The Ogress And The Cook

: The Old-fashioned Fairy Book

One summer afternoon, a young girl sat upon the door-stone of her

cottage home, awaiting the return of her father from the mill. Her day's

work was neatly done, and the tiny house, both within and without, was

as tidy as hands could make it; hollyhocks and sweet-peas grew beneath

the windows; the plates on the cupboard shelf glittered; and a little

fire sparkled upon the hearth, where a pot of savory broth was bubbling

cheerfully. On the table was set a brown loaf, light as a feather and

sweet as a nut, with a bunch of grapes from the trellis above the door,

and a pewter mug ready to be filled with frothing ale at the moment when

the good man should sit down. Dimple, whose fingers rarely rested, plied

her knitting-needles as she watched the bridge upon the road where the

first glimpse of her father might be caught. By-and-by, up came an old

crone, dusty and way-worn.



"Pray, my kind little maiden, give me a bit of food, and a sup of drink,

for sweet charity's sake," begged the wayfarer, who looked as if she

were ready to drop from fatigue.



"Willingly, dame," said pretty little Dimple; and bidding the crone be

seated, she ladled out for her a generous portion of the fragrant broth.



The crone's eyes sparkled; and, seizing a great horn spoon, she

despatched the broth in two or three mouthfuls, then asked for more.

Dimple supplied her; and in a little while, all the broth in the iron

pot had disappeared.



"Never mind," sighed Dimple to herself. "The good father will have to

put up with a rasher of bacon and some eggs, to-night."



As if reading her thoughts, the crone, displaying a pair of jaws opening

as wide as a cavern and garnished with ferocious teeth, said:



"I am just beginning to feel a little refreshed. If there were only such

a thing as a couple of fat slices of home-cured bacon, and a brace of

new-laid eggs to help a poor old creature on her way."



Dimple ran to fetch the eggs, over the laying of which her fowls had

scarcely ceased to cackle in the barn. Quickly and cheerfully, she

prepared a delicious dish, which the crone despatched as before. The

loaf of bread followed the bacon, and a gallon of ale followed the

bread. All of the grapes, plucked and arranged in a basket for market

next morning, were consumed; and, when Dimple had just begun to tremble

with apprehension lest her voracious visitor should devour her in

conclusion, the crone pushed back her chair, jumped up with surprising

agility and, running to the door, blew a shrill whistle.



Instantly, there came flying through the air a pair of huge vampires

harnessed to a blood-red chariot. They halted at the cottage gate; and,

before Dimple had time to cry out in her terror, the crone whisked her

into the chariot, held her in place with a grasp of iron, and ordered

the foul creatures to be off. Dimple fainted away and, when she came to

herself, found that they were high above the earth, travelling with

frightful speed through a thunder cloud. In vain she cried for mercy,

and entreated to be restored to her father's house.



"Be silent, brat," said the furious crone, who was, in reality, an

ogress. "Know that I have for a long time been in search of just such a

trig little cook-maid as you are. Ever since my husband ate up the two

last, I have had the greatest trouble to induce my servants to stay with

me. Besides, we are particular about our table, and rather hard to suit.

I dare say, now, you understand cooking a nice plump baby's thigh to

perfection, and how to prepare a dish of rosy cheeks smothered in cream,

hey? But it isn't every day we are in such luck as to get fare like

that. Many's the time I've had to palm off lamb chops for baby cutlets,

and to swear that the pig's tails I served up were boy's fingers. Now,

stop that ridiculous shuddering and crying, and listen to reason. If you

promise to serve me faithfully for seven years, I'll engage to keep you

out of his way, and to send you home with a fortune in your pocket."



Dimple's fright and horror had by this time completely taken away her

power of speech. She sank upon the floor of the chariot in silent

despair; and when they reached the ogre's castle, situated on a frowning

peak of rocks, where not the most daring human foot could climb, she

allowed herself without resistance to be lifted out, and thrust into a

dark cavernous kitchen. There she was ordered to prepare a large pie,

made of rats and bats, for the ogre's supper. While poor Dimple was thus

engaged, a monstrous giant came home, and angrily asked for food. The

ogress greeted him affectionately, and nine young ogresses ran to meet

him and would have jumped upon his knees, but that he pushed them away

and fell to scolding everybody, every syllable of his speech sounding

like the loudest thunder-peal. Dimple finished her hateful task, and

such was her skill in cooking that the pastry on coming out of the oven

looked and smelt delicious. The giant ceased to frown as he devoured it,

and smiled when he laid down his knife and fork.






"Come here, lasses, and I'll kiss you all," he said, with rare

amiability--actually bestowing on his wife's shoulder a pat of approval

that would have felled Jumbo to the earth.



