{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_18811/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_18811","id":"gutenberg_18811","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18811","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Children's Literature","Children's stories, English","Fairy tales","Fairy tales -- Great Britain","Short stories"],"text":"Produced by John Bechard (JaBBechard@aol.com)\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LIGHT PRINCESS AND OTHER FAIRY STORIES\n\nby George MacDonald\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nTHE LIGHT PRINCESS\nTHE GIANT'S HEART\nTHE GOLDEN KEY\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LIGHT PRINCESS\n\n\n\n\n\n\nI. WHAT! NO CHILDREN?\n\n\nOnce upon a time, so long ago that I have quite forgotten the date,\nthere lived a king and queen who had no children.\n\nAnd the king said to himself, \"All the queens of my acquaintance have\nchildren, some three, some seven, and some as many as twelve; and my\nqueen has not one. I feel ill-used.\" So he made up his mind to be cross\nwith his wife about it. But she bore it all like a good patient queen\nas she was. Then the king grew very cross indeed. But the queen\npretended to take it all as a joke, and a very good one too.\n\n\"Why don't you have any daughters, at least?\" said he. \"I don't say\n_sons_; that might be too much to expect.\"\n\n\"I am sure, dear king, I am very sorry,\" said the queen.\n\n\"So you ought to be,\" retorted the king; \"you are not going to make a\nvirtue of _that_, surely.\"\n\nBut he was not an ill-tempered king, and in any matter of less moment\nwould have let the queen have her own way with all his heart. This,\nhowever, was an affair of state.\n\nThe queen smiled.\n\n\"You must have patience with a lady, you know, dear king,\" said she.\n\nShe was, indeed, a very nice queen, and heartily sorry that she could\nnot oblige the king immediately.\n\nThe king tried to have patience, but he succeeded very badly. It was\nmore than he deserved, therefore, when, at last, the queen gave him a\ndaughter--as lovely a little princess as ever cried.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nII. WON'T I, JUST?\n\n\nThe day drew near when the infant must be christened. The king wrote\nall the invitations with his own hand. Of course somebody was\nforgotten.\n\nNow it does not generally matter if somebody _is_ forgotten, only you\nmust mind who. Unfortunately, the king forgot without intending to\nforget; and so the chance fell upon the Princess Makemnoit, which was\nawkward. For the princess was the king's own sister; and he ought not\nto have forgotten her. But she had made herself so disagreeable to the\nold king, their father, that he had forgotten her in making his will;\nand so it was no wonder that her brother forgot her in writing his\ninvitations. But poor relations don't do anything to keep you in mind\nof them. Why don't they? The king could not see into the garret she\nlived in, could he?\n\nShe was a sour, spiteful creature. The wrinkles of contempt crossed the\nwrinkles of peevishness, and made her face as full of wrinkles as a pat\nof butter. If ever a king could be justified in forgetting anybody,\nthis king was justified in forgetting his sister, even at a\nchristening. She looked very odd, too. Her forehead was as large as all\nthe rest of her face, and projected over it like a precipice. When she\nwas angry her little eyes flashed blue. When she hated anybody, they\nshone yellow and green. What they looked like when she loved anybody, I\ndo not know; for I never heard of her loving anybody but herself, and I\ndo not think she could have managed that if she had not somehow got\nused to herself. But what made it highly imprudent in the king to\nforget her was--that she was awfully clever. In fact, she was a witch;\nand when she bewitched anybody, he very soon had enough of it; for she\nbeat all the wicked fairies in wickedness, and all the clever ones in\ncleverness. She despised all the modes we read of in history, in which\noffended fairies and witches have taken their revenges; and therefore,\nafter waiting and waiting in vain for an invitation, she made up her\nmind at last to go without one, and make the whole family miserable,\nlike a princess as she was.\n\nSo she put on her best gown, went to the palace, was kindly received by\nthe happy monarch, who forgot that he had forgotten her, and took her\nplace in the procession to the royal chapel. When they were all\ngathered about the font, she contrived to get next to it, and throw\nsomething into the water; after which she maintained a very respectful\ndemeanour till the water was applied to the child's face. But at that\nmoment she turned round in her place three times, and muttered the\nfollowing words, loud enough for those beside her to hear:--\n\n  \"Light of spirit, by my charms,\n    Light of body, every part,\n   Never weary human arms--\n    Only crush thy parents' heart!\"\n\nThey all thought she had lost her wits, and was repeating some foolish\nnursery rhyme; but a shudder went through the whole of them\nnotwithstanding. The baby, on the contrary, began to laugh and crow;\nwhile the nurse gave a start and a smothered cry, for she thought she\nwas struck with paralysis: she could not feel the baby in her arms. But\nshe clasped it tight and said nothing.\n\nThe mischief was done.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIII. SHE CAN'T BE OURS\n\n\nHer atrocious aunt had deprived the child of all her gravity. If you\nask me how this was effected, I answer, \"In the easiest way in the\nworld. She had only to destroy gravitation.\" For the princess was a\nphilosopher, and knew all the _ins_ and _outs_ of the laws of\ngravitation as well as the _ins_ and _outs_ of her boot-lace. And being\na witch as well, she could abrogate those laws in a moment; or at least\nso clog their wheels and rust their bearings, that they would not work\nat all. But we have more to do with what followed than with how it was\ndone.\n\nThe first awkwardness that resulted from this unhappy privation was,\nthat the moment the nurse began to float the baby up and down, she flew\nfrom her arms towards the ceiling. Happily, the resistance of the air\nbrought her ascending career to a close within a foot of it. There she\nremained, horizontal as when she left her nurse's arms, kicking and\nlaughing amazingly. The nurse in terror flew to the bell, and begged\nthe footman, who answered it, to bring up the house-steps directly.\nTrembling in every limb, she climbed upon the steps, and had to stand\nupon the very top, and reach up, before she could catch the floating\ntail of the baby's long clothes.\n\nWhen the strange fact came to be known, there was a terrible commotion\nin the palace. The occasion of its discovery by the king was naturally\na repetition of the nurse's experience. Astonished that he felt no\nweight when the child was laid in his arms, he began to wave her up\nand--not down, for she slowly ascended to the ceiling as before, and\nthere remained floating in perfect comfort and satisfaction, as was\ntestified by her peals of tiny laughter. The king stood staring up in\nspeechless amazement, and trembled so that his beard shook like grass\nin the wind. At last, turning to the queen, who was just as\nhorror-struck as himself, he said, gasping, staring, and stammering,--\n\n\"She _can't_ be ours, queen!\"\n\nNow the queen was much cleverer than the king, and had begun already to\nsuspect that \"this effect defective came by cause.\"\n\n\"I am sure she is ours,\" answered she. \"But we ought to have taken\nbetter care of her at the christening. People who were never invited\nought not to have been present.\"\n\n\"Oh, ho!\" said the king, tapping his forehead with his forefinger, \"I\nhave it all. I've found her out. Don't you see it, queen? Princess\nMakemnoit has bewitched her.\"\n\n\"That's just what I say,\" answered the queen.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, my love; I did not hear you.--John! bring the steps\nI get on my throne with.\"\n\nFor he was a little king with a great throne, like many other kings.\n\nThe throne-steps were brought, and set upon the dining-table, and John\ngot upon the top of them. But he could not reach the little princess,\nwho lay like a baby-laughter-cloud in the air, exploding continuously.\n\n\"Take the tongs, John,\" said his Majesty; and getting up on the table,\nhe handed them to him.\n\nJohn could reach the baby now, and the little princess was handed down\nby the tongs.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIV. WHERE IS SHE?