The Jeep and the Witch from Walgrave
Once upon a time, in a cheerful, bright forest, which began just outside the village of Walgrave, in Northampshire, there lived an elf and a witch.
The witch's name was Howlit - she lived in a rickety house under a thatched roof on the northern edge of the forest, and she had a cat named Chernulin. The cat washed, swept, cleaned and cooked, and received nothing but kicks and pokes as a reward, because the witch Howlit was cruel, greedy and grumpy. Everyone in Walg Rave was afraid of her and tried to stay away from her.
The elf's name was Jip; he lived alone on the southern edge of the forest in the hollow of an old oak tree that was two hundred years old, if not more. He was a lively little man with a cheerful face, green radiant eyes and straw hair. He wore a bright green camisole that matched the color of his eyes and a red cap that suited him.
Are you asking if he was good or bad? This question is not easy to answer. He gets up on that foot - and is kind and helpful all day long. For example, if Vil the woodcutter's ax casts a spell, Vil will chop twice as much wood as usual, and when he gets tired, it will be half as much. Or he will teach old Rob a magic word, he will touch a huge stone with a pickaxe - the stone will crumble into rubble; take it and pave the road.
Well, if Jip gets up on the wrong foot, then there’s no way I can save him from his mischief. Whisper over the cream - and the poor maid won’t knock down a lump of butter all day. Or it will turn into a tripod stool, a peasant will sit on it, and the stool will disappear and melt into the air. In a word, even though Jip was an elf, he was like two peas in a pod like any child, maybe like the boy who is reading these lines now, or like the girl from the children's song: when he was good, he was very, very good, and when he was bad, he was simply terrible.
It’s clear that no one liked Jip’s pranks. But no one was angry with him for a long time. And all the inhabitants of Walgrsive - the owners, workers, Wil the woodcutter, Robert the road foreman and Jip himself - lived amicably and cheerfully until that ill-fated day when the old witch Howlit suddenly got tired of rabbits, berries and nuts, and even more so - the milk that she stole from the peasants: she secretly milked cows in the pasture.
“It’s been a while since I’ve eaten fried elves.” “Oh, how delicious they are with a piece of fresh barley bread,” said the witch Howlit and kicked Chernulin’s cat.
Three, sweep, scrape and mine
And catch mice! Otherwise, lazy cat,
I'll send you away! - she said to the cat, kicked him again, took the old bag in which she had collected acorns, chestnuts and hazelnuts, and went to the old century-old oak tree, in the hollow of which Jip lived.
She approached and tapped with a stick on the mighty trunk, carved with deep wrinkles.
“Dear, pretty Jeep,” she croaked in a mock-affectionate manner, “get out of the hollow quickly.” Look, I brought you a bag full of cherries, so sweet, so ripe!
- Sweet, ripe cherries! - Jip exclaimed, opened the door and joyfully jumped out. - So lucky! And I’m sitting in my living room and thinking: it would be nice to enjoy some sweet, ripe cherries now. Where do you have it, good Howlit?
“Yes, here she is, in the bag,” answered the witch and, untying the bag, she made a very small hole in it.
“I don’t see,” Jip looked into the black belly of the bag.
“Bend down and see,” said the witch and shoved him into the bag with her bony hand. - Yeah! – she exclaimed contentedly and tied the bag tightly so that Jeep would not jump out. - Be careful not to choke on a cherry pit, my little bird!
She shouldered the bag with the Jeep and went to her rickety house under a thatched roof at the other end of the forest.
The witch was hobbling through the forest and suddenly remembered that yesterday she saw a lot of mushrooms in the pasture near the mill. “Oh, how delicious - fried elf with mushrooms,” the old woman thought, threw the bag with Jip under a large elm tree, and she went to the pasture to pick mushrooms. As soon as the witch left, Jip started screaming and kicking with his arms and legs. He wants to jump out of the bag, but nothing happens: the bag is tied very tightly. “If only someone was nearby, he would help me out,” thought poor Jip: how many times has he helped people! Suddenly he hears a tree being cut down very close by - but it’s Vil the woodcutter!
- Help! - he shouted. Jeep. - Help!
But the wood pigeons on the top of the elm were buzzing so loudly that Wil the Woodcutter did not hear the cries for help. Knock-knock-knock - he continued to chop steadily with the axe.
- Help, Vil! – Jip screamed with all his might. - Hurry here!
But a clear-eyed ermine ran by, the dry leaves rustled, and Vil the Woodcutter again heard nothing. Knock-knock-knock - the ax continued to knock very close by.
- Help! – Jip shouted for the third time. - Oh, Vil, help!
The woodcutter finally heard someone’s thin voice. He lowered the ax and looked around.
“No way, it’s Jeep,” he said, scratching the back of his head. - Where is he? Again, apparently, he was up to some mischief.