The young ogresses were tall and spindling creatures, as slim as young

giraffes. They had pasty complexions, pink eyes, and long glistening

white teeth. Dimple's business was, after she had set her kitchen in

order, to go up into the nursery and put these frights to bed, each

requiring to be rocked to sleep in a cradle nine feet long, and all

howling like an army of pinched cats until slumber overtook them. Late

at night, when all was quiet, poor Dimple would creep up to bed in a

little turret room, where the wind moaned around the windows and owls

hooted in the ivy so that sleep was impossible. She lay on her wretched

bed and cried all night; and when day broke, she would scramble into her

clothes again, and steal down stairs to her work in trembling, for she

never knew at what moment the ogre might be prowling around in his

stocking feet, and pounce upon her for a tid-bit. Months passed on, and

one day the ogre came home in high good humor, carrying upon his back a

living human being, whose feet and hands were tied and his eyes securely

bandaged, while a gag in his mouth prevented the unfortunate victim

from making a sound of remonstrance.



"Take this fellow to the kitchen," thundered the ogre, throwing his

victim down upon the stone floor of the entrance hall with a violent

bang; "see that he is in good condition for my table, and then serve him

with plenty of onions in the sauce. Just as I was beginning to hanker

after a young and tender morsel of human flesh, I came across this boy,

following the plough. I'll warrant, I stopped his whistle quickly, when

I grabbed him up! Now mind, wife, supper at sharp twelve, and don't

forget the onions!"



The ogress lifted the prisoner as unconcernedly as one would handle a

dead turkey and, carrying him below, threw him down upon the kitchen

table, repeating her lord's directions to the cook. When Dimple

recognized in the fainting prisoner an old schoolmate and neighbor of

her own, Jim Hardy by name, she could scarcely refrain from a scream of

rapture. But, pretending to be indifferent, she merely felt the poor

youth's arms, as a cook examines the condition of her fowls for the

table.



"Dear me, madam," she said, "surely you don't mean to cook this tough

creature to-night? Why, I wouldn't dare to send up such a dish to my

master. He would be in a fearful rage, and small blame to him. At least,

allow me to fatten the bumpkin a bit."



"But what shall we serve my husband?" said the alarmed ogress. "He has

set his heart on a dish of boy with onion sauce, and I dare not

disappoint him."



"Leave that to me," said clever Dimple.



So she killed a lamb, and smothered it with onions, and the ogre knew no

difference. The poor youth was set free, and great was his joy to find a

friend in his proposed executioner. Dimple told him her story, and heard

from him how long and sorrowfully her father had mourned her

disappearance. Jim vowed to deliver her from the ogre; but both saw it

was necessary to act with caution, at first. She was obliged to shut him

up in an iron coop in the courtyard near the kitchen; and every time the

old crone came into the kitchen, she went to the coop and felt and

pinched the poor lad's legs and breast unmercifully.



"Surely he is tender enough to serve to-night, cook," she would say,

impatiently. "Your master has an attack of the gout, and I am at my

wit's end to keep him in good humor. Nothing would please him so much as

a slice or two of the breast, grilled with pepper and mustard."



"Leave that to me," Dimple would answer; and she forthwith killed a pig,

and served a dish so deliciously seasoned that the ogre forgot to growl,

for at least an hour after eating it.



Once, while the supper was going on, Dimple and Jim crept up to listen

at the dining-room door. After the ogre had drank a gallon or two of

wine, he began to talk freely to his wife.



"Such a dainty dish as this you have served me deserves a reward, my

dear," he said in a greasy voice, while the ogress meekly dipped some

bread in the gravy as her share of the feast. "Open the closet in the

corner yonder, and get me out my birdling."



What should the birdling prove to be but a tiny nightingale shining like

gold! When its mouth opened at the ogre's command, "Sing, birdling,

sing!" out poured a rain of sapphires, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and

amethysts, that lay in a glittering stream upon the table-cloth.



"Take these for a bracelet," said the ogre, gathering them up in his

hand, and tossing them to his wife; "and then put away my birdling, that

no covetous eye may look upon this wonder of the world."



Dimple and Jim exchanged glances of astonishment, but dared not speak,

as they crept silently down the flight of stairs.



Next day, the ogress came again into the kitchen to see about the supper

dish for the evening, and in her zeal to prove that Jim was really ready

for cooking, she bit his ear so that he could not help uttering a little

squeal.



"See what you have done!" cried Dimple. "Now that the blood flows, he

will not be fit for eating for another day or two. Certainly, I won't

engage to make a savory dish of him."