\n\n\nOne fine summer day, a month after these her first adventures, during\nwhich time she had been very carefully watched, the princess was lying\non the bed in the queen's own chamber, fast asleep. One of the windows\nwas open, for it was noon, and the day so sultry that the little girl\nwas wrapped in nothing less ethereal than slumber itself. The queen\ncame into the room, and not observing that the baby was on the bed,\nopened another window. A frolicsome fairy wind, which had been watching\nfor a chance of mischief, rushed in at the one window, and taking its\nway over the bed where the child was lying, caught her up, and rolling\nand floating her along like a piece of flue, or a dandelion-seed,\ncarried her with it through the opposite window, and away. The queen\nwent down-stairs, quite ignorant of the loss she had herself\noccasioned.\n\nWhen the nurse returned, she supposed that her Majesty had carried her\noff, and, dreading a scolding, delayed making inquiry about her. But\nhearing nothing, she grew uneasy, and went at length to the queen's\nboudoir, where she found her Majesty.\n\n\"Please, your Majesty, shall I take the baby?\" said she.\n\n\"Where is she?\" asked the queen.\n\n\"Please forgive me. I know it was wrong.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" said the queen, looking grave.\n\n\"Oh! don't frighten me, your Majesty!\" exclaimed the nurse, clasping\nher hands.\n\nThe queen saw that something was amiss, and fell down in a faint. The\nnurse rushed about the palace, screaming, \"My baby! my baby!\"\n\nEvery one ran to the queen's room. But the queen could give no orders.\nThey soon found out, however, that the princess was missing, and in a\nmoment the palace was like a beehive in a garden; and in one minute\nmore the queen was brought to herself by a great shout and a clapping\nof hands. They had found the princess fast asleep under a rose-bush, to\nwhich the elvish little wind-puff had carried her, finishing its\nmischief by shaking a shower of red rose-leaves all over the little\nwhite sleeper. Startled by the noise the servants made, she woke, and,\nfurious with glee, scattered the rose-leaves in all directions, like a\nshower of spray in the sunset.\n\nShe was watched more carefully after this, no doubt; yet it would be\nendless to relate all the odd incidents resulting from this peculiarity\nof the young princess. But there never was a baby in a house, not to\nsay a palace, that kept the household in such constant good-humour, at\nleast below-stairs. If it was not easy for her nurses to hold her, at\nleast she made neither their arms nor their hearts ache. And she was so\nnice to play at ball with! There was positively no danger of letting\nher fall. They might throw her down, or knock her down, or push her\ndown, but couldn't _let_ her down. It is true, they might let her fly\ninto the fire or the coal-hole, or through the window; but none of\nthese accidents had happened as yet. If you heard peals of laughter\nresounding from some unknown region, you might be sure enough of the\ncause. Going down into the kitchen, or _the room_, you would find Jane\nand Thomas, and Robert and Susan, all and sum, playing at ball with the\nlittle princess. She was the ball herself, and did not enjoy it the\nless for that. Away she went, flying from one to another, screeching\nwith laughter. And the servants loved the ball itself better even than\nthe game. But they had to take some care how they threw her, for if she\nreceived an upward direction, she would never come down again without\nbeing fetched.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nV. WHAT IS TO BE DONE?\n\n\nBut above-stairs it was different. One day, for instance, after\nbreakfast, the king went into his counting-house, and counted out his\nmoney.\n\nThe operation gave him no pleasure.\n\n\"To think,\" said he to himself, \"that every one of these gold\nsovereigns weighs a quarter of an ounce, and my real, live,\nflesh-and-blood princess weighs nothing at all!\"\n\nAnd he hated his gold sovereigns, as they lay with a broad smile of\nself-satisfaction all over their yellow faces.\n\nThe queen was in the parlour, eating bread and honey. But at the second\nmouthful she burst out crying, and could not swallow it. The king heard\nher sobbing. Glad of anybody, but especially of his queen, to quarrel\nwith, he clashed his gold sovereigns into his money-box, clapped his\ncrown on his head, and rushed into the parlour.\n\n\"What is all this about?\" exclaimed he. \"What are you crying for,\nqueen?\"\n\n\"I can't eat it,\" said the queen, looking ruefully at the honey-pot.\n\n\"No wonder!\" retorted the king. \"You've just eaten your breakfast--two\nturkey eggs, and three anchovies.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's not it!\" sobbed her Majesty. \"It's my child, my child!\"\n\n\"Well, what's the matter with your child? She's neither up the chimney\nnor down the draw-well. Just hear her laughing.\"\n\nYet the king could not help a sigh, which he tried to turn into a\ncough, saying--\n\n\"It is a good thing to be light-hearted, I am sure, whether she be ours\nor not.\"\n\n\"It is a bad thing to be light-headed,\" answered the queen, looking\nwith prophetic soul far into the future.\n\n\"'Tis a good thing to be light-handed,\" said the king.\n\n\"'Tis a bad thing to be light-fingered,\" answered the queen.\n\n\"'Tis a good thing to be light-footed,\" said the king.\n\n\"'Tis a bad thing--\" began the queen; but the king interrupted her.\n\n\"In fact,\" said he, with the tone of one who concludes an argument in\nwhich he has had only imaginary opponents, and in which, therefore, he\nhas come off triumphant--\"in fact, it is a good thing altogether to be\nlight-bodied.\"\n\n\"But it is a bad thing altogether to be light-minded,\" retorted the\nqueen, who was beginning to lose her temper.\n\nThis last answer quite discomfited his Majesty, who turned on his heel,\nand betook himself to his counting-house again. But he was not half-way\ntowards it, when the voice of his queen overtook him.\n\n\"And it's a bad thing to be light-haired,\" screamed she, determined to\nhave more last words, now that her spirit was roused.\n\nThe queen's hair was black as night; and the king's had been, and his\ndaughter's was, golden as morning. But it was not this reflection on\nhis hair that arrested him; it was the double use of the word _light_.\nFor the king hated all witticisms, and punning especially. And besides,\nhe could not tell whether the queen meant light-_haired_ or\nlight-_heired_; for why might she not aspirate her vowels when she was\nex-asperated herself?\n\nHe turned upon his other heel, and rejoined her. She looked angry\nstill, because she knew that she was guilty, or, what was much the\nsame, knew that he thought so.\n\n\"My dear queen,\" said he, \"duplicity of any sort is exceedingly\nobjectionable between married people of any rank, not to say kings and\nqueens; and the most objectionable form duplicity can assume is that of\npunning.\"\n\n\"There!\" said the queen, \"I never made a jest, but I broke it in the\nmaking. I am the most unfortunate woman in the world!\"\n\nShe looked so rueful, that the king took her in his arms; and they sat\ndown to consult.\n\n\"Can you bear this?\" said the king.\n\n\"No, I can't,\" said the queen.\n\n\"Well, what's to be done?\" said the king.\n\n\"I'm sure I don't know,\" said the queen. \"But might you not try an\napology?\"\n\n\"To my old sister, I suppose you mean?\" said the king.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the queen.\n\n\"Well, I don't mind,\" said the king.\n\nSo he went the next morning to the house of the princess, and, making a\nvery humble apology, begged her to undo the spell. But the princess\ndeclared, with a grave face, that she knew nothing at all about it. Her\neyes, however, shone pink, which was a sign that she was happy. She\nadvised the king and queen to have patience, and to mend their ways.\nThe king returned disconsolate. The queen tried to comfort him.\n\n\"We will wait till she is older. She may then be able to suggest\nsomething herself. She will know at least how she feels, and explain\nthings to us.\"\n\n\"But what if she should marry?\" exclaimed the king, in sudden\nconsternation at the idea.\n\n\"Well, what of that?\" rejoined the queen. \"Just think! If she were to\nhave children! In the course of a hundred years the air might be as\nfull of floating children as of gossamers in autumn.\"\n\n\"That is no business of ours,\" replied the queen. \"Besides, by that\ntime they will have learned to take care of themselves.\"\n\nA sigh was the king's only answer.\n\nHe would have consulted the court physicians; but he was afraid they\nwould try experiments upon her.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nVI. SHE LAUGHS TOO MUCH.