Wisdom's Wages and Folly's Pay

Twilight Land

by Howard Pyle

Once upon a time there was a wise man of wise men, and a great
magician to boot, and his name was Doctor Simon Agricola.

Once upon a time there was a simpleton of simpletons, and a
great booby to boot, and his name was Babo.

Simon Agricola had read all the books written by man, and could
do more magic than any conjurer that ever lived. But, nevertheless,
he was none too well off in the world; his clothes were patched, and
his shoes gaped, and that is the way with many another wise man of
whom I have heard tell.

Babo gathered rushes for a chair-maker, and he also had too few
of the good things to make life easy. But it is nothing out of the
way for a simpleton to be in that case.

The two of them lived neighbor to neighbor, the one in the next
house to the other, and so far as the world could see there was not a
pin to choose between them--only that one was called a wise man and
the other a simpleton.

One day the weather was cold, and when Babo came home from
gathering rushes he found no fire in the house. So off he went to his
neighbor the wise man. "Will you give me a live coal to start my
fire?" said he.

"Yes, I will do that," said Simon Agricola; "But how will you
carry the coal home?"

"Oh!" said Babo, "I will just take it in my hand."

"In your hand?"

"In my hand."

"Can you carry a live coal in your hand?"

"Oh yes!" said Babo; "I can do that easily enough."

"Well, I should like to see you do it," said Simon Agricola.

"Then I will show you," said Babo. He spread a bed of cold, dead
ashes upon his palm. "Now," said he, "I will take the ember upon
that."

Agricola rolled up his eyes like a duck in a thunder-storm.
"Well," said he, "I have lived more than seventy years, and have read
all the books in the world; I have practised magic and necromancy,
and know all about algebra and geometry, and yet, wise as I am, I
never thought of this little thing."

That is the way with your wise man.

"Pooh!" said Babo; "that is nothing. I know how to do many more
tricks than that."

"Do you?" said Simon Agricola; "then listen: to-morrow I am
going out into the world to make my fortune, for little or nothing is
to be had in this town. If you will go along with me I will make your
fortune also."

"Very well," said Babo, and the bargain was struck. So the next
morning bright and early off they started upon their journey, cheek
by jowl, the wise man and the simpleton, to make their fortunes in
the wide world, and the two of them made a pair. On they jogged and
on they jogged, and the way was none too smooth. By-and-by they came
to a great field covered all over with round stones.

"Let us each take one of these," said Simon Agricola; "they will
be of use by-and-by"; and, as he spoke, he picked up a great stone as
big as his two fists, and dropped it into the pouch that dangled at
his side.

"Not I," said Babo; "I will carry no stone with me. It is as
much as my two legs can do to carry my body, let along lugging a
great stone into the bargain."

"Very well," said Agricola; " born a fool, live a fool, die a
fool.'" And on he tramped, with Babo at his heels.

At last they came to a great wide plain, where, far or near,
nothing was to be seen but bare sand, without so much as a pebble or
a single blade of grass, and there night caught up with them.

"Dear, dear, but I am hungry!" said Babo.

"So am I," said Simon Agricola. "Let's sit down here and
eat."

So down they sat, and Simon Agricola opened his pouch and drew
forth the stone.

The stone? It was a stone no longer, but a fine loaf of white
bread as big as your two fists. You should have seen Babo goggle and
stare! "Give me a piece of your bread, master," said he.

"Not I," said Agricola. "You might have had a dozen of the same
kind, had you chosen to do as I bade you and to fetch them along with
you. Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool,'" said he; and that was
all that Babo got for his supper. As for the wise man, he finished
his loaf of bread to the last crumb, and then went to sleep with a
full stomach and a contented mind.

The next morning off they started again bright and early, and
before long they came to just such another field of stones as they
left behind them the day before.

"Come, master," said Babo, "let us each take a stone with us. We
may need something more to eat before the day is over."

"No," said Simon Agricola; "we will need no stones to-day."

But Babo had no notion to go hungry the second time, so he
hunted around till he found a stone as big as his head. All day he
carried it, first under one arm, and then under the other. The wise
man stepped along briskly enough, but the sweat ran down Babo's face
like drops on the window in an April shower. At last they came to a
great wide plain, where neither stock nor stone was to be seen, but
only a gallows-tree, upon which one poor wight hung dancing upon
nothing at all, and there night caught them again.

"Aha!" said Babo to himself. "This time I shall have bread and
my master none."

But listen to what happened. Up stepped the wise man to the
gallows, and gave it a sharp rap with his staff. Then, lo and behold!
The gallows was gone, and in its place stood a fine inn, with lights
in the windows, and a landlord bowing and smiling in the doorway, and
a fire roaring in the kitchen, and the smell of good things cooking
filling the air all around, so that only to sniff did one's heart
good.

