Once upon a time there lived a rich man, so rich that you might almost say he oozed gold. He had a son, and from his boyhood the lad was a real spendthrift, for he knew nothing about hard times. Yet he had often been told that there was Misery in the world. So when he was grown up, he thought: “Well, I’m sick of staying at home, so I’ll go out into the world to see if I can meet Misery.”

He told this to his father, and his father said at once: “Yes, you can go. If you stay at home, you’ll soon turn into a lazy old woman. You’ll get experience in the world, and that can’t do you any harm.”

So our Francis—that was his name, though really it doesn’t matter very much what his name was—took everything he wanted and started off on his travels. So long as he had enough money, he was all right, he couldn’t meet with Misery. But when his money was [158]all spent—that’s when everybody feels the pinch—he began to hang his head and his travels lost a good deal of their charm. But he told people his name and his father’s name, and for a time they helped him. But at last he came into a country that was quite strange to him. There was a vast desert, through which he walked for a long time, and he began to feel hungry and thirsty, but there was no water—no, not so much as would moisten his tongue.

Now, as he went on his way, he saw a flight of stairs going down into a hole, and, without hesitating, down he went.

He came into a cellar, and there he saw a man lying on a table. It was an awfully big man, of the kind that used to be called ogres, and he was snoring like a circular saw.

Francis looked about him, and he saw all sorts of human bones lying about. He thought: “That’s a nice mess. I expect the fellow’s a man-eater, and he’ll swallow me down like a currant. I’m done for now.”

He would have liked to go away, but he was afraid to move. But he had a dag............