\n\n\nMeantime, notwithstanding awkward occurrences, and griefs that she\nbrought upon her parents, the little princess laughed and grew--not\nfat, but plump and tall. She reached the age of seventeen, without\nhaving fallen into any worse scrape than a chimney; by rescuing her\nfrom which, a little bird-nesting urchin got fame and a black face.\nNor, thoughtless as she was, had she committed anything worse than\nlaughter at everybody and everything that came in her way. When she was\ntold, for the sake of experiment, that General Clanrunfort was cut to\npieces with all his troops, she laughed; when she heard that the enemy\nwas on his way to besiege her papa's capital, she laughed hugely; but\nwhen she was told that the city would certainly be abandoned to the\nmercy of the enemy's soldiery--why, then she laughed immoderately. She\nnever could be brought to see the serious side of anything. When her\nmother cried, she said,--\n\n\"What queer faces mamma makes! And she squeezes water out of her\ncheeks? Funny mamma!\"\n\nAnd when her papa stormed at her, she laughed, and danced round and\nround him, clapping her hands, and crying,--\n\n\"Do it again, papa. Do it again! It's such fun! Dear, funny papa!\"\n\nAnd if he tried to catch her, she glided from him in an instant, not in\nthe least afraid of him, but thinking it part of the game not to be\ncaught. With one push of her foot, she would be floating in the air\nabove his head; or she would go dancing backwards and forwards and\nsideways, like a great butterfly. It happened several times, when her\nfather and mother were holding a consultation about her in private,\nthat they were interrupted by vainly repressed outbursts of laughter\nover their heads; and looking up with indignation, saw her floating at\nfull length in the air above them, whence she regarded them with the\nmost comical appreciation of the position.\n\nOne day an awkward accident happened. The princess had come out upon\nthe lawn with one of her attendants, who held her by the hand. Spying\nher father at the other side of the lawn, she snatched her hand from\nthe maid's, and sped across to him. Now when she wanted to run alone,\nher custom was to catch up a stone in each hand, so that she might come\ndown again after a bound. Whatever she wore as part of her attire had\nno effect in this way: even gold, when it thus became as it were a part\nof herself, lost all its weight for the time. But whatever she only\nheld in her hands retained its downward tendency. On this occasion she\ncould see nothing to catch up but a huge toad, that was walking across\nthe lawn as if he had a hundred years to do it in. Not knowing what\ndisgust meant, for this was one of her peculiarities, she snatched up\nthe toad and bounded away. She had almost reached her father, and he\nwas holding out his arms to receive her, and take from her lips the\nkiss which hovered on them like a butterfly on a rosebud, when a puff\nof wind blew her aside into the arms of a young page, who had just been\nreceiving a message from his Majesty. Now it was no great peculiarity\nin the princess that, once she was set agoing, it always cost her time\nand trouble to check herself. On this occasion there was no time. She\n_must_ kiss--and she kissed the page. She did not mind it much; for she\nhad no shyness in her composition; and she knew, besides, that she\ncould not help it. So she only laughed, like a musical box. The poor\npage fared the worst. For the princess, trying to correct the\nunfortunate tendency of the kiss, put out her hands to keep her off the\npage; so that, along with the kiss, he received, on the other cheek, a\nslap with the huge black toad, which she poked right into his eye. He\ntried to laugh, too, but the attempt resulted in such an odd contortion\nof countenance, as showed that there was no danger of his pluming\nhimself on the kiss. As for the king, his dignity was greatly hurt, and\nhe did not speak to the page for a whole month.\n\nI may here remark that it was very amusing to see her run, if her mode\nof progression could properly be called running. For first she would\nmake a bound; then, having alighted, she would run a few steps, and\nmake another bound. Sometimes she would fancy she had reached the\nground before she actually had, and her feet would go backwards and\nforwards, running upon nothing at all, like those of a chicken on its\nback. Then she would laugh like the very spirit of fun; only in her\nlaugh there was something missing. What it was, I find myself unable to\ndescribe. I think it was a certain tone, depending upon the possibility\nof sorrow--_morbidezza_, perhaps. She never smiled.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nVII. TRY METAPHYSICS.\n\n\nAfter a long avoidance of the painful subject, the king and queen\nresolved to hold a council of three upon it; and so they sent for the\nprincess. In she came, sliding and flitting and gliding from one piece\nof furniture to another, and put herself at last in an armchair, in a\nsitting posture. Whether she could be said to _sit_, seeing she\nreceived no support from the seat of the chair, I do not pretend to\ndetermine.\n\n\"My dear child,\" said the king, \"you must be aware by this time that\nyou are not exactly like other people.\"\n\n\"Oh, you dear funny papa! I have got a nose, and two eyes, and all the\nrest. So have you. So has mamma.\"\n\n\"Now be serious, my dear, for once,\" said the queen.\n\n\"No, thank you, mamma; I had rather not.\"\n\n\"Would you not like to be able to walk like other people?\" said the\nking. \"No indeed, I should think not. You only crawl. You are such slow\ncoaches!\"\n\n\"How do you feel, my child?\" he resumed, after a pause of discomfiture.\n\n\"Quite well, thank you.\"\n\n\"I mean, what do you feel like?\"\n\n\"Like nothing at all, that I know of.\"\n\n\"You must feel like something.\"\n\n\"I feel like a princess with such a funny papa, and such a dear pet of\na queen-mamma!\"\n\n\"Now really!\" began the queen; but the princess interrupted her.\n\n\"Oh yes,\" she added, \"I remember. I have a curious feeling sometimes,\nas if I were the only person that had any sense in the whole world.\"\n\nShe had been trying to behave herself with dignity; but now she burst\ninto a violent fit of laughter, threw herself backwards over the chair,\nand went rolling about the floor in an ecstasy of enjoyment. The king\npicked her up easier than one does a down quilt, and replaced her in\nher former relation to the chair. The exact preposition expressing this\nrelation I do not happen to know.\n\n\"Is there nothing you wish for?\" resumed the king, who had learned by\nthis time that it was quite useless to be angry with her.\n\n\"Oh, you dear papa!--yes,\" answered she.\n\n\"What is it, my darling?\"\n\n\"I have been longing for it--oh, such a time! Ever since last night.\"\n\n\"Tell me what it is.\"\n\n\"Will you promise to let me have it?\"\n\nThe king was on the point of saying _Yes_, but the wiser queen checked\nhim with a single motion of her head.\n\n\"Tell me what it is first,\" said he.\n\n\"No no. Promise first.\"\n\n\"I dare not. What is it?\"\n\n\"Mind, I hold you to your promise.--It is--to be tied to the end of a\nstring--a very long string indeed, and be flown like a kite. Oh, such\nfun! I would rain rose-water, and hail sugar-plums, and snow\nwhipped-cream, and--and--and--\"\n\nA fit of laughing checked her; and she would have been off again over\nthe floor, had not the king started up and caught her just in time.\nSeeing nothing but talk could be got out of her, he rang the bell, and\nsent her away with two of her ladies-in-waiting.\n\n\"Now, queen,\" he said, turning to her Majesty, \"what _is_ to be done?\"\n\n\"There is but one thing left,\" answered she. \"Let us consult the\ncollege of Metaphysicians.\"\n\n\"Bravo!\" cried the king; \"we will.\"\n\nNow at the head of this college were two very wise Chinese\nphilosophers--by name, Hum-Drum and Kopy-Keck. For them the king sent;\nand straightway they came. In a long speech he communicated to them\nwhat they knew very well already--as who did not?--namely, the peculiar\ncondition of his daughter in relation to the globe on which she dwelt;\nand requested them to consult together as to what might be the cause\nand probable cure of her _infirmity_. The king laid stress upon the\nword, but failed to discover his own pun. The queen laughed; but\nHum-Drum and Kopy-Keck heard with humility and retired in silence.\n\nThe consultation consisted chiefly in propounding and supporting, for\nthe thousandth time, each his favourite theories. For the condition of\nthe princess afforded delightful scope for the discussion of every\nquestion arising from the division of thought--in fact, of all the\nMetaphysics of the Chinese Empire. But it is only justice to say that\nthey did not altogether neglect the discussion of the practical\nquestion, _what was to be done_.