The Black Sheep was very proud and happy when the mother and her little boy came down to the bars and showed the new clothes that had been made from the wool.

“This pays me for all my trouble,” said the Black Sheep, and the little boy reached his hand through the bars and patted her gently upon the head.

Old King Cole

Old King Cole

    Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
    And a merry old soul was he;
    He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl
    And he called for his fiddlers three.

Old King Cole was not always a king, nor was he born a member of any royal family.  It was only chance—­“hard luck” he used to call it—­that made him a king at all.

He had always been a poor man, being the son of an apple peddler, who died and left him nothing but a donkey and a fiddle.  But that was enough for Cole, who never bothered his head about the world’s goods, but took things as they came and refused to worry about anything.

So, when the house he lived in, and the furniture, and even the applecart were sold to pay his father’s debts, and he found himself left with the old fiddle that nobody wanted and the old donkey that no one would have—­it being both vicious and unruly—­he uttered no word of complaint.  He simply straddled the donkey and took the fiddle under his arm and rode out into the world to seek his fortune.

When he came to a village he played a merry tune upon the fiddle and sang a merry song with it, and the people gave him food most willingly.  There was no trouble about a place to sleep, for if he was denied a bed he lay down with the donkey in a barn, or even on the village green, and making a pillow of the donkey’s neck he slept as soundly as anyone could in a bed of down.

And so he continued riding along and playing upon his fiddle for many years, until his head grew bald and his face was wrinkled and his bushy eyebrows became as white as snow.  But his eyes never lost their merry twinkle, and he was just as fat and hearty as in his younger days, while, if you heard him singing his songs and scraping upon the old fiddle, you would know at once his heart was as young as ever.

He never guided the donkey, but let the beast go where it would, and so it happened that at last they came to Whatland, and entered one day the city where resided the King of that great country.

Now, even as Cole rode in upon his donkey the King of Whatland lay dying in his palace, surrounded by all the luxury of the court.  And as he left no heir, and was the last of the royal line, the councilors and wise men of Whatland were in a great quandary as to who should succeed him.  But finally they bethought themselves of the laws of the land, and upon looking up the records they found in an old book a law that provided for just such a case as this.

“If the King dies,” so read the law, “and there be no one to succeed to the throne, the prime minister shall be blinded and led from the palace into the main street of the city.  And he shall stretch out his arms and walk about, and the first person he touches shall be crowned as King of the land.”