He was about to take up the ax, and Jean again shouts: “What mischief is there, Vil!” The witch Howlit lured me into a sack. I'm afraid he'll roast me for dinner tonight.
- She will do it!
The woodcutter approached the sack, untied the rope, and the Jeep jumped out, still unable to get a tooth out of fear. But I saw a mighty woodcutter, took a sip of the fresh forest smells and immediately cheered up.
- Thank you, Vil, for saving me. Let's now fill the bag with branches and nets. Let the witch think it's me in the bag.
Vil chopped rose hips and brambles, they filled a bag full of prickly twigs and tied them tightly. Jip ran to his home, into the hollow of a century-old oak tree, and Vil again began chopping wood.
The witch Howlit returned with mushrooms, threw the bag over her shoulder and shivered: somehow the bag was painfully prickly.
“Who would have thought that elves carry needles and pins in their pockets,” muttered the witch. - If, if, my dear! When we get home, I'll ask you!
The old witch came home, kicked the cat, and he, poor fellow, had just taken a nap by the fire: he had been washing, cleaning, cooking and cleaning all day. The witch took a broom and started beating the bag. She beat and beat until she was exhausted. I untied the bag, and there were prickly twigs.
The witch was angry that she had tried in vain; doesn’t know where to go out of frustration; She wanted to blow up the cat, but he darted through the door, ran into the forest and hid in the thicket.
“Jip thinks he’s outsmarted me,” muttered the witch. - Well, we'll see about that!
The next morning I got up early, kicked Chernulin, shouted to him: Three, sweep, scrape and mine
And catch mice! Otherwise, lazy cat,
I'll send you away! –
She kicked again, took the bag in which she collected beech nuts, chestnuts and acorns, and went to the southern edge, where Jip lived in a century-old oak tree. She knocked three times on the wrinkled bark of the mighty oak tree and said in a gentle voice:
- Nice, nice Jeep! Come here and look: I brought you strawberries, so sweet, so juicy!
– Juicy, sweet strawberries! - Jip exclaimed, opened the door and jumped out - What luck! And I’m sitting and thinking, it would be nice to enjoy some juicy, sweet strawberries now. Where do you have it, good Howlit?
“Here it is, in the bag,” answered the old woman and opened the bag.
“I don’t see,” says Jip, looking into the black belly of the bag.
“Bend down and see,” said the witch, she pushed Jip with her bony hand, and he flew straight into the bag. - Gotcha! – the witch was delighted and tied the bag tightly so that the Jeep would not jump out. - Look, my little bird, don’t choke on the sweet, juicy strawberries.
She threw the bag with poor Jeep over her shoulder and went to her rickety house on the northern edge of the forest.
The witch was hobbling through the forest and suddenly remembered that marjoram was growing near the fence near the mill - an excellent seasoning for a roasted elf. She threw the bag under the birch tree and went to pick fragrant grass.
As soon as the witch left, let the Jeep in the bag jump, kick, wants to get free - nothing comes of it: the witch tied the rope very tightly. “If there was someone nearby, he would help,” thinks poor Jip, remembering how many times he helped people. Suddenly he hears someone hitting stones with a pickaxe. But this is Rob - the road foreman is chopping gravel.
- Help! - Jip shouted. - Hey, old Rob, help!
But in the crown of a thin birch tree overhead a green woodpecker knocked loudly, and Rob the road foreman did not hear anything, he knew he was chipping stones.
- Help! - Jip shouted again. - Oh, Rob, help me out! And then the red squirrel saw the bag jumping on the ground and chirped displeasedly. Rob didn't hear poor Jip again.
- Help! – Jip shouted for the third time. – Rob, please help!
Old Rob heard a thin voice, threw the pick on the ground and slowly looked around.
“No way, it’s Jeep,” he said, scratching the back of his head. -Where is he? Are you up to some mischief again?
I wanted to take up my pickaxe, but Jip shouted again:
- Yes, yes, it’s me, Jip! What a mischief! The witch Howlit lured me into a sack. I think she'll have fried elf for dinner today.
- She will do it! – Rob said, walked towards the bag and untied it.
A trembling Jeep jumped out of there, but saw good old Rob, took a sip of the fresh forest smells and immediately cheered up.
– Thank you, Rob, for saving me! - he exclaimed. - Let's pour a full bag of crushed stone. Let the witch Howlit think that I am in the bag.
Rob willingly brought crushed stone, they poured a full sack, tied the rope tightly, and Jip ran to his hollow of a century-old oak tree, and old Rob again went to crush stones.
The witch returned, picked up the bag, threw it over her shoulder and groaned: the gravel was heavy, the sharp edges cut into her back.
“Who would have thought that elves had such bony sides,” she muttered. - Well, just wait, my dear, let's go home, I'll count the bones for you!
