So they got ready for the wedding, and Boots got the
Princess to wife, and there was great merry-making
at the bridal-feast, you may fancy, for they could
all be merry though they couldn’t ride up the
hill of glass; and all I can say is, if they haven’t
left off their merry-making yet, why, they’re
still at it.
Once on a time there was a man so mean and cross that
he never thought his wife did anything right in the
house. So one evening in hay-making time he came
home scolding and tearing, and showing his teeth and
making a fuss.
“Dear love, don’t be so angry; there’s
a good man,” said his goody; “to-morrow
let’s change our work. I’ll go out
with the mowers and mow, and you shall mind the house
at home.”
The husband thought that would do very well.
He was quite willing, he said.
So, early next morning his goody took a scythe on
her shoulders, and went out into the hayfield with
the mowers, and began to mow; but the man was to mind
the house and do the work at home.
First of all he wanted to churn the butter; but when
he had churned a while, he grew thirsty and went down
to the cellar to tap a barrel of ale. So, just
when he was putting the tap into the cask, he heard
overhead the pig come into the kitchen. Then off
he ran up the cellar steps, with the tap in his hand,
as fast as he could to look after the pig, lest it
should upset the churn. But when he got up, and
saw the pig had already knocked the churn over and
stood there grunting and rooting in the cream which
was running all over the floor, he became so wild
with rage, that he quite forgot the ale barrel, and
ran at the pig as hard as he could.
He caught it, too, just as it ran out of doors, and
gave it such a kick that piggy died on the spot.
Then all at once he remembered he had the tap in his
hand; but when he got down to the cellar, every drop
of ale had run out of the cask.
Then he went into the dairy and found enough cream
left to fill the churn again, and so he began to churn,
for butter they must have at dinner. When he
had churned a bit, he remembered that their milking
cow was still shut up in its stall, and had not had
a mouthful to eat or a drop to drink all the morning,
though the sun was high. Then he thought it was
too far to take her down to the meadow, so he’d
just get her up on the house top, for the house, you
must know, was thatched with sods, and a fine crop
of grass was growing there. Now their house lay
close up against a steep rock, and he thought if he
laid a plank across to the roof at the back, he’d
easily get the cow up.
But still he could not leave the churn, for there
was their little babe crawling about the floor, and,
“If I leave it,” he thought, “the
child is sure to upset it.”
So he took the churn on his back and went out with
it. Then he thought he’d better water the
cow before he turned her out on the thatch, and he
took up a bucket to draw water out of the well.
But, as he stooped down at the brink of the well,
all the cream ran out of the churn over his shoulders,
about his neck, and down into the well.