\n\nHum-Drum was a Materialist, and Kopy-Keck was a spiritualist. The\nformer was slow and sententious; the latter was quick and flighty: the\nlatter had generally the first word; the former the last.\n\n\"I reassert my former assertion,\" began Kopy-Keck, with a plunge.\n\"There is not a fault in the princess, body or soul; only they are\nwrong put together. Listen to me now, Hum-Drum, and I will tell you in\nbrief what I think. Don't speak. Don't answer me. I _won't_ hear you\ntill I have done.-- At that decisive moment, when souls seek their\nappointed habitations, two eager souls met, struck, rebounded, lost\ntheir way, and arrived each at the wrong place. The soul of the\nprincess was one of those, and she went far astray. She does not belong\nby rights to this world at all, but to some other planet, probably\nMercury. Her proclivity to her true sphere destroys all the natural\ninfluence which this orb would otherwise possess over her corporeal\nframe. She cares for nothing here. There is no relation between her and\nthis world.\n\n\"She must therefore be taught, by the sternest compulsion, to take an\ninterest in the earth as the earth. She must study every department of\nits history--its animal history; its vegetable history; its mineral\nhistory; its social history; its moral history; its political history;\nits scientific history; its literary history; its musical history; its\nartistical history; above all, its metaphysical history. She must begin\nwith the Chinese dynasty and end with Japan. But first of all she must\nstudy geology, and especially the history of the extinct races of\nanimals--their natures, their habits, their loves, their hates, their\nrevenges. She must--\"\n\n\"Hold, h-o-o-old!\" roared Hum-Drum. \"It is certainly my turn now. My\nrooted and insubvertible conviction is, that the causes of the\nanomalies evident in the princess's condition are strictly and solely\nphysical. But that is only tantamount to acknowledging that they exist.\nHear my opinion.--From some cause or other, of no importance to our\ninquiry, the motion of her heart has been reversed. That remarkable\ncombination of the suction and the force-pump works the wrong way--I\nmean in the case of the princess: it draws in where it should force\nout, and forces out where it should draw in. The offices of the\nauricles and the ventricles are subverted. The blood is sent forth by\nthe veins, and returns by the arteries. Consequently it is running the\nwrong way through all her corporeal organism--lungs and all. Is it then\nat all mysterious, seeing that such is the case, that on the other\nparticular of gravitation as well, she should differ from normal\nhumanity? My proposal for the cure is this:--\n\n\"Phlebotomize until she is reduced to the last point of safety. Let it\nbe affected, if necessary, in a warm bath. When she is reduced to a\nstate of perfect asphyxy, apply a ligature to the left ankle, drawing\nit as tight as the bone will bear. Apply, at the same moment, another\nof equal tension around the right wrist. By means of plates constructed\nfor the purpose, place the other foot and hand under the receivers of\ntwo air-pumps. Exhaust the receivers. Exhibit a pint of French brandy,\nand await the result.\"\n\n\"Which would presently arrive in the form of grim death,\" said\nKopy-Keck.\n\n\"If it should, she would yet die in doing our duty,\" retorted Hum-Drum.\n\nBut their Majesties had too much tenderness for their volatile\noffspring to subject her to either of the schemes of the equally\nunscrupulous philosophers. Indeed, the most complete knowledge of the\nlaws of nature would have been unserviceable in her case; for it was\nimpossible to classify her. She was a fifth imponderable body, sharing\nall the other properties of the ponderable.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nVIII. TRY A DROP OF WATER.\n\n\nPerhaps the best thing for the princess would have been to fall in\nlove. But how a princess who had no gravity could fall into anything is\na difficulty--perhaps _the_ difficulty. As for her own feelings on the\nsubject, she did not even know that there was such a beehive of honey\nand stings to be fallen into. But now I come to mention another curious\nfact about her.\n\nThe palace was built on the shore of the loveliest lake in the world;\nand the princess loved this lake more than father or mother. The root\nof this preference no doubt, although the princess did not recognize it\nas such, was, that the moment she got into it, she recovered the\nnatural right of which she had been so wickedly deprived--namely,\ngravity. Whether this was owing to the fact that water had been\nemployed as the means of conveying the injury, I do not know. But it is\ncertain that she could swim and dive like the duck that her old nurse\nsaid she was. The manner in which this alleviation of her misfortune\nwas discovered was as follows:--\n\nOne summer evening, during the carnival of the country, she had been\ntaken upon the lake by the king and queen, in the royal barge. They\nwere accompanied by many of the courtiers in a fleet of little boats.\nIn the middle of the lake she wanted to get into the lord chancellor's\nbarge, for his daughter, who was a great favourite with her, was in it\nwith her father. Now though the old king rarely condescended to make\nlight of his misfortune, yet, happening on this occasion to be in a\nparticularly good humour, as the barges approached each other, he\ncaught up the princess to throw her into the chancellor's barge. He\nlost his balance, however, and, dropping into the bottom of the barge,\nlost his hold of his daughter; not, however, before imparting to her\nthe downward tendency of his own person, though in a somewhat different\ndirection; for, as the king fell into the boat, she fell into the\nwater. With a burst of delightful laughter she disappeared in the lake.\nA cry of horror ascended from the boats. They had never seen the\nprincess go down before. Half the men were under water in a moment; but\nthey had all, one after another, come up to the surface again for\nbreath, when--tinkle, tinkle, babble, and gush! came the princess's\nlaugh over the water from far away. There she was, swimming like a\nswan. Nor would she come out for king or queen, chancellor or daughter.\nShe was perfectly obstinate.\n\nBut at the same time she seemed more sedate than usual. Perhaps that\nwas because a great pleasure spoils laughing. At all events, after\nthis, the passion of her life was to get into the water, and she was\nalways the better behaved and the more beautiful the more she had of\nit. Summer and winter it was quite the same; only she could not stay so\nlong in the water when they had to break the ice to let her in. Any\nday, from morning till evening in summer, she might be descried--a\nstreak of white in the blue water--lying as still as the shadow of a\ncloud, or shooting along like a dolphin; disappearing, and coming up\nagain far off, just where one did not expect her. She would have been\nin the lake of a night, too, if she could have had her way; for the\nbalcony of her window overhung a deep pool in it; and through a shallow\nreedy passage she could have swum out into the wide wet water, and no\none would have been any the wiser. Indeed, when she happened to wake in\nthe moonlight she could hardly resist the temptation. But there was the\nsad difficulty of getting into it. She had as great a dread of the air\nas some children have of the water. For the slightest gust of wind\nwould blow her away; and a gust might arise in the stillest moment. And\nif she gave herself a push towards the water and just failed of\nreaching it, her situation would be dreadfully awkward, irrespective of\nthe wind; for at best there she would have to remain, suspended in her\nnight-gown, till she was seen and angled for by someone from the\nwindow.\n\n\"Oh! if I had my gravity,\" thought she, contemplating the water, \"I\nwould flash off this balcony like a long white sea-bird, headlong into\nthe darling wetness. Heigh-ho!\"\n\nThis was the only consideration that made her wish to be like other\npeople.\n\nAnother reason for her being fond of the water was that in it alone she\nenjoyed any freedom. For she could not walk out without a _cortege_,\nconsisting in part of a troop of light horse, for fear of the liberties\nwhich the wind might take with her. And the king grew more apprehensive\nwith increasing years, till at last he would not allow her to walk\nabroad at all without some twenty silken cords fastened to as many\nparts of her dress, and held by twenty noblemen. Of course horseback\nwas out of the question. But she bade good-bye to all this ceremony\nwhen she got into the water.