d at the mountain for the third time, he called
loudly on the North-west Wind, and when he came heaped insults and
reproaches upon him.

"Softly," replied Norouas; "I am not to blame for your misfortune. You
must know that it is the hostess at the inn where you slept who is the
guilty party, for she stole your napkin and your ass. Take this
cudgel. When you say to it, 'Strike, cudgel,' it will at once attack
your enemies, and when you want it to stop you have only to cry, '_Ora
pro nobis_.'"

The goodman, eager to test the efficacy of the cudgel, at once said to
it, "Strike, cudgel," whereupon it commenced to belabour him so
soundly that he yelled, "_Ora pro nobis!_" when it ceased.

Returning to the inn in a very stormy mood, he loudly demanded the
return of his napkin and his ass, whereupon the hostess threatened to
fetch the gendarmes.

"Strike, cudgel!" cried the goodman, and the stick immediately set
about the hostess in such vigorous style that she cried to the goodman
to call it off and she would at once return his ass and his napkin.

When his property had been returned to him the goodman lost no time in
making his way homeward, where he rejoiced his wife by the sight of
the treasures he brought with him. He rapidly grew rich, and his
neighbours, becoming suspicious at the sight of so much wealth, had
him arrested and brought before a magistrate on a charge of wholesale
murder and robbery. He was sentenced to death, and on the day of his
execution he was about to mount the scaffold, when he begged as a last
request that his old cudgel might be brought him. The boon was
granted, and no sooner had the stick been given into his hands than he
cried, "Strike, cudgel!"

And the cudgel _did_ strike. It belaboured judge, gendarmes, and
spectators in such a manner that they fled howling from the scene. It
demolished the scaffold and cracked the hangman's crown. A great cry
for mercy arose. The goodman was instantly pardoned, and was never
further molested in the enjoyment of the treasures the North-west Wind
had given him as compensation for his crop of flax.

_The Foster-Brother_

The weird tale which follows has many parallels in world folk-lore, but
is localized at Treguier, an old cathedral town in the Cotes-du-Nord at
the junction of the Jaudy and the Guindy, famous for the beautiful
windows of its celebrated church, founded by St Tugdual.

Gwennolaik was the most noble and beautiful maiden in Treguier,