One day the weather was cold, and when Babo came home from gathering rushes he found no fire in the house. So off he went to his neighbor the wise man. "Will you give me a live coal to start my fire?" said he.
"Yes, I will do that," said Simon Agricola; "But how will you carry the coal home?"
"Oh!" said Babo, "I will just take it in my hand."
"In your hand?"
"In my hand."
"Can you carry a live coal in your hand?"
"Oh yes!" said Babo; "I can do that easily enough."
"Well, I should like to see you do it," said Simon Agricola.
"Then I will show you," said Babo. He spread a bed of cold, dead ashes upon his palm. "Now," said he, "I will take the ember upon that."
Agricola rolled up his eyes like a duck in a thunder-storm. "Well," said he, "I have lived more than seventy years, and have read all the books in the world; I have practised magic and necromancy, and know all about algebra and geometry, and yet, wise as I am, I never thought of this little thing."
That is the way with your wise man.
"Pooh!" said Babo; "that is nothing. I know how to do many more tricks than that."
"Do you?" said Simon Agricola; "then listen: to-morrow I am going out into the world to make my fortune, for little or nothing is to be had in this town. If you will go along with me I will make your fortune also."
"Very well," said Babo, and the bargain was struck. So the next morning bright and early off they started upon their journey, cheek by jowl, the wise man and the simpleton, to make their fortunes in the wide world, and the two of them made a pair. On they jogged and on they jogged, and the way was none too smooth. By-and-by they came to a great field covered all over with round stones.
"Let us each take one of these," said Simon Agricola; "they will be of use by-and-by;" and, as he spoke, he picked up a great stone as big as his two fists, and dropped it into the pouch that dangled at his side.
"Not I," said Babo; "I will carry no stone with me. It is as much as my two legs can do to carry my body, let along lugging a great stone into the bargain."
"Very well," said Agricola; "born a fool, live a fool, die a fool."" And on he tramped, with Babo at his heels.
At last they came to a great wide plain, where, far or near, nothing was to be seen but bare sand, without so much as a pebble or a single blade of gra.s.s, and there night caught up with them.
"Dear, dear, but I am hungry!" said Babo.
"So am I," said Simon Agricola. "Let"s sit down here and eat."
So down they sat, and Simon Agricola opened his pouch and drew forth the stone.
The stone? It was a stone no longer, but a fine loaf of white bread as big as your two fists. You should have seen Babo goggle and stare! "Give me a piece of your bread, master," said he.
"Not I," said Agricola. "You might have had a dozen of the same kind, had you chosen to do as I bade you and to fetch them along with you.
Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool,"" said he; and that was all that Babo got for his supper. As for the wise man, he finished his loaf of bread to the last crumb, and then went to sleep with a full stomach and a contented mind.
The next morning off they started again bright and early, and before long they came to just such another field of stones as they left behind them the day before.
"Come, master," said Babo, "let us each take a stone with us. We may need something more to eat before the day is over."
"No," said Simon Agricola; "we will need no stones to-day."
But Babo had no notion to go hungry the second time, so he hunted around till he found a stone as big as his head. All day he carried it, first under one arm, and then under the other. The wise man stepped along briskly enough, but the sweat ran down Babo"s face like drops on the window in an April shower. At last they came to a great wide plain, where neither stock nor stone was to be seen, but only a gallows-tree, upon which one poor wight hung dancing upon nothing at all, and there night caught them again.
"Aha!" said Babo to himself. "This time I shall have bread and my master none."
But listen to what happened. Up stepped the wise man to the gallows, and gave it a sharp rap with his staff. Then, lo and behold! The gallows was gone, and in its place stood a fine inn, with lights in the windows, and a landlord bowing and smiling in the doorway, and a fire roaring in the kitchen, and the smell of good things cooking filling the air all around, so that only to sniff did one"s heart good.
Poor Babo let fall the stone he had carried all day. A stone it was, and a stone he let fall.
"Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool,"" said Agricola. "But come in, Babo, come in; here is room enough for two." So that night Babo had a good supper and a sound sleep, and that is a cure for most of a body"s troubles in this world.
The third day of their travelling they came to farms and villages, and there Simon Agricola began to think of showing some of those tricks of magic that were to make his fortune and Babo"s into the bargain.
At last they came to a blacksmith"s shop, and there was the smith hard at work, dinging and donging, and making sweet music with hammer and anvil. In walked Simon Agricola and gave him good-day. He put his fingers into his purse, and brought out all the money he had in the world; it was one golden angel. "Look, friend," said he to the blacksmith; "if you will let me have your forge for one hour, I will give you this money for the use of it."
The blacksmith liked the tune of that song very well. "You may have it,"
said he; and he took off his leathern ap.r.o.n without another word, and Simon Agricola put it on in his stead.
Presently, who should come riding up to the blacksmith"s shop but a rich old n.o.bleman and three servants. The servants were hale, stout fellows, but the n.o.bleman was as withered as a winter leaf. "Can you shoe my horse?" said he to Simon Agricola, for he took him to be the smith because of his leathern ap.r.o.n.
"No," says Simon Agricola; "that is not my trade: I only know how to make old people young."
"Old people young!" said the old n.o.bleman; "can you make me young again?"
"Yes," said Simon Agricola, "I can, but I must have a thousand golden angels for doing it."
"Very well," said the old n.o.bleman; "make me young, and you shall have them and welcome."
So Simon Agricola gave the word, and Babo blew the bellows until the fire blazed and roared. Then the doctor caught the old n.o.bleman, and laid him upon the forge. He heaped the coals over him, and turned him this way and that, until he grew red-hot, like a piece of iron. Then he drew him forth from the fire and dipped him in the water-tank. Phizz!
The water hissed, and the steam rose up in a cloud; and when Simon Agricola took the old n.o.bleman out, lo and behold! He was as fresh and blooming and l.u.s.ty as a lad of twenty.
But you should have seen how all the people stared and goggled!--Babo and the blacksmith and the n.o.bleman"s servants. The n.o.bleman strutted up and down for a while, admiring himself, and then he got upon his horse again. "But wait," said Simon Agricola; "you forgot to pay me my thousand golden angels."
"Pooh!" said the n.o.bleman, and off he clattered, with his servants at his heels; and that was all the good that Simon Agricola had of this trick. But ill-luck was not done with him yet, for when the smith saw how matters had turned out, he laid hold of the doctor and would not let him go until he had paid him the golden angel he had promised for the use of the forge. The doctor pulled a sour face, but all the same he had to pay the angel. Then the smith let him go, and off he marched in a huff.
Outside of the forge was the smith"s mother--a poor old creature, withered and twisted and bent as a winter twig. Babo had kept his eyes open, and had not travelled with Simon Agricola for nothing. He plucked the smith by the sleeve: "Look"ee, friend," said he, "how would you like me to make your mother, over yonder, young again?"
"I should like nothing better," said the smith.
"Very well," said Babo; "give me the golden angel that the master gave you, and I"ll do the job for you."
Well, the smith paid the money, and Babo bade him blow the bellows. When the fire roared up good and hot, he caught up the old mother, and, in spite of her scratching and squalling, he laid her upon the embers.
By-and-by, when he thought the right time had come, he took her out and dipped her in the tank of water; but instead of turning young, there she lay, as dumb as a fish and as black as coal.
When the blacksmith saw what Babo had done to his mother, he caught him by the collar, and fell to giving him such a dressing down as never man had before.
"Help!" bawled Babo. "Help! Murder!"