ishop announced that on a certain day his large barn
should be open for any one to enter who chose, and that when the place
was full, as much food should be given them as would last all the
winter.

At last the day came, and for a time forgetting their hunger, the women
and children, as well as the men, both old and young, crowded up to the
barn door.

The Bishop watched them, with a smile on his deceitful old face, until
the place was quite full; then he fastened the door securely, and
actually set fire to the barn, and burned it to the ground. As he
listened to the cries of agony, he said to himself, "How much better it
will be for the country when all these _rats_," as he called the poor
sufferers, "are killed, because while they were living they only
consumed the corn!"

Having done this, he went to his palace, and sat down to his dainty
supper, chuckling to himself to think how cleverly he had disposed of
the "rats."

The next morning, however, his face wore a different expression, when
his eye fell upon the spot where the night before had hung a likeness of
himself. There was the frame, but the picture had gone: it had been
eaten by the rats.

At this the wicked Bishop was frightened. He thought of the poor dying
people he had spoken of as rats the day before, and he turned cold and
trembled. As he stood shivering, a man from the farm ran up in terror,
exclaiming that the rats had eaten all the corn that had been stored in
the granaries.

Scarcely had the man finished speaking when another messenger arrived,
pale with fear, and bringing tidings more terrible still. He said ten
thousand rats were coming fast to the palace, and told the Bishop to fly
for his life, adding a prayer that his master might be forgiven for the
crime he had committed the day before.

"The rats shall not find me," said Bishop Hatto, for that was his name.
"I will go shut myself up in my strong tower on the Rhine. No rats can
reach me there; the walls are high, and the stream around is so strong
the rats would soon be washed away if they attempted to cross the
water."

So off he started, crossed the Rhine, and shut himself up in his tower.
He fastened every window securely, locked and barred the doors, and gave
strict injunctions that no one should be allowed to leave the tower or
to enter it. Hoping that all danger was over, he lay down, closed his
eyes, and tried to sleep. But it was all in vain; he still shook with
fear. Then,