The Three Ivory Bobbins

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Title:     The Three Ivory Bobbins
Author: Joel Chandler Harris [More Titles by Harris]

"The little old man took the boy's hand in his, but before he could say anything, a rustling was heard in the bushes. Presently, Old Top, the deerhound, made his appearance. He went up to the boy, smelt of him, wagged his tail as a sign of satisfaction, and then curled up in the leaves as if to take a nap. But he didn't go to sleep. Every once in awhile, Old Top raised his head and listened wistfully to the running dogs that could be heard in the distance.

"'A very sensible dog!' exclaimed the little old man. 'He knows something is wrong.'

"'What is it?' asked the boy.

"'Well, Three Wits,' said the little old man, 'I'll tell you. The man, the horse, and the dogs, are under a spell. They are bewitched, and they will continue to be bewitched until doomsday, unless the spell is broken. They will go round and round on the trail until they exhaust themselves, and then they will gradually grow thinner and thinner until they disappear; and then nothing will be heard but the barking of the dogs, and the sound of that will grow fainter and fainter, until no human ear can hear it. Now, the question is, Three Wits, do you wish the spell broken?'

"'I do,' replied the boy, 'for my mother's sake.'

"'Now that is well spoken,' said the old man, rising and laying his hand gently on the boy's head. 'For, behold, Three Wits, what is written in the book.'

"The old man opened the red volume and read as follows, pointing to each word with his finger:--

"'Whoever shall, for the sake of his mother, earnestly desire to break the spells worked by Paggia Paggiola, the Hunting-Witch, is in a way to have his desire fulfilled. For this is the indispensable condition. Moreover, he who hopes to succeed must have the innocence of youth and the courage of manhood. On his left arm there should grow a mole, and in this mole are three white hairs.'

"'I have the mole,' said the boy, opening his vest.

"Sure enough, there was the mole, and on the mole were growing three long white hairs as fine as silk. With a pair of silver tweezers that he found in his wallet, the little old man pulled the long white hairs from the mole. One by one he pulled them. One by one he ran them through his fingers, and one by one they seemed to grow longer and stronger, each time they were pulled through the little old man's swift-moving fingers.

"Then, searching in his wallet, he found three ivory bobbins; and on these he wound the long, strong, and silken hairs. He wound and wound, and as he wound he sang:--

"'Now on this bobbin I wind a hair,
White, and silken, and long;
I wind it slow, I wind it fair,
Glossy, and white, and strong.

"'I wind it here in shade and sun,
For one, one, one are three--
Three and no more where the stag shall run,
Close by the chestnut-tree.

"'And one shall catch, and two shall hold,
And three shall clamp and kill;
Just say to your hand, Be steady and bold;
And say to your heart, I will.'

"The boy was surprised to see, as the old man sang and wound, that the white hairs spun out into silver wires hundreds of feet long, and stronger than steel.

"'Take these, Three Wits,' said the old man, after he had finished winding the bobbins. 'Take these, and when the hunt runs this way again, fling one at the Stag, and one at the dogs, and one at the horse the huntsman rides. You must fling them quickly, one after the other. It is easy enough to miss the Stag, but you must not fail to catch the dogs. You may fail on the Stag and horse, but you must not fail on the dogs. Be strong. Brace yourself for three quick and hard throws.'

"Then they stood there listening; and presently Old Top, the deerhound, raised his head and whistled through his nose, the whistle ending in a whine.

"'They are coming now, Three Wits!' exclaimed the little old man. 'Get ready! Throw quick and hard! Don't be afraid!'

"In the distance, the baying of the dogs could be heard, and Old Top rose and shook himself and growled. In another moment the Stag, ridden by the grinning old woman, flitted past; but, quick as a flash, Three Wits threw the first bobbin, and he threw it so hard that it made a zooning sound in the air. The Stag made one tremendous bound and disappeared. The dogs came next, and Three Wits threw the second bobbin. It zooned through the air, and the silver wire unwound with a twanging sound, and fell full upon the panting and baying pack. It fell upon them, and wound itself about them, and smothered their cries, and held them fast in its glistening meshes.

"Then came the rushing horse and its furious rider. Three Wits threw the third bobbin, but the horse shied at the motion of the boy's hand, and flew through the woods in the direction taken by the Stag. When Three Wits saw both the Stag and the horse escape, he fell upon the ground and began to weep.

"'Hity-tity!' exclaimed the little old man, coming from behind the tree where he had concealed himself. 'What's this? Why, I was about to cry "Bravo!" and here I find you pretending to be a baby. Get up. If I am not mistaken you have accomplished even more than I expected you would. Let's see.'