\n\nAnd so remarkable were its effects upon her, especially in restoring\nher for the time to the ordinary human gravity, that Hum-Drum and\nKopy-Keck agreed in recommending the king to bury her alive for three\nyears; in the hope that, as the water did her so much good, the earth\nwould do her yet more. But the king had some vulgar prejudices against\nthe experiment, and would not give his consent. Foiled in this, they\nyet agreed in another recommendation; which, seeing that the one\nimported his opinions from China and the other from Thibet, was very\nremarkable indeed. They argued that, if water of external origin and\napplication could be so efficacious, water from a deeper source might\nwork a perfect cure; in short, that if the poor afflicted princess\ncould by any means be made to cry, she might recover her lost gravity.\n\nBut how was this to be brought about? Therein lay all the\ndifficulty--to meet which the philosophers were not wise enough. To\nmake the princess cry was as impossible as to make her weigh. They sent\nfor a professional beggar; commanded him to prepare his most touching\noracle of woe; helped him, out of the court charade-box, to whatever he\nwanted for dressing up, and promised great rewards in the event of his\nsuccess. But it was all in vain. She listened to the mendicant artist's\nstory, and gazed at his marvellous make-up, till she could contain\nherself no longer, and went into the most undignified contortions for\nrelief, shrieking, positively screeching with laughter.\n\nWhen she had a little recovered herself, she ordered her attendants to\ndrive him away, and not give him a single copper; whereupon his look of\nmortified discomfiture wrought her punishment and his revenge, for it\nsent her into violent hysterics, from which she was with difficulty\nrecovered.\n\nBut so anxious was the king that the suggestion should have a fair\ntrial, that he put himself in a rage one day, and, rushing up to her\nroom, gave her an awful whipping. Yet not a tear would flow. She looked\ngrave, and her laughing sounded uncommonly like screaming--that was\nall. The good old tyrant, though he put on his best gold spectacles to\nlook, could not discover the smallest cloud in the serene blue of her\neyes.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIX. PUT ME IN AGAIN.\n\n\nIt must have been about this time that the son of a king, who lived a\nthousand miles from Lagobel, set out to look for the daughter of a\nqueen. He travelled far and wide, but as sure as he found a princess,\nhe found some fault in her. Of course he could not marry a mere woman,\nhowever beautiful; and there was no princess to be found worthy of him.\nWhether the prince was so near perfection that he had a right to demand\nperfection itself, I cannot pretend to say. All I know is, that he was\na fine, handsome, brave, generous, well-bred, and well-behaved youth,\nas all princes are.\n\nIn his wanderings he had come across some reports about our princess;\nbut as everybody said she was bewitched, he never dreamed that she\ncould bewitch him. For what indeed could a prince do with a princess\nthat had lost her gravity? Who could tell what she might not lose next?\nShe might lose her visibility, or her tangibility; or, in short, the\npower of making impressions upon the radical sensorium; so that he\nshould never be able to tell whether she was dead or alive. Of course\nhe made no further inquiries about her.\n\nOne day he lost sight of his retinue in a great forest. These forests\nare very useful in delivering princes from their courtiers, like a\nsieve that keeps back the bran. Then the princes get away to follow\ntheir fortunes. In this they have the advantage of the princesses, who\nare forced to marry before they have had a bit of fun. I wish our\nprincesses got lost in a forest sometimes.\n\nOne lovely evening, after wandering about for many days, he found that\nhe was approaching the outskirts of this forest; for the trees had got\nso thin that he could see the sunset through them; and he soon came\nupon a kind of heath. Next he came upon signs of human neighbourhood;\nbut by this time it was getting late, and there was nobody in the\nfields to direct him.\n\nAfter travelling for another hour, his horse, quite worn out with long\nlabour and lack of food, fell, and was unable to rise again. So he\ncontinued his journey on foot. At length he entered another wood--not a\nwild forest, but a civilized wood, through which a footpath led him to\nthe side of a lake. Along this path the prince pursued his way through\nthe gathering darkness. Suddenly he paused, and listened. Strange\nsounds came across the water. It was, in fact, the princess laughing.\nNow there was something odd in her laugh, as I have already hinted, for\nthe hatching of a real hearty laugh requires the incubation of gravity;\nand perhaps this was how the prince mistook the laughter for screaming.\nLooking over the lake, he saw something white in the water; and, in an\ninstant, he had torn off his tunic, kicked off his sandals, and plunged\nin. He soon reached the white object, and found that it was a woman.\nThere was not light enough to show that she was a princess, but quite\nenough to show that she was a lady, for it does not want much light to\nsee that.\n\nNow I cannot tell how it came about,--whether she pretended to be\ndrowning, or whether he frightened her, or caught her so as to\nembarrass her,--but certainly he brought her to shore in a fashion\nignominious to a swimmer, and more nearly drowned than she had ever\nexpected to be; for the water had got into her throat as often as she\nhad tried to speak.\n\nAt the place to which he bore her, the bank was only a foot or two\nabove the water, so he gave her a strong lift out of the water, to lay\nher on the bank. But, her gravitation ceasing the moment she left the\nwater, away she went up into the air, scolding and screaming.\n\n\"You naughty, _naughty_, NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY man!\" she cried.\n\nNo one had ever succeeded in putting her into a passion before.--When\nthe prince saw her ascend, he thought he must have been bewitched, and\nhave mistaken a great swan for a lady. But the princess caught hold of\nthe topmost cone upon a lofty fir. This came off; but she caught at\nanother, and, in fact, stopped herself by gathering cones, dropping\nthem as the stocks gave way. The prince, meantime, stood in the water,\nstaring, and forgetting to get out. But the princess disappearing, he\nscrambled on shore, and went in the direction of the tree. There he\nfound her climbing down one of the branches towards the stem. But in\nthe darkness of the wood, the prince continued in some bewilderment as\nto what the phenomenon could be; until, reaching the ground, and seeing\nhim standing there, she caught hold of him, and said,--\n\n\"I'll tell papa.\"\n\n\"Oh no, you won't!\" returned the prince.\n\n\"Yes, I will,\" she persisted. \"What business had you to pull me down\nout of the water, and throw me to the bottom of the air? I never did\nyou any harm.\"\n\n\"Pardon me. I did not mean to hurt you.\"\n\n\"I don't believe you have any brains; and that is a worse loss that\nyour wretched gravity. I pity you.\"\n\nThe prince now saw that he had come upon the bewitched princess, and\nhad already offended her. But before he could think what to say next,\nshe burst out angrily, giving a stamp with her foot that would have\nsent her aloft again but for the hold she had of his arm,--\n\n\"Put me up directly.\"\n\n\"Put you up where, you beauty?\" asked the prince.\n\nHe had fallen in love with her almost, already; for her anger made her\nmore charming than any one else had ever beheld her; and, as far as he\ncould see, which certainly was not far, she had not a single fault\nabout her, except, of course, that she had not any gravity. No prince,\nhowever, would judge of a princess by weight. The loveliness of her\nfoot he would hardly estimate by the depth of the impression it could\nmake in the mud.\n\n\"Put you up where, you beauty?\" asked the prince.\n\n\"In the water, you stupid!\" answered the princess.\n\n\"Come, then,\" said the prince.\n\nThe condition of her dress, increasing her usual difficulty in walking,\ncompelled her to cling to him; and he could hardly persuade himself\nthat he was not in a delightful dream, notwithstanding the torrent of\nmusical abuse with which she overwhelmed him. The prince being\ntherefore in no hurry, they came upon the lake at quite another part,\nwhere the bank was twenty-five feet high at least; and when they had\nreached the edge, he turned towards the princess, and said,--\n\n\"How am I to put you in?