs, and afterward two legs, and ends with four legs?”
The lad scratched his head, and thought and thought and thought, but he couldn’t tell.
At last the lass whispered in his ear, “It’s a tadpole.”
Then he turned to the wise woman and said, “Perhaps it might be a tadpole.”
The wise woman nodded her head. “That’s right,” said she, “and you’ve got your bottle of brains already.”
“Where?” asked he, looking about and feeling in his pockets.
“In your wife’s head,” she answered. “The only cure for a simpleton is a good wife to look after him, and that you’ve got. So good evening to you.”
She nodded to them, and got up and went into the house. Then they walked home together, and he never wanted to buy a bottle of brains again, for his wife had enough for both of them.