ADAPTED FROM THE GRIMM BROTHERS

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away from here, there lived a miller who was very proud, and a King who was exceedingly fond of money.

The miller had a lovely daughter, and he could not say enough about her beauty and cleverness. He used to tell all the men who brought their wheat to his mill, to be ground into flour, of the wonderful things this daughter could do “to perfection.”

One day, in a fit of boasting, the miller told the servant who had brought flour from the King’s household, that he had a daughter who could actually turn straw into pure gold by spinning it.

The messenger was astonished, and could hardly wait to get back to the palace and see the King. He knew how mad the King was about money, and wanted to be the first to tell him of the miller’s extraordinary daughter, who could make him vastly rich so easily.

The King was tremendously excited by the story, just as his servant had hoped. He sent at once for the miller.

“My man,” the King said, “I hear you have a daughter who can spin straw into gold. That’s a fine story, but you can hardly expect me to believe it without seeing it. Have your daughter come here this evening.”

So the miller went home and told his daughter that the King wanted to see her. He dared not tell her why. Naturally, the girl was pleased and flattered. She put on her best dress and braided her hair very carefully. Then she went to the palace.

“So you’re the miller’s daughter,” said the King. “Now we’ll see whether you can really spin straw into gold.”

The girl thought the King must be crazy. She felt even surer of it when he took her into a great room full of straw with a spinning wheel in one corner.

A spinning wheel, you know, is an old-fashioned machine for making flax and cotton into yarn and thread.

“If you don’t spin all this straw into gold before the night is over, you will die,” the King said, and closed the door.

The poor little miller’s daughter sat down in front of the spinning wheel and cried and cried. She didn’t know how to spin straw into gold any more than you or I do, and she didn’t want to die a bit.

“Well, well, what’s all this crying for?” said a tiny voice at her ear.

So many queer things had happened that night that it did not seem at all strange to have a man appear out of nowhere. He was not exactly a man, though. He was just a tiny little Dwarf. And the miller’s daughter told him all her troubles.

“Why, that’s nothing,” the little man said; “I can spin that straw into gold myself. But I won’t do it for nothing. What will you give me for doing it?”

The girl had a necklace she was very proud of. She hated to part with it, but she gave it to the little man. He sat promptly down at the spinning wheel, and in a jiffy the golden straws were flying through his hands, and turning into threads of pure gold. Long before daybreak the room was full of gold instead of straw.

Early in the morning the King came. He could hardly wait to learn whether the girl had done her difficult task. When he saw the room heaped with gold he fairly danced with joy, although that was not very dignified for a King. Having one room full of gold only made him want another. So he took the miller’s daughter to a larger room, where there was even more straw. Once more he told her that if she wanted to live she must turn the straw to gold.

The little Dwarf helped her out again. This time she had to pay him with her ring.

In the morning, when the King saw all the gold, he was still not satisfied. He was getting rich so easily that he hated to stop. So he had the miller’s daughter led to the largest room in the palace, and had it filled with straw for her to spin into gold.

This time, however, he told the girl that if she succeeded for the third time in her task she should become his wife. “She’s only the poor miller’s daughter,” he said to himself, “but look how rich she is.”

The girl was not surprised to see the Dwarf come in. He was quite disagreeable, though, when she said she had nothing to give him this time for spinning the gold.

“What!” he said, “have you no reward for me? Then you must promise me your first child after you become Queen.”

There seemed nothing to do but to promise the little fellow what he asked. “Lots of things may happen before the promise is fulfilled,” she thought.

So the straw was spun into gold, and the King was greatly pleased. Soon after this the miller’s daughter became Queen.

A year passed, and the whole kingdom was celebrating the birth of a son to the King and Queen. The Queen was so happy about her child that she quite forgot the promise she had made to the manikin who had saved her life. But he had not forgotten.

“Give me that child,” said he one day, appearing, as was his habit, out of nowhere. The Queen was frightened, yet refused to give up her child. She offered him anything else he would name, but the child he could never have.

“The child,” he answered, “is the only thing I want.” Yet he was sorry for the Queen.

“Well,” he said finally, “I’ll let you have the child for three days. If you can tell me my name before this time is up, you can keep your little one.”

The Queen sent messengers to search the country and bring her all the unusual names they could discover.

After one day the manikin came back to find out whether his name had been discovered.

“Is your name Kasper, or Melchior, or Belshayzar?” the Queen asked in a worried manner.

“Oh, no!” the little fellow said to each name she suggested.

The second day the Queen tried him with some names she had made up herself. “Perhaps they call you Sheepshanks, or Cruickshanks, or Spindleshanks?” she suggested eagerly. But each time the manikin shook his head haughtily and answered, “No!”

The poor Queen was nearly crazy with worry on the third day, and the messengers could find no more queer names. One of them, however, told this story:

“I was drawing to the top of a high hill, and the road where I was riding went through a thick wood. Not a new name had I learned all day. But suddenly I came upon a hut, and before it was a big fire. A little man was hopping madly about the fire, and singing at the top of his voice:

“‘Now a feast I must prepare,
Of the finest royal fare.
Soon the Queen must give her son
To me, for I’m the lucky one.
That Rumpelstiltskin is my name,
She will never guess—the silly dame.’”

The Queen was so delighted she did not even mind being called silly. Soon the manikin came in. “Well,” he said defiantly, “I guess you don’t know my name yet, do you? Remember, this is your last chance.”

“Oh, dear,” said the Queen, pretending to be very anxious. “Is it John?”

“No!” thundered the manikin. “Give me the child.”

“Is it,” the Queen asked softly, “by any chance Rumpelstiltskin?”

“Some witch has told you that! Some witch had told you that!” cried the little man; and he dashed his left foot in a rage so deep into the floor that he was forced to lay hold of it with both hands to pull it out. Then he made the best of his way off, while everybody laughed at him for having had all his trouble for nothing.