\"\n\n\"That is your business,\" she answered, quite snappishly. \"You took me\nout--put me in again.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said the prince; and, catching her up in his arms, he\nsprang with her from the rock. The princess had just time to give one\ndelighted shriek of laughter before the water closed over them. When\nthey came to the surface, she found that, for a moment or two, she\ncould not even laugh, for she had gone down with such a rush, that it\nwas with difficulty she recovered her breath. The instant they reached\nthe surface--\n\n\"How do you like falling in?\" said the prince.\n\nAfter some effort the princess panted out,--\n\n\"Is that what you call _falling in_?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the prince, \"I should think it a very tolerable\nspecimen.\"\n\n\"It seemed to me like going up,\" rejoined she.\n\n\"My feeling was certainly one of elevation too,\" the prince conceded.\n\nThe princess did not appear to understand him, for she retorted his\nquestion:--\n\n\"How do _you_ like falling in?\" said the princess.\n\n\"Beyond everything,\" answered he; \"for I have fallen in with the only\nperfect creature I ever saw.\"\n\n\"No more of that: I am tired of it,\" said the princess.\n\nPerhaps she shared her father's aversion to punning.\n\n\"Don't you like falling in, then?\" said the prince.\n\n\"It is the most delightful fun I ever had in my life,\" answered she. \"I\nnever fell before. I wish I could learn. To think I am the only person\nin my father's kingdom that can't fall!\"\n\nHere the poor princess looked almost sad.\n\n\"I shall be most happy to fall in with you any time you like,\" said the\nprince, devotedly.\n\n\"Thank you. I don't know. Perhaps it would not be proper. But I don't\ncare. At all events, as we have fallen in, let us have a swim\ntogether.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" responded the prince.\n\nAnd away they went, swimming, and diving, and floating, until at last\nthey heard cries along the shore, and saw lights glancing in all\ndirections. It was now quite late, and there was no moon.\n\n\"I must go home,\" said the princess. \"I am very sorry, for this is\ndelightful.\"\n\n\"So am I,\" returned the prince. \"But I am glad I haven't a home to go\nto--at least, I don't exactly know where it is.\"\n\n\"I wish I hadn't one either,\" rejoined the princess; \"it is so stupid!\nI have a great mind,\" she continued, \"to play them all a trick. Why\ncouldn't they leave me alone? They won't trust me in the lake for a\nsingle night!--You see where that green light is burning? That is the\nwindow of my room. Now if you would just swim there with me very\nquietly, and when we are all but under the balcony, give me such a\npush--_up_ you call it--as you did a little while ago, I should be able\nto catch hold of the balcony, and get in at the window; and then they\nmay look for me till to-morrow morning!\"\n\n\"With more obedience than pleasure,\" said the prince, gallantly; and\naway they swam, very gently.\n\n\"Will you be in the lake to-morrow night?\" the prince ventured to ask.\n\n\"To be sure I will. I don't think so. Perhaps,\" was the princess's\nsomewhat strange answer.\n\nBut the prince was intelligent enough not to press her further; and\nmerely whispered, as he gave her the parting lift, \"Don't tell.\" The\nonly answer the princess returned was a roguish look. She was already a\nyard above his head. The look seemed to say, \"Never fear. It is too\ngood fun to spoil that way.\"\n\nSo perfectly like other people had she been in the water, that even yet\nthe prince could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw her ascend\nslowly, grasp the balcony, and disappear through the window. He turned,\nalmost expecting to see her still by his side. But he was alone in the\nwater. So he swam away quietly, and watched the lights roving about the\nshore for hours after the princess was safe in her chamber. As soon as\nthey disappeared, he landed in search of his tunic and sword, and,\nafter some trouble, found them again. Then he made the best of his way\nround the lake to the other side. There the wood was wilder, and the\nshore steeper--rising more immediately towards the mountains which\nsurrounded the lake on all sides, and kept sending it messages of\nsilvery streams from morning to night, and all night long. He soon\nfound a spot whence he could see the green light in the princess's\nroom, and where, even in the broad daylight, he would be in no danger\nof being discovered from the opposite shore. It was a sort of cave in\nthe rock, where he provided himself a bed of withered leaves, and lay\ndown too tired for hunger to keep him awake. All night long he dreamed\nthat he was swimming with the princess.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nX. LOOK AT THE MOON.\n\n\nEarly the next morning the prince set out to look for something to eat,\nwhich he soon found at a forester's hut, where for many following days\nhe was supplied with all that a brave prince could consider necessary.\nAnd having plenty to keep him alive for the present, he would not think\nof wants not yet in existence. Whenever Care intruded, this prince\nalways bowed him out in the most princely manner.\n\nWhen he returned from his breakfast to his watch-cave, he saw the\nprincess already floating about in the lake, attended by the king or\nqueen--whom he knew by their crowns--and a great company in lovely\nlittle boats, with canopies of all the colours of the rainbow, and\nflags and streamers of a great many more. It was a very bright day, and\nsoon the prince, burned up with the heat, began to long for the cold\nwater and the cool princess. But he had to endure till twilight; for\nthe boats had provisions on board, and it was not till the sun went\ndown that the gay party began to vanish. Boat after boat drew away to\nthe shore, following that of the king and queen, till only one,\napparently the princess's own boat, remained. But she did not want to\ngo home even yet, and the prince thought he saw her order the boat to\nthe shore without her. At all events, it rowed away; and now, of all\nthe radiant company, only one white speck remained. Then the prince\nbegan to sing.\n\nAnd this is what he sang:--\n\n   \"Lady fair,\n    Swan-white,\n    Lift thine eyes\n    Banish night\n    By the might\n    Of thine eyes.\n\n    Snowy arms,\n    Oars of snow,\n    Oar her hither,\n    Plashing low.\n    Soft and slow,\n    Oar her hither.\n\n    Stream behind her\n    O'er the lake,\n    Radiant whiteness!\n    In her wake\n    Following, following for her sake,\n    Radiant whiteness!\n\n    Cling about her,\n    Waters blue;\n    Part not from her,\n    But renew\n    Cold and true\n    Kisses round her.\n\n    Lap me round,\n    Waters sad\n    That have left her;\n    Make me glad,\n    For ye had\n    Kissed her ere ye left her.\"\n\nBefore he had finished his song, the princess was just under the place\nwhere he sat, and looking up to find him. Her ears had led her truly.\n\n\"Would you like a fall, princess?\" said the prince, looking down.\n\n\"Ah! there you are! Yes, if you please, prince,\" said the princess,\nlooking up.\n\n\"How do you know I am a prince, princess?\" said the prince.\n\n\"Because you are a very nice young man, prince,\" said the princess.\n\n\"Come up then, princess.\"\n\n\"Fetch me, prince.\"\n\nThe prince took off his scarf, then his sword-belt, then his tunic, and\ntied them all together, and let them down. But the line was far too\nshort. He unwound his turban, and added it to the rest, when it was all\nbut long enough; and his purse completed it. The princess just managed\nto lay hold of the knot of money, and was beside him in a moment. This\nrock was much higher than the other, and the splash and the dive were\ntremendous. The princess was in ecstasies of delight, and their swim\nwas delicious.\n\nNight after night they met, and swam about in the dark clear lake;\nwhere such was the prince's gladness, that (whether the princess's way\nof looking at things infected him, or he was actually getting\nlight-headed) he often fancied that he was swimming in the sky instead\nof the lake. But when he talked about being in heaven, the princess\nlaughed at him dreadfully.\n\nWhen the moon came, she brought them fresh pleasure. Everything looked\nstrange and new in her light, with an old, withered, yet unfading\nnewness. When the moon was nearly full, one of their great delights\nwas, to dive deep in the water, and then, turning round, look up\nthrough it at the great blot of light close above them, shimmering and\ntrembling and wavering, spreading and contracting, seeming to melt\naway, and again grow solid. Then they would shoot up through the blot;\nand lo! there was the moon, far off, clear and steady and cold, and\nvery lovely, at the bottom of a deeper and bluer lake than theirs, as\nthe princess said.