urse I did," replied the fellow; "it is a fairy horn."

"Umph," said Maraud. "Ask the fairies, then, to bring us a slice of
bread."

His companion knelt down and shouted out the request, but nothing
happened and they resumed their way.

They had not gone far, however, when they beheld a slice of beautiful
white bread lying on a snowy napkin by the roadside. Maraud picked it
up and found that it was well buttered and as toothsome as a cake, and
when they had divided and eaten it they felt their hunger completely
satisfied. But he who has fed well is often thirsty, so Maraud,
lowering his head, and speaking to the little folk beneath, cried:
"Hullo, there! Bring us something to drink, if you please."

He had hardly spoken when they beheld a pot of cider and a glass
reposing on the ground in front of them. Maraud filled the glass, and,
raising it to his lips, quaffed of the fairy cider. It was clear and
of a rich colour, and he declared that it was by far the best that he
had ever tasted. His friend drank likewise, and when they returned to
the village that night they had a good story to tell of how they had
eaten and drunk at the expense of the fairies. But their friends and
neighbours shook their heads and regarded them sadly.

"Alas! poor fellows," they said, "if you have eaten fairy food and
drunk fairy liquor you are as good as dead men."

Nothing happened to them within the next few days, however, and it was
with light hearts that one morning they returned to work in the
neighbourhood of the spot where they had met with such a strange
adventure. When they arrived at the place they smelt the odour of
cakes which had been baked with black corn, and a fierce hunger at
once took possession of them.

"Ha!" said Maraud, "the fairies are baking to-day. Suppose we ask them
for a cake or two." "No, no!" replied his friend. "Ask them if you
wish, but I will have none of them."

"Pah!" cried Maraud, "what are you afraid of?" And he cried: "Below
there! Bring me a cake, will you?"

Two fine cakes at once appeared. Maraud seized upon one, but when he
had cut it he perceived that it was made of hairs, and he threw it
down in disgust.

"You wicked old sorcerer!" he cried. "Do you mean to mock me?"

But as he spoke the cakes disappeared.

Now there lived in the village a widow with seven children, and a hard
task she had to find bread for them all. She heard tell of Maraud's
adventure with the fairies, and pondered on