"Oh, don't be vexed, cook," said the ogress, who by this time had grown

to depend absolutely upon Dimple's word in such matters. "I have a salve

here that will heal all wounds, and will even cause a limb that has been

cut off to grow again to the body."



So saying, she whipped out of her pocket a little box of ointment, and

rubbed some of it on the wounded place, which at once ceased to bleed,

becoming whole as before.



"What did I tell you?" asked the crone, triumphantly. "This salve is one

of the wonders of the world, and the recipe is handed down only in our

family." So saying, she carefully put away the box again in her pocket.



Day after day passed, Dimple continuing to make excuses for failing to

serve the coveted dainty, and exerting all her skill to cook such dishes

as might make the ogress forget her disappointment. Meantime, Jim

occupied his time in the coop by weaving a rope long enough and strong

enough to support his weight and Dimple's while making their proposed

escape down the rocky precipice on which the castle stood. Once on the

sea-shore beneath, they hoped to hide in some fisherman's hut until a

ship might be found sailing to their own country.



"One thing is certain, Dimple," said Jim, who was a bold and fearless

fellow; "we shall not leave this place without carrying off that

wonderful bird of his. Why, just to remember the dazzling stream that

poured from its mouth, makes my eyes wink."



"Oh! Jim," answered Dimple, trembling. "Please, please, don't attempt

such a thing. It will make our punishment ten times worse if we are

caught. Besides, what hope have you of getting inside the iron closet?

It is madness to talk about it. For my part, what I would like to take,

is a little of that marvellous salve. Then, if we are bruised or our

bones are broken on the rocks, we can make all right again----"



"Why should you forever be talking to yourself, cook?" exclaimed the

ogress, at that moment bursting in, carrying a bunch of keys that

clanked like fetters. "See here! No more nonsense! I'd just like to know

when you propose to give us that chap in yonder, who must have eaten

more than his weight in good food since he came here?"



"Very soon, very soon, madam," said Dimple, with a palpitating heart;

"in a very few days he should be fit for my master's table. You know

that kind of a creature takes uncommonly long to fatten."



"Hold your tongue!" cried the ogress, exploding in sudden fury, like a

mine of fire-crackers, and hurling at Dimple's unfortunate head a few

convenient saucepans, skewers, flat-irons, and dish-covers. Happily the

thrower was of the feminine gender, and so the projectiles missed their

aim; but, as Dimple dodged around in a dark corner of the kitchen, the

ogress continued to scold her angrily.



"I know this," she exclaimed, "that for only one single day longer will

I consent to be put off by your palavering promises and excuses. The lad

is fit to kill now, if he is ever going to be; and as day after

to-morrow is my lord's two thousand and tenth birthday, you must prepare

a dish that shall be better than all that have gone before it.

Everything is arranged for a night of celebration. Exactly at midnight

to-morrow, we proceed in the vampire chariot to visit our neighbor, the

King of the Ghouls, and, returning, shall expect to find the feast

served punctually at cock-crow; the dear children may sit up for it, and

my brother, the Ogre of the Seven Mountains, is invited to partake."



During this speech Dimple's blood ran cold, but, summoning up all her

resolution, she answered calmly, "All shall be ready, madam;" and when

the appeased ogress took her leave, Dimple flew to the iron coop, and

asked Jim if he had heard the conversation.



"Indeed, did I, my lass," said Jim, trying to put a bold face on the

matter. Then, they fell to consulting, and it was decided that the

escape should be attempted that very night, as soon as the household was

at rest. Midnight came, and not a sound save the thunderous snoring of

the ogre family was heard within the castle. Dimple waited upon the

landing, while Jim glided up to the cupboard where the nightingale was

kept. As no one dared so much as lay a finger upon the giant's treasure

without his leave, the door had been left unlocked. There sat the lovely

birdling upon a jewelled spray, glittering so brilliantly that it shone

like a lamp in the darkness. As Jim laid his hand upon it, the bird sent

forth a note of silver sweetness, warning her captor to fly with all

speed, if he would escape with his life from the vengeance of the ogre.



"I humbly beg your pardon," said Jim, respectfully; "I had no idea that

you are a talking creature."



"Oh! I am glad of anything for a change! You must know that I am a

fairy, unfortunate enough to have been imprisoned in a shape assumed for

a frolic," the bird continued, greatly to Jim's astonishment. "And tired

enough I am, of being a plaything for that horrid old monster, who

captured me when I had just dressed for a masquerade party, in the

plumage that you see. Unluckily, it is my doom to remain a slave to

whosoever shall make a prisoner of me whilst I am thus attired and,

also, to have to pour forth jewels at his command. You will be a

different sort of a master, I am sure."



