The Fir-Tree Fairy Book: Favorite Fairy Tales by Johnson and Popini - HTML preview

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THE THREE WISHES

ONCE upon a time there lived a poor woodman in a great forest, and every morning his wife filled a basket with food and a bottle with drink for his lunch, and, laden with this lunch and his ax, he went off to be gone till evening cutting timber. One day he was about to fell a huge oak which he thought would furnish many a good plank. He had his ax raised for the first blow when he heard a pitiful entreating, and there stood before him a little fairy, who beseeched him to spare the tree.

So dazed was he with wonder that for a while he could not open his mouth to speak a word, but at last he said, “Well, I’ll do as you ask.”

“That tree is my home,” explained the fairy, “and you will not lose as much as you think by letting it stand, for it is hollow at the heart. Besides, to show you that I am not ungrateful, I will grant you and your wife the first three wishes you and she wish after you get home, let them be what they may.”

Then the fairy opened a little door at the base of the tree, which he had not seen before, and disappeared.

“Well,” said the woodman, “if my wife and I can have three wishes, our fortune is as good as made. It is nearly evening, and I may as well go home at once. I shall never need to cut any more trees.”

He put his ax over his shoulder, picked up his basket and bottle, and off he went. When he arrived at his cottage he sat down by the fireside to rest and told his wife about the fairy.

“Well,” said she, when she had heard him through, “If it is left to my choice, I know very well what I would wish for. I think nothing is so good as to be handsome, and rich, and aristocratic.”

“And yet,” said the husband, “even with such wishes realized, one might be sick and fretful and die young. It would be much wiser to wish for health, cheerfulness, and a long life.”

“The fairy should have promised a dozen wishes,” said the wife, “for there are at least that many things I want very much.”

“Yes,” agreed the man, “a dozen wishes would have been better, but as we have only three we must make those three do all that is possible. Let us consider the matter carefully until tomorrow before wishing, that we may decide wisely what three things are most necessary for us.”

“I’ll think the whole night through,” said she.

“After all,” remarked the man, “it may be the fairy’s promise was only a trick. Who can tell?”

The evening was chilly, and the wife took the tongs and poked the fire into brighter blazing. For a time the man sat in silence, and then he happened to think that he was hungry. “Why isn’t the supper ready?” he asked.

“You forget that you are home early,” she replied. “It won’t be supper time for two hours.”

“Ah!” sighed he, “two hours is a long wait after working in the woods all day. I wish I had some nice sausages this minute.”

No sooner had he said this than—rustle, rustle—what should come down the chimney but a dish containing a string of as fine sausages as ever were seen. The dish came down on the hearth with a slight clatter, and the woodman and his wife stared in astonishment. “What’s all this?” said she.

He answered not a word, and she glowered and glowered. “Oh, you silly man!” she cried, “there’s one wish gone already, and only two are left. What a fool you have been! I wish the sausages were fast to the tip of your nose.”

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A noble string of sausages hung from his nose

Before you could wink, there the goodman sat with his nose the longer for a noble string of sausages. He tried to pull them off, but they stuck. Then his wife gave them a pull, but still they stuck. They refused to come off even when the two pulled together.

“Ouch, ouch!” exclaimed the man, “we must stop this pulling, or we shall pull my nose off. But I can’t have these things staying on my nose. What shall we do?”

“They are not so very unsightly,” said she, “and we had better wish for vast riches. Then we shall be able to live in comfort the rest of our lives, and if you object to the looks of the sausages we can have a golden case made to hide them.”

“I couldn’t endure them, case or no case,” declared the man. Then, lest the goodwife should wish for riches in spite of his protest, he hastily wished that the sausages might come off.

There they lay in the dish as before, and if the husband and wife did not ride in a golden coach and dress in silk and satin, why they at least had as fine a mess of sausages for their supper as the heart of man could desire.