“Welcome home, Lord Abbot,” quoth the shepherd; “what news from good King John?”

“Sad news, sad news, my shepherd,” said the Abbot, and told him all that had happened.

“Now, cheer up, Sir Abbot,” said the shepherd. “A fool may perhaps answer what a wise man knows not. I will go to London in your stead; grant me only your apparel and your retinue of knights. At the least I can die in your place.”

“Nay, shepherd, not so,” said the Abbot; “I must meet the danger in my own person. And to that, thou canst not pass for me.”

“But I can and I will, Sir Abbot. In a cowl, who will know me for what I am?”

So at last the Abbot consented, and sent him to London in his most splendid array, and he approached King John with all his retinue as before, but dressed in his simple monk’s dress and his cowl over his face.

“Now welcome, Sir Abbot,” said King John; “thou art prepared for thy doom, I see.”

“I am ready to answer your Majesty,” said he.

“Well, then, question first—where is the centre of the round earth?” said the King.

“Here,” said the shepherd Abbot, planting his crozier in the ground; “an’ your Majesty believe me not, go measure it and see.”

“By St. Botolph,” said the King, “a merry answer and a shrewd; so to question the second. How soon may I ride this round world about?”

“If your Majesty will graciously rise with the sun, and ride along with him until the next morning he rise, your Grace will surely have ridden it round.”

“By St. John,” laughed King John, “I did not think it could be done so soon. But let that pass, and tell me question third and last, and that is—What do I think?”

“That is easy, your Grace,” said he. “Your Majesty thinks I am my lord the Abbot of Canterbury; but as you may see,” and here he raised his cowl, “I am but his poor shepherd, that am come to ask your pardon for him and for me.”

Loud laughed the King. “Well caught. Thou hast more wit than thy lord, and thou shalt be Abbot in his place.”

“Nay, that cannot be,” quoth the shepherd; “I know not to write nor to read.”

“Well, then, four nobles a week thou shalt have for the ready wit. And tell the Abbot from me that he has my pardon.” And with that King John sent away the shepherd with a right royal present, besides his pension.

There was once a king and a queen, as many a one has been; few have we seen, and as few may we see. But the queen died, leaving only one bonny girl, and she told her on her death-bed: “My dear, after I am gone, there will come to you a little red calf, and whenever you want anything, speak to it, and it will give it you.”

Now, after a while, the king married again an ill-natured wife, with three ugly daughters of her own. And they hated the king’s daughter because she was so bonny. So they took all her fine clothes away from her, and gave her only a coat made of rushes. So they called her Rushen Coatie, and made her sit in the kitchen nook, amid the ashes. And when dinner-time came, the nasty stepmother sent her out a thimbleful of broth, a grain of barley, a thread of meat, and a crumb of bread. But when she had eaten all this, she was just as hungry as before, so she said to herself: “Oh! how I wish I had something to eat.” Just then, who should come in but a little red calf, and said to her: “Put your finger into my left ear.” She did so, and found some nice bread. Then the calf told her to put her finger into its right ear, and she found there some cheese, and made a right good meal of the bread and cheese. And so it went on from day to day.

Now the king’s wife thought Rushen Coatie would soon die from the scanty food she got, and she was surprised to see her as lively and healthy as ever. So she set one of her ugly daughters on the watch at meal times to find out how Rushen Coatie got enough to live on. The daughter soon found out that the red calf gave food to Rushen Coatie, and told her mother. So her mother went to the king and told him she was longing to have a sweetbread from a red calf. Then the king sent for his butcher, and had the little red calf killed. And when Rushen Coatie heard of it, she sate down and wept by its side, but the dead calf said:

So she did so, but could not find the shank-bone of the calf.

Now the very next Sunday was Yuletide, and all the folk were going to church in their best clothes, so Rushen Coatie said: “Oh! I should like to go to church, too,” but the three ugly sisters said: “What would you do at the church, you nasty thing? You must bide at home and make the dinner.” And the king’s wife said: “And this is what you must make the soup of, a thimbleful of water, a grain of barley, and a crumb of bread.”

When they all went to church, Rushen Coatie sat down and wept, but looking up, who should she see coming in limping, lamping, with a shank wanting, but the dear red calf? And the red calf said to her: “Do not sit there weeping, but go, put on these clothes, and above all, put on this pair of glass slippers, and go your way to church.”

“But what will become of the dinner?” said Rushen Coatie.

“Oh, do not fash about that,” said the red calf, “all you have to do is to say to the fire:

and be off to church with you. But mind you come home first.”

So Rushen Coatie said this, and went off to church, and she was the grandest and finest lady there. There happened to be a young prince there, and he fell at once in love with her. But she came away before service was over, and was home before the rest, and had off her fine clothes and on with her rushen coatie, and she found the calf had covered the table, and the dinner was ready, and everything was in good order when the rest came home. The three sisters said to Rushen Coatie: “Eh, lassie, if you had seen the bonny fine lady in church to-day, that the young prince fell in love with!” Then she said: “Oh! I wish you would let me go with you to the church to-morrow,” for they used to go three days together to church at Yuletide.

But they said: “What should the like of you do at church, nasty thing? The kitchen nook is good enough for you.”

So the next day they all went to church, and Rushen Coatie was left behind, to make dinner out of a thimbleful of water, a grain of barley, a crumb of bread, and a thread of meat. But the red calf came to her help again, gave her finer clothes than before, and she went to church, where all the world was looking at her, and wondering where such a grand lady came from, and the prince fell more in love with her than ever, and tried to find out where she went to. But she was too quick for him, and got home long before the rest, and the red calf had the dinner all ready.

The next day the calf dressed her in even grander clothes than before, and she went to the church. And the young prince was there again, and this time he put a guard at the door to keep her, but she took a hop and a run and jumped over their heads, and as she did so, down fell one of her glass slippers. She didn’t wait to pick it up, you may be sure, but off she ran home, as fast as she could go, on with the rushen coatie, and the calf had all things ready.