Jim hurriedly promised the fairy-bird to treat her with kindness, and

hastened to place her in Dimple's keeping. They stole past the giant's

chamber-door, but the creaking of a board aroused the tyrant, who sprang

out of bed, roaring, "Who is there? Answer, or I will grind you to dust

beneath my heel!"



Jim made no reply, and lifting in both hands a heavy iron bar with which

he had provided himself, hid in an angle of the stairs.



Out rushed the giant, sputtering ferociously, fire shooting from his

eyes and nostrils. Jim, under cover of the darkness, dealt him a

tremendous blow upon the skull. The monster tottered, and fell crashing

down the long flight of stairs, carrying Jim with him to the bottom.

Dimple heard a terrible groan, and then all was silent. Feeling her way

to the spot, she whispered imploringly, "Jim, dear Jim, speak to me!"



"I'm here, Dimple," said a stifled voice, in reply; "but this old

wretch (who is as dead as a door-nail, by-the-way), has fallen atop of

me, and I believe he has broken both of my legs. Ha! there, I have freed

myself, but it's no use. I can't walk a step. Don't waste time on a

cripple like me, lass; but make haste to slip down the rope and escape,

before the ogress finds out what has happened."



"Never, dear Jim," cried Dimple, fervently. Just then a sleepy voice was

heard above in the chamber of the ogress, inquiring of her husband what

was going on below. Quick as thought, Dimple ran up to her.



"Oh, madam!" she said, "such an accident! His lordship has slipped upon

the stairs, and sprained his ankle. You are on no account to disturb

yourself to come down; but I beg that you will send him the box of magic

salve without delay."



In her sleepy state, it did not occur to the ogress to wonder how

Dimple, whose presence in the castle had so long been hidden from the

giant, should have been chosen as his messenger. She was so anxious to

enjoy her nap in peace, that, grunting out an order to Dimple to take

the box from the pocket of a gown hanging upon the bed, she turned upon

her pillow and was soon snoring as before.



Seizing the magic salve with joyful fingers, Dimple flew back to Jim,

and applied it freely to his broken legs. Instantly, Jim sprang to his

feet, stronger than before, and the friends prepared for flight.

Unfortunately, in the darkness, Dimple had also anointed the dead

giant's head, and to their dismay it now began to roar most frightfully.



"Wife, wife, wife, come down and seize these vagabonds!"



The ogress, turning in her sleep, exclaimed,



"Goodness! I know what that means. My husband has got into the pantry,

in one of his hungry fits, and can't find enough to satisfy him. Dear

me! Suppose he should devour the cook. That would be inconvenient.

Coming, my dear, coming!" And springing nervously out of bed, she began

to look for her dressing gown and slippers.



"Oh, madam," said Dimple, bursting again into the room. "His lordship is

in haste to butcher the nice fat prisoner he has found below, and I beg

that you will send him his hunting-knife, which lies upon the table."



"Is that all?" said the ogress, sinking back upon her pillow, greatly

relieved. "Take the knife, child; you will find it at my elbow."



Armed with this formidable weapon, a blade so keen that it could split a

hair with ease, Dimple returned to Jim, who forthwith pierced his

howling enemy through the tongue, nailing him securely to the floor.

This was the end of the most wicked monster who had for many grievous

years afflicted mankind. All was still, at last, within the castle, when

Dimple and Jim, holding fast their well-earned trophies, climbed out of

the narrow window and began their perilous descent. The rope hung over

the jagged rocks of a precipice rising abruptly from the sea. The sky

was dark, and the sound of the hungry waves beneath was far from

comforting to the fugitives. When half-way down, they were discovered by

one of the vampires keeping watch upon the rampart. Uttering a

discordant shriek, the vampire flew straight to the window of his

mistress, and gave the alarm.



As soon as the ogress found out the escape of her treacherous cook, her

anger knew no bounds. Tearing madly down toward the kitchen, she

stumbled over the dead body of her lord, who lay pinned by his own

hunting-knife to the floor. Her shrill cries now rent the air, and were

echoed by those of the nine young ogresses, who ran out in their

night-gowns, looking truly hideous, and cast themselves upon the body

of their father.



"My salve, my magic salve, quick!" cried the ogress to her oldest

daughter. Then, remembering to whom she had consigned the treasure, she

rushed wildly off and, leaning out of the window, seized the rope with a

ferocious jerk.



"Fly, my good vampires!" yelled the horrid creature, "and tear me those

wretches to shreds before my eyes!"



