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If you have never heard the legend of Gilligren and the King's
pie,
you will scarcely understand the above verse; so I will tell you
the
whole story, and then you will be able to better appreciate the
rhyme.
Gilligren was an orphan, and lived with an uncle and aunt who
were
very unkind to him. They cuffed him and scolded him upon the slightest
provocation, and made his life very miserable indeed. Gilligren
never
rebelled against this treatment, but bore their cruelty silently
and
with patience, although often he longed to leave them and seek
a home
amongst kinder people.
It so happened that when Gilligren was twelve years old the King
died,
and his son was to be proclaimed King in his place, and crowned
with
great ceremony. People were flocking to London from all parts
of the
country to witness the festivities, and the boy longed to go with
them.
One evening he said to his uncle,
"If I had sixpence I could make my fortune."
"Pooh! nonsense!" exclaimed his uncle, "a sixpence
is a small thing.
How then could you make a fortune from it?"
"That I cannot tell you," replied Gilligren, "but
if you will give me
the sixpence I will go to London, and not return until I am a
rich
man."
"The boy is a fool!" said his uncle, with anger; but
the aunt spoke up
quickly.
"Give him the money and let him go," she said, "and
then we shall be
well rid of him and no longer be obliged to feed and clothe him
at our
expense."
"Well," said her husband, after a moment's thought,
"here is the
money; but remember, this is all I shall ever give you, and when
it is
gone you must not come to me for more."
"Never fear," replied Gilligren, joyfully, as he put
the sixpence in
his pocket, "I shall not trouble you again."
The next morning he cut a short stick to assist him in walking,
and
after bidding goodbye to his uncle and aunt he started upon his
journey to London.
"The money will not last him two days," said the man,
as he watched
Gilligren go down the turnpike road, "and when it is gone
he will
starve to death."
"Or he may fall in with people who will treat him worse
than we did,"
rejoined the woman, "and then he 'll wish he had never left
us."
But Gilligren, nothing dismayed by thoughts of the future, trudged
bravely along the London road. The world was before him, and the
bright sunshine glorified the dusty road and lightened the tips
of the
dark green hedges that bordered his path. At the end of his pilgrimage
was the great city, and he never doubted he would find therein
proper
work and proper pay, and much better treatment than he was accustomed
to receive.
So, on he went, whistling merrily to while away the time, watching
the
sparrows skim over the fields, and enjoying to the full the unusual
sights that met his eyes. At noon he overtook a carter, who divided
with the boy his luncheon of bread and cheese, and for supper
a
farmer's wife gave him a bowl of milk. When it grew dark he crawled
under a hedge and slept soundly until dawn.
The next day he kept steadily upon his way, and toward evening
met a
farmer with a wagon loaded with sacks of grain.
"Where are you going, my lad?" asked the man.
"To London," replied Gilligren, "to see the King
crowned."
"Have you any money?" enquired the farmer.
"Oh yes," answered Gilligren, "I have a sixpence."
"If you will give me the sixpence," said the man, "I
will give you a
sack of rye for it."
"What could I do with a sack of rye?" asked Gilligren,
wonderingly.
"Take it to the mill, and get it ground into flour. With
the flour
you could have bread baked, and that you can sell."
"That is a good idea," replied Gilligren, "so
here is my sixpence, and
now give me the sack of rye."
The farmer put the sixpence carefully into his pocket, and then
reached under the seat of the wagon and drew out a sack, which
he cast
on the ground at the boy's feet.
"There is your sack of rye," he said, with a laugh.
"But the sack is empty!" remonstrated Gilligren.
"Oh, no; there is some rye in it."
"But only a handful!" said Gilligren, when he had opened
the mouth of
the sack and gazed within it.
"It is a sack of rye, nevertheless," replied the wicked
farmer, "and I
did not say how much rye there would be in the sack I would give
you.
Let this be a lesson to you never again to buy grain without looking
into the sack!" and with that he whipped up his horses and
left
Gilligren standing in the road with the sack at his feet and nearly
ready to cry at his loss.
"My sixpence is gone," he said to himself, "and
I have received
nothing in exchange but a handful of rye! How can I make my fortune
with that?"
He did not despair, however, but picked up the sack and continued
his
way along the dusty road. Soon it became too dark to travel farther,
and Gilligren stepped aside into a meadow, where, lying down upon
the
sweet grass, he rolled the sack into a pillow for his head and
prepared to sleep.
The rye that was within the sack, however, hurt his head, and
he sat
up and opened the sack.
"Why should I keep a handful of rye?" he thought, "It
will be of no
value to me at all."
So he threw out the rye upon the ground, and rolling up the sack
again
for a pillow, was soon sound asleep. When he awoke the sun was
shining
brightly over his head and the twitter and chirping of many birds
fell
upon his ears. Gilligren opened his eyes and saw a large flock
of
blackbirds feeding upon the rye he had scattered upon the ground.
So
intent were they upon their feast they never noticed Gilligren
at all.
He carefully unfolded the sack, and spreading wide its opening
threw
it quickly over the flock of black birds. Some escaped and flew
away,
but a great many were caught, and Gilligren put his eye to the
sack
and found he had captured four and twenty. He tied the mouth of
the
sack with a piece of twine that was in his pocket, and then threw
the
sack over his shoulder and began again his journey to London.
