ngratitude of
his friend--the wise man who had laughed still louder when the young
fagot-maker vowed that in another case he would not have been so
ungrateful to one who had benefited him--how that wise man would have
roared when he heard the casket plump into the waters of the well! For,
upon my word of honor, betwixt Ali the fagot-maker and Abdallah the
Emperor of the World there was not a pin to choose, except in degree.

Old Ali Baba's pipe had nearly gone out, and he fell a puffing at it
until the spark grew to life again, and until great clouds of smoke
rolled out around his head and up through the rafters above.

"I liked thy story, friend," said old Bidpai--"I liked it mightily much.
I liked more especially the way in which thy emperor got rid of his
demon, or Genie."

Fortunatus took a long pull at his mug of ale. "I know not," said he,
"about the demon, but there was one part that I liked much, and that
was about the treasures of silver and gold and the palace that the Genie
built and all the fine things that the poor fagot-maker enjoyed." Then
he who had once carried the magic purse in his pocket fell a clattering
with the bottom of his quart cup upon the table. "Hey! My pretty lass,"
cried he, "come hither and fetch me another stoup of ale."

Little Brown Betty came at his call, stumbling and tumbling into the
room, just as she had stumbled and tumbled in the Mother Goose book,
only this time she did not crack her crown, but gathered herself up
laughing.

"You may fill my canican while you are about it," said St. George, "for,
by my faith, tis dry work telling a story."

"And mine, too," piped the little Tailor who killed seven flies at a
blow.

"And whose turn is it now to tell a story?" said Doctor Faustus.

"Tis his," said the Lad who fiddled for the Jew, and he pointed to Hans
who traded and traded until he had traded his lump of gold for an empty
churn.

Hans grinned sheepishly. "Well," said he, "I never did have luck at
anything, and why, then, d'ye think I should have luck at telling a
story?"

"Nay, never mind that," said Aladdin, "tell thy story, friend, as best
thou mayst."

"Very well," said Hans, "if ye will have it, I will tell it to you; but,
after all, it is not better than my own story, and the poor man in the
end gets no more than I did in my bargains."

"And what is your story about, my friend?" said Cinderella.

"Tis," said Hans, "about how--"

Much shall have mo