Poor Babo let fall the stone he had carried all day. A stone it
was, and a stone he let fall.

" Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool,'" said Agricola. "But
come in, Babo, come in; here is room enough for two." So that night
Babo had a good supper and a sound sleep, and that is a cure for most
of a body's troubles in this world.

The third day of their travelling they came to farms and
villages, and there Simon Agricola began to think of showing some of
those tricks of magic that were to make his fortune and Babo's into
the bargain.

At last they came to a blacksmith's shop, and there was the
smith hard at work, dinging and donging, and making sweet music with
hammer and anvil. In walked Simon Agricola and gave him good-day. He
put his fingers into his purse, and brought out all the money he had
in the world; it was one golden angel. "Look, friend," said he to the
blacksmith; "if you will let me have your forge for one hour, I will
give you this money for the use of it."

The blacksmith liked the tune of that song very well. "You may
have it," said he; and he took off his leathern apron without another
word, and Simon Agricola put it on in his stead.

Presently, who should come riding up to the blacksmith's shop
but a rich old nobleman and three servants. The servants were hale,
stout fellows, but the nobleman was as withered as a winter leaf.
"Can you shoe my horse?" said he to Simon Agricola, for he took him
to be the smith because of his leathern apron.

"No," says Simon Agricola; "that is not my trade: I only know
how to make old people young."

"Old people young!" said the old nobleman; "can you make me
young again?"

"Yes," said Simon Agricola, "I can, but I must have a thousand
golden angels for doing it."

"Very well," said the old nobleman; "make me young, and you
shall have them and welcome."

So Simon Agricola gave the word, and Babo blew the bellows until
the fire blazed and roared. Then the doctor caught the old nobleman,
and laid him upon the forge. He heaped the coals over him, and turned
him this way and that, until he grew red-hot, like a piece of iron.
Then he drew him forth from the fire and dipped him in the
water-tank. Phizz! The water hissed, and the steam rose up in a
cloud; and when Simon Agricola took the old nobleman out, lo and
behold! He was as fresh and blooming and lusty as a lad of twenty.

But you should have seen how all the people stared and
goggled!--Babo and the blacksmith and the nobleman's servants. The
nobleman strutted up and down for a while, admiring himself, and then
he got upon his horse again. "But wait," said Simon Agricola; "you
forgot to pay me my thousand golden angels."

"Pooh!" said the nobleman, and off he clattered, with his
servants at his heels; and that was all the good that Simon Agricola
had of this trick. But ill-luck was not done with him yet, for when
the smith saw how matters had turned out, he laid hold of the doctor
and would not let him go until he had paid him the golden angel he
had promised for the use of the forge. The doctor pulled a sour face,
but all the same he had to pay the angel. Then the smith let him go,
and off he marched in a huff.

Outside of the forge was the smith's mother--a poor old
creature, withered and twisted and bent as a winter twig. Babo had
kept his eyes open, and had not travelled with Simon Agricola for
nothing. He plucked the smith by the sleeve: "Look'ee, friend," said
he, "how would you like me to make your mother, over yonder, young
again?"

"I should like nothing better," said the smith.

"Very well," said Babo; "give me the golden angel that the
master gave you, and I'll do the job for you."

Well, the smith paid the money, and Babo bade him blow the
bellows. When the fire roared up good and hot, he caught up the old
mother, and, in spite of her scratching and squalling, he laid her
upon the embers. By-and-by, when he thought the right time had come,
he took her out and dipped her in the tank of water; but instead of
turning young, there she lay, as dumb as a fish and as black as
coal.

When the blacksmith saw what Babo had done to his mother, he
caught him by the collar, and fell to giving him such a dressing down
as never man had before.

"Help!" bawled Babo. "Help! Murder!"

Such a hubbub had not been heard in that town for many a day.
Back came Simon Agricola running, and there he saw, and took it all
in in one look.

"Stop, friend," said he to the smith, "let the simpleton go;
this is not past mending yet."

"Very well," said the smith; "but he must give me back my golden
angel, and you must cure my mother, or else I'll have you both up
before the judge."

"It shall be done," said Simon Agricola; so Babo paid back the
money, and the doctor dipped the woman in the water. When he brought
her out she was as well and strong as ever--but just as old as she
had been before.

"Now be off for a pair of scamps, both of you," said the
blacksmith; "and if you ever come this way again, I'll set all the
dogs in the town upon you."

Simon Agricola said nothing until they had come out upon the
highway again, and left the town well behind them; then--" Born a
fool, live a fool, die a fool!'" says he.

Babo said nothing, but he rubbed the places where the smith had
dusted his coat.