"He lifted Three Wits to his feet, and then the two went to where the hunt had passed. At one point the dogs were entangled in the silver wire, and were unable to free themselves. A little farther in, they found a thick wisp of gray hair which the wire had cut from the head of the grinning old woman who rode the Stag. The little old man clapped his hands with delight and cut some joyful capers, for he was very nimble.

"'Good!' he exclaimed. 'Another half inch and you would have cut off her head instead of her hair! But where is the bobbin? I don't see the bobbin! We must have the bobbin!'

"Three Wits hunted, but he could find no bobbin. Then he caught hold of the wire, and found that it led into the woods the way the Stag had gone. He caught hold of it and followed it along, calling to the little old man. They followed the silver wire far into the woods, and finally they came to the end of it, and there was the Stag, strangled and dead. The weight of the bobbin had carried the wire around his body and around his neck, and the bobbin itself had caught in the fork of one of his antlers.

"The little old man seemed to be very happy. He patted Three Wits on the shoulder, and declared that he was a good boy, a fine boy. 'But there is more to be done,' said the little old man,--'a great deal more. And you will have to go alone. I can help you, but I can't be with you.'

"Then he found the ivory bobbins, rewound the silver wire, which seemed to spin out still longer, and gave them to Three Wits. 'Take these,' he said, 'and go to the witch's house.'

"'Do you mean Peggy Pig-Eye's house?' asked Three Wits.

"'Why, of course.' replied the little old man. 'Her right name, as you saw by the book, is Paggia Paggiola, but people call her Peggy Pig-Eye for short. Go to her house, throw one of the bobbins over the roof, and then throw one around each end. Throw quick and hard, and, as you throw, cry out,--

"'Bibbity bobbity bobbin,
Go hibbity hob hobnobbin.'

"'But wait!' cried the little old man. 'You may need these dogs.' He took a wisp of the witch's hair, and whipped them back to life. And maybe you'll need a horse to ride. So he went into the woods where the Stag lay dead, and whipped him to his feet with the witch's hair.

"'This is your horse,' he said to Three Wits. But the boy was afraid to mount the Stag. 'Be bold!' cried the little old man; 'all depends on that! Give me your foot. There you are! Loop the silver wire over his horns, and touch him with the bobbin the way you want him to go. He'll carry you safely. Good-by! Be bold!'

"Following the little old man's directions, Three Wits was soon cantering down the road on the Stag's back. The dogs seemed to take everything for granted, and followed along after the Stag as readily as if he had been their master's horse. But travelers who chanced to be going along the road went into the wood when they saw a boy riding a big Stag. They were not used to such a queer sight.

"The spirits of Three Wits rose as he went along. Everything had turned out so happily, and the Stag moved along so gracefully and easily that Three Wits felt quite like a hero.

"He went ambling along the road, the people staring at him, until he came to the witch's house. Everything was quiet there. The windows and doors were closed, and the only sign of life about the place was a big black cat that sat on the water-shelf. Three Wits rode the Stag around the house three times. Then over the roof he threw a bobbin. To the right he threw another, and to the left another. The silver wire seemed to whirl until it became a tangle of wire all over the house. The big black cat made an attempt to escape, but it was caught in the wire as a fly is caught in a spider's web, and it hung helpless by the water-shelf.

"And then a very wonderful thing happened. The silver wire seemed to become so heavy that the roof of the house couldn't bear its weight. The cabin swayed, and finally the roof fell in with a crash. Out of the dust and wreck walked the father of Three Wits, leading his horse, and, following him, came a dozen or more elegantly dressed gentlemen whom Three Wits had never seen before. They shook hands with the boy and thanked him for coming to their rescue, and each gave him a large sum of gold, so that when they started on their way home, Three Wits found that he was very rich. As for the father, he seized Three Wits in his arms and embraced him again and again, and declared that even a king might be proud to have such a brave son.

"While they were talking, the little old man came out of the wood. He went straight to Three Wits, placed his hand on the boy's head, and seemed to be blessing him. Then he lifted Three Wits from the Stag's back, mounted in his place, waved his hand twice, and, in a twinkling, had disappeared in the wood. That was the end of the witch, and this is the end of the story."

"Well, I think it is a very good story," said Buster John.

"I think so, too," remarked Sweetest Susan; "but I'm sorry there was no little girl in it."

[The end]
Joel Chandler Harris's short story: Three Ivory Bobbins

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