The witch Howlit came home, kicked the cat, and he, poor fellow, had just laid down by the fire: he had been cleaning and washing all day, wiping the dust and sweeping the floor. The witch took a broom and started hitting the bag of stones. It beat and beat, I even broke out in a sweat. I untied the bag, and there was gravel. The witch was even more angry than before; she didn’t know where to go from her frustration. Chernulin would have gotten it for nothing, but he dashed through the door, ran into the forest and hid in the thicket.
- For the second time, the rogue Jip outwitted me! - exclaimed the witch. - Well, he won’t succeed a third time!
The next morning the witch got up early, kicked Chernulin and said:
Darn, patch, mend, iron, wash and sew!
Otherwise, you lazy cat, I’ll drive you away!
She kicked the cat again, went up to her bedroom and dressed up as a traveling merchant. She put on a long black skirt, a gray jacket, pulled a straw hat over her eyes, and threw a shawl over her shoulders. Then she took a large box with all sorts of things and hung it on her chest. There was something missing in this box: threads and needles, buttons, pins and ribbons, brooches, stockings and aprons, but the most tempting thing were red morocco boots.
This time, the witch Howlit did not go to the centuries-old oak tree where Jip lived, but wandered through the forest for a long time until she heard a ringing song sung by the merry fellow Jip. The witch hobbled towards the voice, saw Jeep walking along the path, singing and dancing. As always, in a green caftan to match the color of his eyes, in a red cap on yellow braids.
- Good afternoon, Mr. Jeep! – exclaimed the disguised witch. - How beautifully you sing! How the green camisole suits you, how well the red cap fits! And I have something interesting here for a dandy like you. What do you say, Mr. Jeep, about the red morocco boots?
Jip stood on tiptoes, grabbed the edge of the box with his hands and looked into it.
“I can’t see something,” he said.
“And you jump into the box, Mr. Jeep, and look at it to your heart’s content,” suggested the cunning witch.
Jip jumped into the box, sat down comfortably and began to twirl his red boots.
- Yeah, gotcha! - the witch exclaimed triumphantly, slammed the box and locked it tightly so that the Jeep would not jump out. - Now measure it! Be careful not to sting, my little bird!
And she hobbled home to the northern edge of the forest. He walks, doesn’t stop, doesn’t let go of the box. So I came home with a box in which poor Jeep was languishing.
– Fried elf for dinner! - the witch licked her lips, casually kicked the cat - and he had just laid down by the fire: all day he had been sewing and mending, darning and patching, ironing and washing - and ordered him: - Go and fetch some firewood, lazybones! I'll light the stove.
The cat trudged off to get some firewood, brought an armful, threw it by the fireplace, curled up and dozed off again.
“Roast elf for dinner,” the witch purred and kicked the cat again: “Go, couch potato, bring water from the well, I’m thirsty!”
The cat dragged himself to the well, got some water, poured it into a jug, put it on the table, and curled up again and slept.
“Roast elf for dinner,” the old witch cackled and kicked the cat again: “Go, you careless brute, bake me some barley bread!” The cat went into the kitchen and began kneading the dough. The old woman opened the box:
- Come on, my little bird, come here!
The little Jeep crawled out of the box, trembling with fear.
“Everyone says you’re too smart.” Open the door, look into the oven to see if it’s hot enough to bake you. – And she rubs her bony hands, giggles, licks her lips.
“Ask her to open it herself,” Chernulin whispered to Jip.
- First, show yourself how the door opens. I can't.
“Whoever called you a smart guy was very mistaken,” the evil witch grumbled. - Look, it's very simple. – She reached out and opened the heavy cast-iron door. - Well, now try, is the heat good?
“Let her try it herself first,” Chernulin whispered.
- How can I try it? “I don’t know how,” says Jip.
- What a fool, such a fool! - the witch got angry. - Yes, it’s as simple as shelling pears. Look!
The old woman folded herself in half, stuck her hand into the oven, and then her head.
- Quicker! - Chernulip shouted. - Push her as hard as you can! The cat jumped from the table where he was kneading dough, they pushed the witch into the fire, quickly slammed the door and locked it.
“Thin garbage gives a good heat,” said the satisfied cat and threw more logs.
The fire flared up, the flame hummed in the chimney and licked the straw on the roof. The roof was covered, and behind it the whole house.
- Let's run! - the cat shouted.
They grabbed hands and ran out of the burning house. Soon all that was left was firebrands.
Jip and the cat went through the forest to the southern edge, where there was a century-old oak tree, and began to live there together. And the whole village of Walgrave, Wil the woodcutter, Rob the road foreman and, of course, little Jip with the cat Chernulin - everyone was very happy that there was no more evil witch. And from then on they all lived cheerfully and happily.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru