elighted. But it is impossible to make so long a journey
without being hungry; and it was with pleasure, therefore, that she
saw the mountain dwarfs bring in a table, everything on which
glittered with gold, silver, and precious stones. The dishes were
marvelous--side-dishes of emeralds, and roasts of gold on silver
salvers. Every one ate heartily except the bride, who begged her
husband for a little bread.

"Bring the copper bread," said the King of the Mines.

Marienka could not eat it.

"Bring the silver bread," said he.

Marienka could not eat it.

"Bring the gold bread," said he, at length.

Marienka could not eat it.

"My fair one," said the King of the Mines, "I am very sorry; but what
can I offer you? We have no other bread."

The bride burst into tears. Her husband laughed aloud; his heart was
of metal, like his kingdom.

"Weep, if you like," he cried; "it will do you no good. What you
wished for you possess. Eat the bread that you have chosen."

It was thus that the rich Marienka lived in her castle, dying of
hunger, and seeking in vain for a root to allay the torture that was
consuming her. God had humbled her by granting her prayer.

Three days in the year, the Rogation Days, when the ground half opens
to receive the fruitful rain sent by the Lord, Marienka returns to the
earth. Dressed in rags, pale and wrinkled, she begs from door to door,
too happy when any one throws her a few crusts, and when she receives
as alms from the poor what she lacks in her palace of gold--a little
bread and a little pity.

The Story _of the Noses_

_A Bohemian Tale_

[Illustration:]

At Dewitz, in the neighborhood of Prague, there once lived a rich and
whimsical old farmer who had a beautiful daughter. The students of
Prague, of whom there were at that time twenty-five thousand, often
walked in the direction of Dewitz, and more than one of them offered
to follow the plow in hopes of becoming the son-in-law of the farmer.
The first condition that the cunning peasant set on each new servant
was this: "I engage you," he would say, "for a year--that is, till the
cuckoo sings the return of spring; but if, from now till then, you say
once that you are not satisfied, I will cut off the end of your nose.
I give you the same right over me," he added, laughing. And he did as
he said. Prague was full of students with the ends of their noses
glued on, which did not prevent an ugly scar, and, still less, bad
jok