Read In a Glass Grimmly for Free Online

could carry her.
    Suddenly a hand shot out from the crowd and caught her by the arm.
    She turned to look. It was a beggar. His back was bent and his beard was long and scraggly. He said, “It’s cold out here, Princess. Would you like a blanket?” And he handed her a rough, woolen blanket. Then he smiled. Jill covered herself with it and then sprinted back to the castle, her clay-red shoes clicking on the cobblestones, her red hair ribbons waving in the wind, her naked body running past the lines and lines of howling, laughing, weeping people.
    ----
    Wow. That was unpleasant.
    I am really sorry I had to tell you about that. I, who have heard this story a number of times now, am upset just retelling it. You, dear reader, must feel positively ill.
    Anyway, before we conclude this story (it’s not quite done!), you have a question. I know you do, because when I first heard this, the true version of this famous tale, I had the same one. It is a practical question. A small detail. And while the adults are thinking, “It’s not important enough to ask,” the children are demanding an answer immediately. As well they should.
    The question is this:
Why couldn’t Jill wear any underclothes?
    Yes! Excellent question. Exactly the right question to be asking.
    The answer?
    I have no idea.
    Really. No clue. Because the merchant wanted to humiliate her even more? Or because he was trying to teach her a lesson? Maybe.
    Or maybe it had something to do with being totally naked before all the world.
    But don’t listen to me. I just made that up. Make up your own explanation.
    ----
    It had been many, many years since a human had entered the clearing with the well. But one cold, sunny day in spring, when the buds were tiny green pillows for the heads of silkworms and the musty perfume of thaw rose like a memory from the ground, the frog was staring up at the cerulean sky when he heard a peculiar
stomp-stomp-stomping
on the forest floor. It was followed by a sudden
whoomp
, and then a cry. Curious, he climbed the slippery stone walls to the top of his well and peered out.
    Sitting on the forest floor, with matted hair and muddied clothes, was a little girl. Her face was red with anger and exertion. Her lips were all scrunched up and furious. But her eyes . . . The frog studied them. Her eyes . . . Well, her eyes looked just like the patch of sky above his well when it was its clearest, deepest blue.
    The girl sat on the ground and wept. The frog felt dizzy. Was this a memory, come to life? But the longer he stared at the girl, the more certain he became that it was not. She had the same eyes, yes. But the hair was darker, curlier. Her face was not so perfect. Not nearly so perfect. And the way she cried. It was more genuine. More human.
    Also, she was completely naked, save for a ratty brown blanket that she had wrapped around her body.
    Should he? After twenty years? He’d lost his leg, and his heart, the last time . . .
    And yet . . .
    The frog took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and said, “Please, dear girl, let me help you.”
    The girl’s head shot straight up. “Who said that?”
    The frog gave her his most sympathetic froggy smile. “I did.”
    The girl started like she was having a heart attack.
    “Yes,” the frog added. “I can talk.”
    Another heart attack.
    Then the frog said, “Can you?”
    And then the girl laughed. She sniffed, wiped her nose, and nodded. “I’m Jill,” she said.
    “I’m Frog.”
    The girl laughed and sniffed again. “That’s your name?” The frog shrugged. She smiled and wiped her nose on her arm.
    “Can I help?” the frog asked.
    Jill shrugged. “I’m running away.”
    “Oh . . .” said the frog. And then he had the greatest idea of his long and so far very unpleasant life. He said, “Take me with you.”
    “What?” exclaimed the little girl.
    “Take me with you,” repeated the frog. “I hate it here. I hate my well. It’s wet, and mossy, and dirty, and