The fourth day of their journey they came to a town, and here
Simon Agricola was for trying his tricks of magic again. He and Babo
took up their stand in the corner of the market-place, and began
bawling, "Doctor Knowall! Doctor Knowall! Who has come from the other
end of Nowhere! He can cure any sickness or pain! He can bring you
back from the gates of death! Here is Doctor Knowall! Here is Doctor
Knowall!"

Now there was a very, very rich man in that town, whose daughter
lay sick to death; and when the news of this great doctor was brought
to his ears, he was for having him try his hand at curing the
girl.

"Very well," said Simon Agricola, "I will do that, but you must
pay me two thousand golden angels."

"Two thousand golden angels!" said the rich man; "that is a
great deal of money, but you shall have it if only you will cure my
daughter."

Simon Agricola drew a little vial from his bosom. From it he
poured just six drops of yellow liquor upon the girl's tongue.
Then--lo and behold!--up she sat in bed as well and strong as ever,
and asked for a boiled chicken and a dumpling, by way of something to
eat.

"Bless you! Bless you!" said the rich man.

"Yes, yes; blessings are very good, but I would like to have my
two thousand golden angels," said Simon Agricola.

"Two thousand golden angels! I said nothing about two thousand
golden angels," said the rich man; "two thousand fiddlesticks!" said
he. "Pooh! Pooh! You must have been dreaming! See, here are two
hundred silver pennies, and that is enough and more than enough for
six drops of medicine."

"I want my two thousand golden angels," said Simon Agricola.

"You will get nothing but two hundred pennies," said the rich
man.

"I won't touch one of them," said Simon Agricola, and off he
marched in a huff.

But Babo had kept his eyes open. Simon Agricola had laid down
the vial upon the table, and while they were saying this and that
back and forth, thinking of nothing else, Babo quietly slipped it
into his own pocket, without any one but himself being the wiser.

Down the stairs stumped the doctor with Babo at his heels. There
stood the cook waiting for them.

"Look," said he, "my wife is sick in there; won't you cure her,
too?"

"Pooh!" said Simon Agricola; and out he went, banging the door
behind him.

"Look, friend," said Babo to the cook, "here I have some of the
same medicine. Give me the two hundred pennies that the master would
not take, and I'll cure her for you as sound as a bottle."

"Very well," said the cook, and he counted out the two hundred
pennies, and Babo slipped them into his pocket. He bade the woman
open her mouth, and when she had done so he poured all the stuff down
her throat at once.

"Ugh!" said she, and therewith rolled up her eyes, and lay as
stiff and dumb as a herring in a box.

When the cook saw what Babo had done, he snatched up the
rolling-pin and made at him to pound his head to a jelly. But Babo
did not wait for his coming; he jumped out of the window, and away he
scampered with the cook at his heels.

Well, the upshot of the business was that Simon Agricola had to
go back and bring life to the woman again, or the cook would thump
him and Babo both with the rolling-pin. And, what was more, Babo had
to pay back the two hundred pennies that the cook had given him for
curing his wife.

The wise man made a cross upon the woman's forehead, and up she
sat, as well--but no better--as before.

"And now be off," said the cook, "or I will call the servants
and give you both a drubbing for a pair of scamps."

Simon Agricola said never a word until they had gotten out of
the town. There his anger boiled over, like water into the fire.
"Look," said he to Babo: " Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool.' I
want no more of you. Here are two roads; you take one, and I will
take the other."

"What!" said Babo, "am I to travel the rest of the way alone?
And then, besides, how about the fortune you promised me?"

"Never mind that," said Simon Agricola; "I have not made my own
fortune yet."

"Well, at least pay me something for my wages," said Babo.

"How shall I pay you?" said Simon Agricola. "I have not a single
groat in the world."

"What!" said Babo, "have you nothing to give me?"

"I can give you a piece of advice."

"Well," said Babo, "that is better than nothing, so let me have
it."

"Here it is," said Simon Agricola: " Think well! Think
well!--before you do what you are about to do, think well!'"

"Thank you!" said Babo; and then the one went one way, and the
other the other.

(You may go with the wise man if you choose, but I shall jog
along with the simpleton.)

After Babo had travelled for a while, he knew not whither, night
caught him, and he lay down under a hedge to sleep. There he lay, and
snored away like a saw-mill, for he was wearied with his long
journeying.

Now it chanced that that same night two thieves had broken into
a miser's house, and had stolen an iron pot full of gold money. Day
broke before they reached home, so down they sat to consider the
matter; and the place where they seated themselves was on the other
side of the hedge where Babo lay. The older thief was for carrying
the money home under his coat; the younger was for burying it until
night had come again. They squabbled and bickered and argued till the
noise they made wakened Babo, and he sat up. The first thing he
thought of was the advice that the doctor had given him the evening
before.

