The table was laid; and as the meal went
on, the stranger grew communicative.

"I have much on my mind," he said;
"you seem to be good people, and if you are
not tired I should like to tell you my story,
and to ask your advice."

"By all means," they answered; "in
what we can do, command us."

"You must know," he began, "that
though I am young, I am a married man
and a father; but it would have been better
for me had I remained single. I have a
wicked wife. She has deprived me of our
only child. Her purpose was, either to kill
it, or to give it as a prey to the wild beasts;
for she left her house one day with it, and
came back without it. She deceives me in
every possible manner, and I have fled
from the house to meditate a fitting
punishment for her."

The mason sat thinking over the
stranger's words.

"Alas!" he said, sadly, "we, also, had a
son once."

The guilty wife looked as pale as death.
It seemed strange to her that so many
points of the young man's story should
recal to her mind her past sin. While
the pair sat musing, the young man
repeated, in a louder voice:

"What punishment does the deceiver
deserve?"

"Burn her to death!" cried the husband.

"Burn her to death!" cried the wife, who
wished to appear innocent in the eyes of
her husband, and therefore repeated:
"Burn her to death!"

"Then pile up the fagots on your
hearth!" cried the stranger, in a fearful
voice, "for the day of justice has come.
Pile up the fagots! If you have the fire, I
have the criminal."

And before the astonished husband could
come to the rescue, he had tied the wife's
hands with a cord, and had thrown her in
the midst of the burning pile. He then
explained to his father all the circumstances
in a few hurried words, and, taking the
flute from his pocket, began to play. But
the woman was already quite dead, for her
heart had burst from shame and remorse.

THE CRUEL MOTHER.

THERE was once a woman who had a
little daughter about fourteen years old,
a very fair maiden to see. She hated this
girl because she was prettier than she had
ever been in her own youth. Every night
she went to bed, leaving the girl at her
spinning; and if the girl had not done her
task in the morning, she received many
stripes. One night her mother gave her
a large bag full of flax. "This," she said,
"must be spun by to-morrow morning, or I
will kill you." On this, she went comfortably
to bed. The girl leaned her head on
the table, and cried as if her heart would
break. She knew it was useless to
attempt to do the work in so short a time,
so she prayed that she might die. As she
prayed, she heard a gentle knock. It
seemed near the fireplace. She had only
just said, "Come in!" when a pretty little
lady, all dressed in gold tissue, stood
before her.

"Why do you cry, little maiden?" said
she. "Your sobs have reached all the way
to me, in fairyland. I can help you. Tell
me your grief."

"Oh!" sobbed the maiden, "I have all
this flax to spin before morning, and if it
is not done my mother will kill me."

"Go to bed, go to bed, child," said the
fairy. "I will spin your flax for you."

The little maiden was glad to throw herself
on her little bed, and powerless even to
thank her benefactress. She fell asleep in a
moment. In the mean while, the little fairy
sat and spun, sat and spun, all the night
long, till the day broke. She then vanished,
leaving all the thread made up into nice
tidy parcels. In the morning came in the
cruel mother, and asked for the spun thread
in a very gruff voice.

"Here it is," said the trembling maiden.

"I must weigh it, I must weigh it,"
retorted her mother; "for, should it be wanting
even of half an ounce, you shall have
your beating."

But, strange to say, the thread was rather
heavier than the woman expected: so she
had nothing more to say. On the succeeding
evening, she dragged into the room two
enormous bags of flax.

"This must be done by the morning,"
she said, "or beware!"

She then closed the door and left the
maiden alone, having previously thrown a
stale bit of black bread into the room. Then,
indeed, did the girl weep and sob: no one,
she thought, could help her now, and what
was she to do! But at midnight, when all
except the maiden slept, the same knock,
followed by a gentle "May we come in?"
comforted her failing heart. In tripped
two fairies, and in a moment they had put
the girl to bed, and then they sat and spun,
sat and spun, all the night long, and she
went to sleep looking at the pretty creatures
who had ivory distaffs and spindles, and