in the Tiger-year for their sacrifice.”
But the princess answered, “Neither has he fallen sacrifice. Him also they let free; and indeed was it in great part out of regard for his abnegation and distress over my suffering that we were both let free.”
Then answered the Khan, “In that case is our debt great unto this youth. Let him be sought after, and besought that he come to visit us in our palace.”
So they went again to the cave in the rocky pass, and fetched Sunshine; and when he came near, the Khan went out to meet him, and caused costly seats to be brought, and made him sit down thereon beside him.
Then he said to him, “That thou hast delivered this country from the fear of drought, is matter for which we owe thee our highest gratitude; but that thou and this my daughter also have escaped from death is a marvellous wonder. Tell me now, art thou in very truth the son of the Hermit?”
“No,” replied Sunshine, “I am the son of a mighty Khan; but my step-mother, seeking to make a difference between me and this my brother standing beside me, who was her own born son, and to put me to death, we fled away both together; and thus fleeing we came to the Hermit, and were taken in by his hospitality.”
When the Khan had heard his words, he promised him his daughter in marriage, and her sister, to be wife to Moonshine. Moreover, he endowed them with immeasurable riches, and gave them an escort of four detachments of fighting-men to accompany them home. When they had arrived near the capital of the kingdom, they sent an embassage before them to the Khan, saying—
“We, thy two sons, Sunshine and Moonshine, are returned to thee.”
The Khan and the Khanin, who had for many years past quite lost their reason out of grief for the loss of their children, and held no more converse with men, were at once restored to sense and animation at this news, and sent out a large troop of horsemen to meet them, and conduct them to their palace. Thus the two princes returned in honour to their home.
When they came in, the Khan was full of joy and glory, sitting on his throne; but the Khanin, full of remorse and shame at the thought of the crime she had meditated, fell down dead before their face.
“That wretched woman got the end that she deserved!” exclaimed the Khan.
“Forgetting his health, the Well-and-wise-walking Khan hath opened his lips,” said the Siddhî-kür. And with the cry, “To escape out of this world is good!” he sped him through the air, swift out of sight.
Thus far of the Adventures of the Well-and-wise-walking Khan the fifth chapter, showing how the Serpent-gods were appeased.
Tale VI.
When the Well-and-wise-walking Khan found that he had again missed the end and object of his journey, he proceeded once more by the same manner and means to the cool grove. And, having bound the Siddhî-kür in his bag, bore him on his shoulder to present to his Master and Teacher Nâgârg′una.
But by the way the Siddhî-kür asked him to tell a tale, and when he would not answer begged for the token of his assent that he should tell one, which when the Khan had given he told this tale, saying—
The Turbulent Subject.
Long ages ago there lived in a district called Brschiss1 a haughty, turbulent man. As he feared no man and obeyed no laws, the Khan of that country sent to him, saying, “Since thou wilt obey no laws, thou canst not remain in my country. Get thee gone hence, or else submit to the laws!”
But the turbulent man chose rather to go forth in exile than submit to the laws. So he went wandering forth till he came to a vast plain covered with feather-grass, and a palm-tree standing in the midst, with a dead horse lying beneath it. Under the shade of the palm-tree2 he sat down, saying, “The head of this horse will be useful for food when my provisions are exhausted.” So he bound it into his waist-scarf and climbed up into the palm-tree to pass the night.
He had scarcely composed himself to sleep when there was a great noise of shouting and yelling, which woke him up; and behold there came thither towards the palm-tree, from the southern side of the steppe, a herd of dæmons, having ox-hide caps on their heads, and riding on horses covered with ox-hides. Nor had they long settled themselves before another herd of dæmons came trooping towards the palm-tree from the northern side of the steppe, and these wore paper caps and rode on horses wearing paper coverings.
All these dæmons now danced and feasted together with great howling and shouting. The man looked down upon them from the tree-top full of terror, but also full of envy at their enjoyment. As he leant over to watch them, the horse’s head tumbled out of his girdle right into their midst and scattered them in dire alarm in every direction, not one of them daring to look up to see whence it came. It was not till the morning light broke, however, that the man ventured to come down. When he did so, he said, “Last night there was much feasting and drinking going on here, surely there must be something left from such a banquet.” Searching through the long feather-grass all about, he discovered a gold goblet full of brandy3, from which he drank long draughts, but it continued always full. At last he turned it down upon the ground, and immediately all manner of meats and cakes appeared. “This goblet is indeed larder and cellar!” said the man, and taking it with him he went on his way.
Farther on he met a man brandishing a thick stick as he walked.
“What is your stick good for that you brandish it so proudly?” asked the turbulent man.
“My stick is so much good that when I say to it, ‘Fly, that man has stolen somewhat of me, fly after him and kill him and bring me back my goods,’ it instantly flies at the man and brings my things back.”
“Yours is a good stick, but see my goblet; whatsoever you desire of meat or drink this same goblet provides for the wishing. Will you exchange your stick against my goblet?”
“That will I gladly,” rejoined the traveller.
But the turbulent man, having once effected the exchange, cried to the stick, “Fly, that man has stolen my goblet, fly after him and kill him and bring me back my goblet! “Before the words had left his lips the stick flew through the air, killed the man, and brought back the goblet. Thus he had both the stick and the goblet.
Farther on he saw a man coming who carried an iron hammer.
“What is your hammer good for?” inquired he as they met.
“My hammer is so good,” replied the traveller, “that when I strike it nine times on the ground immediately there rises up an iron tower nine storeys high.”
“Yours is a good hammer,” replied the turbulent man, “but look at my goblet; whatever you desire of meat or drink this same goblet provides for the wishing. Will you change your hammer against my goblet?”
“That will I gladly,” replied the wayfarer.
But the turbulent man, having once effected the exchange, cried to the stick, “Fly, that man has stolen my goblet, fly after him and kill him and bring me back the goblet.” The command was executed as soon as spoken, and the turbulent man thus became possessed of the hammer as well as the stick and the goblet.
Farther on he saw a man carrying a goat’s leather bag.
“What is your bag good for?” inquired he as they met.
“My bag is so good that I have but to shake it and there comes a shower of rain, but if I shake it hard then it rains in torrents.”
“Yours is a good bag,” replied the turbulent man, “but see my goblet; whatsoever you desire of meat or drink it provides you for the wishing. Will you exchange your bag against