"I have made a good exchange, after all," he thought,
"for surely four
and twenty blackbirds are worth more than a handful of rye, and
perhaps even more than a sixpence, if I can find anyone who wishes
to
buy them."
He now walked rapidly forward, and about noon entered the great
city
of London.
Gilligren wandered about the streets until he came to the King's
palace, where there was a great concourse of people and many guards
to
keep intruders from the gates.
Seeing he could not enter from the front, the boy walked around
to the
rear of the palace and found himself near the royal kitchen, where
the
cooks and other servants were rushing around to hasten the preparation
of the King's dinner.
Gilligren sat down upon a stone where he could watch them, and
laying
the sack at his feet was soon deeply interested in the strange
sight.
Presently a servant in the King's livery saw him and came to his
side.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, roughly.
"I am waiting to see the King," replied Gilligren.
"The King! The King never comes here," said the servant;
"and
neither do we allow idlers about the royal kitchen. So depart
at once,
or I shall be forced to call a guard to arrest you."
Gilligren arose obediently and slung his sack over his shoulder.
As
he did so the birds that were within began to flutter.
"What have you in the sack?" asked the servant.
"Blackbirds," replied Gilligren.
"Blackbirds!" echoed the servant, in surprise, "well,
that is very
fortunate indeed. Come with me at once!"
He seized the boy by the arm and drew him hastily along until
they
entered the great kitchen of the palace.
"Here, Mister Baker!" the man called, excitedly, "I
have found your
blackbirds!"
A big, fat man who was standing in the middle of the kitchen
with
folded arms and a look of despair upon his round, greasy face,
at once
came toward them and asked eagerly, "The blackbirds? are
you sure you
can get them?"
"They are here already; the boy has a bag full of them."
"Give them to me," said the cook, who wore a square
cap, that was
shaped like a box, upon his head.
"What do you want with them?" asked Gilligren.
"I want them for a pie for the King's dinner," answered
Mister Baker;
"His Majesty ordered the dish, and I have hunted all over
London for
the blackbirds, but could not find them. Now that you have brought
them, however, you have saved me my position as cook, and perhaps
my
head as well."
"But it would be cruel to put the beautiful birds in a pie,"
remonstrated Gilligren, "and I shall not give them to you
for such a
purpose."
"Nonsense!" replied the cook, "the King has ordered
it; he is very
fond of the dish."
"Still, you cannot have them," declared the boy stoutly,
"the birds
are mine, and I will not have them killed."
"But what can I do?" asked the cook, in perplexity;
"the King has
ordered a blackbird pie, and your birds are the only blackbirds
in
London."
Gilligren thought deeply for a moment, and conceived what he
thought
to be a very good idea. If the sixpence was to make his fortune,
then
this was his great opportunity.
"You can have the blackbirds on two conditions," he
said.
"What are they?" asked the cook.
"One is that you will not kill the birds. The other condition
is that
you secure me a position in the King's household."
"How can I put live birds in a pie?" enquired the cook.
"Very easily, if you make the pie big enough to hold them.
You can
serve the pie after the King has satisfied his hunger with other
dishes, and it will amuse the company to find live birds in the
pie
when they expected cooked ones."
"It is a risky experiment," exclaimed the cook, "for
I do not know the
new King's temper. But the idea may please His Majesty, and since
you
will not allow me to kill the birds, it is the best thing I can
do. As
for your other condition, you seem to be a very bright boy, and
so I
will have the butler take you as his page, and you shall stand
back of
the King's chair and keep the flies away while he eats."
The butler being called, and his consent secured, the cook fell
to
making the crusts for his novel pie, while Gilligren was taken
to the
servants' hall and dressed in a gorgeous suit of the King's livery.
When the dinner was served, the King kept looking for the blackbird
pie, but he said nothing, and at last the pie was placed before
him,
its crusts looking light and brown, and sprigs of myrtle being
stuck
in the four corners to make it look more inviting.
Although the King had already eaten heartily, he smacked his
lips when
he saw this tempting dish, and picking up the carving-fork he
pushed
it quickly into the pie.
At once the crust fell in, and all the four and twenty blackbirds
put
up their heads and began to look about them. And coming from the
blackness of the pie into the brilliantly lighted room they thought
they were in the sunshine, and began to sing merrily, while some
of
the boldest hopped out upon the table or began flying around the
room.
At first the good King was greatly surprised; but soon, appreciating
the jest, he lay back in his chair and laughed long and merrily.
And
his courtiers and the fine ladies present heartily joined in the
laughter, for they also were greatly amused.
Then the King called for the cook, and when Mister Baker appeared,
uncertain of his reception, and filled with many misgivings, His
Majesty cried,
"Sirrah! how came you to think of putting live birds in
the pie?"
The cook, fearing that the King was angry, answered,
"May it please your Majesty, it was not my thought, but
the idea of
the boy who stands behind your chair."
The King turned his head, and seeing Gilligren, who looked very
well
in his new livery, he said,
"You are a clever youth, and deserve a better position than
that of a
butler's lad. Hereafter you shall be one of my own pages, and
if you
serve me faithfully I will advance your fortunes with your deserts."
And Gilligren did serve the King faithfully, and as he grew older
acquired much honor and great wealth.
"After all," he used to say, "that sixpence made
my fortune. And it
all came about through such a small thing as a handful of rye!"
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