FORTUNATUS lifted his canican to his hps and took a
long, hearty draught of ale. “ Methinks,” said he, “that all
your stories have a twang of the same sort about them.
You all of you, except my friend the Soldier here, play the
same tune upon a different fiddle. Nobody comes to any:
good.”

St. George drew a long whiff of his pipe, and then puffed
out a cloud of smoke as big as his head. “ Perhaps,” said
he to Fortunatus, “you know of a story which turns out
differently. If you do, let us have i, for it is your turn
now.”

“Very well,” said Fortunatus, “I will tell you a story
that turns out as it should, where the lad marries a beautiful
princess and becomes a king into the bargain.”

“ And what is your story about?” said the Lad who
fiddled for the Jew in the bramble-bush.

“ Tt a8,” said Fortunatus, “ about—

Tl4