Now, indeed, the fate of the fugitives seemed sealed. Dimple, clinging

to Jim, uttered a cry of terror. But suddenly, a silvery voice came from

the bird-fairy hidden in her dress.



"Have no fear, maiden. Set me free, and I promise to save you both from

this awful fate."



Dimple gladly complied with the fairy's request. What was their surprise

to see this tiny creature, no larger than a veritable nightingale,

transform herself into a mighty eagle upon whose outstretched wings the

fugitives, seating themselves securely, were at once carried with

astonishing speed over sea and land, never slackening until they came in

sight of their own beloved country! Rapid as was the flight of the

vampires in pursuit, that of the enchanted eagle was far more rapid.

The cruel foes were completely distanced, and it may be a satisfaction

to you to learn that, flying homeward, in their blind rage and spite, to

tell the ogress of the failure of their chase, the vampires ran headlong

into a passing thunderbolt, and were instantly killed, their bodies

falling upon the castle wall under the very eye of their despairing

mistress. As it was impossible to get away from her eyrie except in the

vampire chariot, the ogress and her nine daughters lived there for a

year and a day, gnashing their teeth over their changed lot; and then

they slowly starved to death. Her last moments in life were haunted by

memories of Dimple, and the scent of imagined sauces compounded by her

clever cook arose tantalizingly to her nostrils. At the very end, a fit

of unwonted weakness took possession of the dying ogress, and she was

heard to murmur, as if dreaming, "She was the best I ever had. Dear

girl! I feel now that I could forgive her everything--my husband's

death--her treachery--my children's untimely fate--my own approaching

end--could I but taste her batter-pudding ere I die!"






Happily for Dimple, who was a tender and sympathetic soul, she knew

nothing of the pangs that rent the spirit of her ancient foe. Our hero

and heroine had been set down by the obliging fairy-bird at some little

distance from their native village. There, after giving her their

thanks, they at once offered to set their captive free without

conditions. The fairy-bird, overjoyed at her good fortune, insisted upon

singing for them a whole day, and a pile of precious gems then lay

heaped at Dimple's feet, far surpassing in value those in the king's own

treasury. Dimple and Jim were now rolling in wealth and, being also in

possession of the magic salve which cures all maladies, felt reasonably

secure of a prosperous future. Bidding the fairy good-by, they proceeded

on foot toward the neighboring town, carrying their treasures in some

old potato sacks begged from a roadside hut.



Jim sold a few of the stones, and with the proceeds purchased

magnificent garments for Dimple and himself; then, hiring a train of

servants to attend them, the two travellers returned to their own

village, seated upon cushions of pale blue velvet in a crystal chariot

drawn by six milk-white horses, with gold and silver harness.



At the approach of this splendid procession, all the people of the

neighborhood came flocking from their houses to see the grand prince and

princess, who had done them so much honor. To their astonishment, the

chariot stopped directly in front of the miller's cottage, and out

sprang the beautiful princess, trailing her silks and satins along the

garden path, and, with a scream of delight, throwing her fair arms

around the poor old dusty miller, who sat mournfully upon his deserted

door-stone, rapt in thought. In a voice that all recognized, Dimple

cried:



"Father, don't you know me? I am your loving child."



Next to be astonished was Jim's mother, a lone widow, who sat at her

spinning-wheel as usual, thinking of the boy she had lost so many months

before. When Jim appeared before her in all his bravery, the poor old

thing nearly went into hysterics of delight--she had not hesitated for

one moment in recognizing the face that had never left her thoughts.



Directly afterward, all the villagers were requested to proceed in a

body to the church, where a splendid wedding was held. Everyone agreed

that Dimple made the prettiest bride that had ever stepped from the old

church porch, and no one could dispute the fact that Jim was the

proudest of bridegrooms.



The newly married pair built a superb palace in a park near their native

village, and also two smaller palaces for Jim's mother and Dimple's

father. A large share of their wealth was spent in beautifying the homes

of their friends; and, in time, the hamlet came to be known as the

"Happy Valley," so prosperous and fertile had it grown. No sickness came

near these fortunate villagers; and none of them ever died--thanks to

the free use made by Dimple of her inexhaustible ointment.



At last reports, neither Jim nor Dimple had confided to anyone the true

story of their life in the giant's castle. When people expressed

curiosity as to the source of such wonderful wealth, Jim always

roguishly said that Dimple had made it all by good cooking. This report,

getting abroad, had the effect of inducing the girls of that country,

far and wide, to go into their kitchens and learn all they could of the

most useful of arts; which, perhaps, had as much as Dimple's magic salve

to do with the health and contentment of the inhabitants of Happy

Valley!