This, however, was far too early to please her little son; so when she
called him to bed, he would go on playing beside the fire, as if he did
not hear her.
He had always been bad to do with since the day he was born, and his
mother did not often care to cross him; indeed, the more she tried to
make him obey her, the less heed he paid to anything she said, so it
usually ended by his taking his own way.
But one night, just at the fore-end of winter, the widow could not make
up her mind to go off to bed, and leave him playing by the fireside; for
the wind was tugging at the door, and rattling the window-panes, and
well she knew that on such a night, fairies and such like were bound to
be out and about, and bent on mischief. So she tried to coax the boy
into going at once to bed:
"The safest bed to bide in, such a night as this!" she said: but no, he
wouldn't.
Then she threatened to "give him the stick," but it was no use.
The more she begged and scolded, the more he shook his head; and when at
last she lost patience and cried that the fairies would surely come and
fetch him away, he only laughed and said he wished they _would_, for he
would like one to play with.
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