" Think well!'" he bawled out; " think well! before you do what
you are about to do, think well!'"

When the two thieves heard Babo's piece of advice, they thought
that the judge's officers were after them for sure and certain. Down
they dropped the pot of money, and away they scampered as fast as
their legs could carry them.

Babo heard them running, and poked his head through the hedge,
and there lay the pot of gold. "Look now," said he: "this has come
from the advice that was given me; no one ever gave me advice that
was worth so much before." So he picked up the pot of gold, and off
he marched with it.

He had not gone far before he met two of the king's officers,
and you may guess how they opened their eyes when they saw him
travelling along the highway with a pot full of gold money.

"Where are you going with that money?" said they.

"I don't know," said Babo.

"How did you get it?" said they.

"I got it for a piece of advice," said Babo.

For a piece of advice! No, no--the king's officers knew butter
from lard, and truth from t'other thing. It was just the same in that
country as it is in our town--there was nothing in the world so cheap
as advice. Whoever heard of anybody giving a pot of gold and silver
money for it? Without another word they marched Babo and his pot of
money off to the king.

"Come," said the king, "tell me truly; where did you get the pot
of money?"

Poor Babo began to whimper. "I got it for a piece of advice,"
said he.

"Really and truly?" said the king.

"Yes," said Babo; "really and truly."

"Humph!" said the king. "I should like to have advice that is
worth as much as that. Now, how much will you sell your advice to me
for?"

"How much will you give?" said Babo.

"Well," said the king, "let me have it for a day on trial, and
at the end of that time I will pay you what it is worth."

"Very well," said Babo, "that is a bargain"; and so he lent the
king his piece of advice for one day on trial.

Now the chief councillor and some others had laid a plot against
the king's life, and that morning it had been settled that when the
barber shaved him he was to cut his throat with a razor. So after the
barber had lathered his face he began to whet the razor, and to whet
the razor.

Just at that moment the king remembered Babo's piece of advice.
" Think well!' said he; " think well! Before you do what you are
about to do, think well!'"

When the barber heard the words that the king said, he thought
that all had been discovered. Down he fell upon his knees, and
confessed everything.

That is how Babo's advice saved the king's life--you can guess
whether the king thought it was worth much or little. When Babo came
the next morning the king gave him ten chests full of money, and that
made the simpleton richer than anybody in all that land.

He built himself a fine house, and by-and-by married the
daughter of the new councillor that came after the other one's head
had been chopped off for conspiring against the king's life. Besides
that, he came and went about the king's castle as he pleased, and the
king made much of him. Everybody bowed to him, and all were glad to
stop and chat awhile with him when they met him in the street.

One morning Babo looked out of the window, and who should he see
come travelling along the road but Simon Agricola himself, and he was
just as poor and dusty and travel-stained as ever.

"Come in, come in!" said Babo; and you can guess how the wise
man stared when he saw the simpleton living in such a fine way. But
he opened his eyes wider than ever when he heard that all these good
things came from the piece of advice he had given Babo that day they
had parted at the cross roads.

"Aye, aye!" said he, "the luck is with you for sure and certain.
But if you will pay me a thousand golden angels, I will give you
something better than a piece of advice. I will teach you all the
magic that is to be learned from the books."

"No," said Babo, "I am satisfied with the advice."

"Very well," said Simon Agricola, " Born a fool, live a fool,
die a fool'"; and off he went in a huff.

That is all of this tale except the tip end of it, and that I
will give you now.

I have heard tell that one day the king dropped in the street
the piece of advice that he had bought from Babo, and that before he
found it again it had been trampled into the mud and dirt. I cannot
say for certain that this is the truth, but it must have been spoiled
in some way or other, for I have never heard of anybody in these days
who would give even so much as a bad penny for it; and yet it is
worth just as much now as it was when Babo sold it to the king.

I had sat listening to these jolly folk for all this time, and I
had not heard old Sindbad say a word, and yet I knew very well he was
full of a story, for every now and then I could see his lips move,
and he would smile, and anon he would stroke his long white beard and
smile again.

Everybody clapped their hands and rattled their canicans after
the Blacksmith had ended his story, and methought they liked it
better than almost anything that had been told. Then there was a
pause, and everybody was still, and as nobody else spoke I myself
ventured to break the silence. "I would like," said I (and my voice
sounded thin in my own ears, as one's voice always does sound in
Twilight Land), "I would like to hear our friend Sindbad the Sailor
tell a story. Methinks one is fermenting in his mind."

Old Sindbad smiled until his cheeks crinkled into wrinkles.

"Aye," said every one, "will you not tell a story?"

"To be sure I will," said Sindbad. "I will tell you a good
story," said he, "and it is about--