the cat had fled, and burned that also.  But the cat sprang out upon the roof, and sat there, washing itself and putting its paws behind its ears, after the manner of cats; and the Schildburgers understood thereby that the cat lifted up its hands and swore an oath that it would not leave their treatment of it unrevenged.  Then one of them took a long pole and struck at the cat, but the cat caught hold of the pole, and began to clamber down it, whereupon all the people grew greatly alarmed and ran away, and left the fire to burn as it might.  And because no one regarded the fire, nor sought to put it out, the whole village was burned to a house, and notwithstanding that, the cat escaped.  And the Schildburgers fled with their wives and children to a neighbouring forest.  And at this time was burned their chancery and all the papers therein, which is the reason why their history is not to be found described in a more regular manner.

Thus ended the career of the Schildburgers as a community, according to the veracious chronicle of their marvellous exploits, the first of which, their carrying sunshine into the council-house, is a favourite incident in the noodle-stories of many countries, and has its parallel in the Icelandic story of the Three Brothers of Bakki:  They had observed that in winter the weather was colder than in summer, also that the larger the windows of a house were the colder it was.  All frost and sharp cold, therefore, they thought sprang from the fact that houses had windows in them.  So they built themselves a house on a new plan, without windows in it at all.  It followed, of course, that there was always pitch darkness in it.  They found that this was rather a fault in the house, but comforted themselves with the certainty that in winter it would be very warm; and as to light, they thought they could contrive some easy means of getting the house lighted.  One fine day in the middle of summer, when the sunshine was brightest, they began to carry the darkness out of the house in their caps, and emptied it out when they came into the sunshine, which they then carried into the dark room.  Thus they worked hard the whole day, but in the evening, when they had done all their best, they were not a little disappointed to find that it was as dark as before, so much so that they could not tell one hand from the other.[1]

There is a Kashmiri story which bears a slight resemblance to the exploit of the Schildburgers with the cat.  A poor old woman used to beg her food by day and cook it at night.  Half of the food she would eat in the morning, and the other half in the evening.  After a while a cat got to know of this arrangement, and came and ate the meal for her.  The old woman was very patient, but at last could no longer endure the cat’s impudence, and so she laid hold of it.  She argued with herself as to whether she should kill it or not.  “If I slay it,” she thought, “it will be a sin; but if I keep it alive, it will be to my heavy loss.”  So she determined only to punish it.  She procured some cotton wool and some oil, and soaking the one in the other, tied it on to the cat’s tail and then set it on fire.  Away rushed the cat across the yard, up the side of the window, and on to the roof, where its flaming tail ignited the thatch and set the whole house on fire.  The flames soon spread to other houses, and the whole village was destroyed.[2]