\n\nThe prince soon found out that while in the water the princess was very\nlike other people. And besides this, she was not so forward in her\nquestions or pert in her replies at sea as on shore. Neither did she\nlaugh so much; and when she did laugh, it was more gently. She seemed\naltogether more modest and maidenly in the water than out of it. But\nwhen the prince, who had really fallen in love when he fell in the\nlake, began to talk to her about love, she always turned her head\ntowards him and laughed. After a while she began to look puzzled, as if\nshe were trying to understand what he meant, but could not--revealing a\nnotion that he meant something. But as soon as ever she left the lake,\nshe was so altered, that the prince said to himself, \"If I marry her, I\nsee no help for it: we must turn merman and mermaid, and go out to sea\nat once.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXI. HISS!\n\n\nThe princess's pleasure in the lake had grown to a passion, and she\ncould scarcely bear to be out of it for an hour. Imagine then her\nconsternation, when, diving with the prince one night, a sudden\nsuspicion seized her that the lake was not so deep as it used to be.\nThe prince could not imagine what had happened. She shot to the\nsurface, and, without a word, swam at full speed towards the higher\nside of the lake. He followed, begging to know if she was ill, or what\nwas the matter. She never turned her head, or took the smallest notice\nof his question. Arrived at the shore, she coasted the rocks with\nminute inspection. But she was not able to come to a conclusion, for\nthe moon was very small, and so she could not see well. She turned\ntherefore and swam home, without saying a word to explain her conduct\nto the prince, of whose presence she seemed no longer conscious. He\nwithdrew to his cave, in great perplexity and distress.\n\nNext day she made many observations, which, alas! strengthened her\nfears. She saw that the banks were too dry; and that the grass on the\nshore, and the trailing plants on the rocks, were withering away. She\ncaused marks to be made along the borders, and examined them, day after\nday, in all directions of the wind; till at last the horrible idea\nbecame a certain fact--that the surface of the lake was slowly sinking.\n\nThe poor princess nearly went out of the little mind she had. It was\nawful to her to see the lake, which she loved more than any living\nthing, lie dying before her eyes. It sank away, slowly vanishing. The\ntops of rocks that had never been seen till now, began to appear far\ndown in the clear water. Before long they were dry in the sun. It was\nfearful to think of the mud that would soon lie there baking and\nfestering, full of lovely creatures dying, and ugly creatures coming to\nlife, like the unmaking of a world. And how hot the sun would be\nwithout any lake! She could not bear to swim in it any more, and began\nto pine away. Her life seemed bound up with it; and ever as the lake\nsank, she pined. People said she would not live an hour after the lake\nwas gone.\n\nBut she never cried.\n\nProclamation was made to all the kingdom, that whosoever should\ndiscover the cause of the lake's decrease, would be rewarded after a\nprincely fashion. Hum-Drum and Kopy-Keck applied themselves to their\nphysics and metaphysics; but in vain. Not even they could suggest a\ncause.\n\nNow the fact was that the old princess was at the root of the mischief.\nWhen she heard that her niece found more pleasure in the water than\nanyone else out of it, she went into a rage, and cursed herself for her\nwant of foresight.\n\n\"But,\" said she, \"I will soon set all right. The king and the people\nshall die of thirst; their brains shall boil and frizzle in their\nskulls before I will lose my revenge.\"\n\nAnd she laughed a ferocious laugh, that made the hairs on the back of\nher black cat stand erect with terror.\n\nThen she went to an old chest in the room, and opening it, took out\nwhat looked like a piece of dried seaweed. This she threw into a tub of\nwater. Then she threw some powder into the water, and stirred it with\nher bare arm, muttering over it words of hideous sound, and yet more\nhideous import. Then she set the tub aside, and took from the chest a\nhuge bunch of a hundred rusty keys, that clattered in her shaking\nhands. Then she sat down and proceeded to oil them all. Before she had\nfinished, out from the tub, the water of which had kept on a slow\nmotion ever since she had ceased stirring it, came the head and half\nthe body of a huge gray snake. But the witch did not look round. It\ngrew out of the tub, waving itself backwards and forwards with a slow\nhorizontal motion, till it reached the princess, when it laid its head\nupon her shoulder, and gave a low hiss in her ear. She started--but\nwith joy; and seeing the head resting on her shoulder, drew it towards\nher and kissed it. Then she drew it all out of the tub, and wound it\nround her body. It was one of those dreadful creatures which few have\never beheld--the White Snakes of Darkness.\n\nThen she took the keys and went down to her cellar; and as she unlocked\nthe door she said to herself,--\n\n\"This _is_ worth living for!\"\n\nLocking the door behind her, she descended a few steps into the cellar,\nand crossing it, unlocked another door into a dark, narrow passage. She\nlocked this also behind her, and descended a few more steps. If anyone\nhad followed the witch-princess, he would have heard her unlock exactly\none hundred doors, and descend a few steps after unlocking each. When\nshe had unlocked the last, she entered a vast cave, the roof of which\nwas supported by huge natural pillars of rock. Now this roof was the\nunder side of the bottom of the lake.\n\nShe then untwined the snake from her body, and held it by the tail high\nabove her. The hideous creature stretched up its head towards the roof\nof the cavern, which it was just able to reach. It then began to move\nits head backwards and forwards, with a slow oscillating motion, as if\nlooking for something. At the same moment the witch began to walk round\nand round the cavern, coming nearer to the centre every circuit; while\nthe head of the snake described the same path over the roof that she\ndid over the floor, for she kept holding it up. And still it kept\nslowly oscillating. Round and round the cavern they went, ever\nlessening the circuit, till at last the snake made a sudden dart, and\nclung to the roof with its mouth.\n\n\"That's right, my beauty!\" cried the princess; \"drain it dry.\"\n\nShe let it go, left it hanging, and sat down on a great stone, with her\nblack cat, which had followed her all round the cave, by her side. Then\nshe began to knit and mutter awful words. The snake hung like a huge\nleech, sucking at the stone; the cat stood with his back arched, and\nhis tail like a piece of cable, looking up at the snake; and the old\nwoman sat and knitted and muttered. Seven days and seven nights they\nremained thus; when suddenly the serpent dropped from the roof as if\nexhausted, and shrivelled up till it was again like a piece of dried\nseaweed. The witch started to her feet, picked it up, put it in her\npocket, and looked up at the roof. One drop of water was trembling on\nthe spot where the snake had been sucking. As soon as she saw that, she\nturned and fled, followed by her cat. Shutting the door in a terrible\nhurry, she locked it, and having muttered some frightful words, sped to\nthe next, which also she locked and muttered over; and so with all the\nhundred doors, till she arrived in her own cellar. There she sat down\non the floor ready to faint, but listening with malicious delight to\nthe rushing of the water, which she could hear distinctly through all\nthe hundred doors.\n\nBut this was not enough. Now that she had tasted revenge, she lost her\npatience. Without further measures, the lake would be too long in\ndisappearing. So the next night, with the last shred of the dying old\nmoon rising, she took some of the water in which she had revived the\nsnake, put it in a bottle, and set out, accompanied by her cat. Before\nmorning she had made the entire circuit of the lake, muttering fearful\nwords as she crossed every stream, and casting into it some of the\nwater out of her bottle. When she had finished the circuit she muttered\nyet again, and flung a handful of water towards the moon. Thereupon\nevery spring in the country ceased to throb and bubble, dying away like\nthe pulse of a dying man. The next day there was no sound of falling\nwater to be heard along the borders of the lake. The very courses were\ndry; and the mountains showed no silvery streaks down their dark sides.\nAnd not alone had the fountains of mother Earth ceased to flow; for all\nthe babies throughout the country were crying dreadfully--only without\ntears.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXII. WHERE IS THE PRINCE?\n\n\nNever since the night when the princess left him so abruptly had the\nprince had a single interview with her. He had seen her once or twice\nin the lake; but as far as he could discover, she had not been in it\nany more at night. He had sat and sung, and looked in vain for his\nNereid; while she, like a true Nereid, was wasting away with her lake,\nsinking as it sank, withering as it dried. When at length he discovered\nthe change that was taking place in the level of the water, he was in\ngreat alarm and perplexity. He could not tell whether the lake was\ndying because the lady had forsaken it; or whether the lady would not\ncome because the lake had begun to sink. But he resolved to know so\nmuch at least.\n\nHe disguised himself, and, going to the palace, requested to see the\nlord chamberlain. His appearance at once gained his request; and the\nlord chamberlain, being a man of some insight, perceived that there was\nmore in the prince's solicitation than met the ear. He felt likewise\nthat no one could tell whence a solution of the present difficulties\nmight arise. So he granted the prince's prayer to be made shoe-black to\nthe princess. It was rather cunning in the prince to request such an\neasy post, for the princess could not possibly soil as many shoes as\nother princesses. He soon learned all that could be learned about the\nprincess. He went nearly distracted; but after roaming about the lake\nfor days, and diving in every depth that remained, all that he could do\nwas to put an extra polish on the dainty pair of boots that was never\ncalled for.\n\nFor the princess kept her room, with the curtains drawn to shut out the\ndying lake. But she could not shut it out of her mind for a moment. It\nhaunted her imagination so that she felt as if the lake were her soul,\ndrying up within her, first to mud, then to madness and death. She thus\nbrooded over the change, with all its dreadful accompaniments, till she\nwas nearly distracted. As for the prince, she had forgotten him.\nHowever much she had enjoyed his company in the water, she did not care\nfor him without it. But she seemed to have forgotten her father and\nmother too. The lake went on sinking. Small slimy spots began to\nappear, which glittered steadily amidst the changeful shine of the\nwater. These grew to broad patches of mud, which widened and spread,\nwith rocks here and there, and floundering fishes and crawling eels\nswarming. The people went everywhere catching these, and looking for\nanything that might have dropped from the royal boats.\n\nAt length the lake was all but gone, only a few of the deepest pools\nremaining unexhausted.\n\nIt happened one day that a party of youngsters found themselves on the\nbrink of one of these pools in the very centre of the lake. It was a\nrocky basin of considerable depth. Looking in, they saw at the bottom\nsomething that shone yellow in the sun. A little boy jumped in and\ndived for it. It was a plate of gold covered with writing. They carried\nit to the king.\n\nOn one side of it stood these words:--\n\n   \"Death alone from death can save.\n    Love is death, and so is brave.\n    Love can fill the deepest grave.\n    Love loves on beneath the wave.\"\n\nNow this was enigmatical enough to the king and courtiers. But the\nreverse of the plate explained it a little. Its writing amounted to\nthis:--\n\n\"If the lake should disappear, they must find the hole through which\nthe water ran. But it would be useless to try to stop it by any\nordinary means. There was but one effectual mode.--The body of a living\nman could alone stanch the flow. The man must give himself of his own\nwill; and the lake must take his life as it filled. Otherwise the\noffering would be of no avail. If the nation could not provide one\nhero, it was time it should perish.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXIII. HERE I AM.\n\n\nThis was a very disheartening revelation to the king--not that he was\nunwilling to sacrifice a subject, but that he was hopeless of finding a\nman willing to sacrifice himself. No time was to be lost, however, for\nthe princess was lying motionless on her bed, and taking no nourishment\nbut lake-water, which was now none of the best. Therefore the king\ncaused the contents of the wonderful plate of gold to be published\nthroughout the country.\n\nNo one, however, came forward.\n\nThe prince, having gone several days' journey into the forest, to\nconsult a hermit whom he had met there on his way to Lagobel, knew\nnothing of the oracle till his return.\n\nWhen he had acquainted himself with all the particulars, he sat down\nand thought,--\n\n\"She will die if I don't do it, and life would be nothing to me without\nher; so I shall lose nothing by doing it. And life will be as pleasant\nto her as ever, for she will soon forget me. And there will be so much\nmore beauty and happiness in the world!--To be sure, I shall not see\nit.\" (Here the poor prince gave a sigh.) \"How lovely the lake will be\nin the moonlight, with that glorious creature sporting in it like a\nwild goddess!--It is rather hard to be drowned by inches, though. Let\nme see--that will be seventy inches of me to drown.\" (Here he tried to\nlaugh, but could not.) \"The longer the better, however,\" he resumed,\n\"for can I not bargain that the princess shall be beside me all the\ntime? So I shall see her once more, kiss her, perhaps,--who knows? and\ndie looking in her eyes. It will be no death. At least, I shall not\nfeel it. And to see the lake filling for the beauty again!--All right!\nI am ready.\"\n\nHe kissed the princess's boot, laid it down, and hurried to the king's\napartment. But feeling, as he went, that anything sentimental would be\ndisagreeable, he resolved to carry off the whole affair with\nnonchalance. So he knocked at the door of the king's counting-house,\nwhere it was all but a capital crime to disturb him.\n\nWhen the king heard the knock he started up, and opened the door in a\nrage. Seeing only the shoeblack, he drew his sword. This, I am sorry to\nsay, was his usual mode of asserting his regality, when he thought his\ndignity was in danger. But the prince was not in the least alarmed.\n\n\"Please your majesty, I'm your butler,\" said he.\n\n\"My butler! you lying rascal? What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I mean, I will cork your big bottle.\"\n\n\"Is the fellow mad?\" bawled the king, raising the point of his sword.\n\n\"I will put a stopper--plug--what you call it, in your leaky lake,\ngrand monarch,\" said the prince.\n\nThe king was in such a rage that before he could speak he had time to\ncool, and to reflect that it would be great waste to kill the only man\nwho was willing to be useful in the present emergency, seeing that in\nthe end the insolent fellow would be as dead as if he had died by his\nmajesty's own hand. \"Oh!\" said he at last, putting up his sword with\ndifficulty, it was so long; \"I am obliged to you, you young fool! Take\na glass of wine?\"\n\n\"No, thank you,\" replied the prince.\n\n\"Very well,\" said the king. \"Would you like to run and see your parents\nbefore you make your experiment?\"\n\n\"No, thank you,\" said the prince.\n\n\"Then we will go and look for the hole at once,\" said his majesty, and\nproceeded to call some attendants.\n\n\"Stop, please your majesty; I have a condition to make,\" interposed the\nprince.\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed the king, \"a condition! and with me! How dare you?\"\n\n\"As you please,\" returned the prince coolly. \"I wish your majesty a\ngood morning.\"\n\n\"You wretch! I will have you put in a sack, and stuck in the hole.\"\n\n\"Very well, your majesty,\" replied the prince, becoming a little more\nrespectful, lest the wrath of the king should deprive him of the\npleasure of dying for the princess. \"But what good will that do your\nmajesty? Please to remember that the oracle says the victim must offer\nhimself.\"\n\n\"Well, you _have_ offered yourself,\" retorted the king.\n\n\"Yes, upon one condition.\"\n\n\"Condition again!\" roared the king, once more drawing his sword.\n\"Begone! Somebody else will be glad enough to take the honour off your\nshoulders.\"\n\n\"Your majesty knows it will not be easy to get another to take my\nplace.\"\n\n\"Well, what is your condition?\" growled the king, feeling that the\nprince was right.\n\n\"Only this,\" replied the prince: \"that, as I must on no account die\nbefore I am fairly drowned, and the waiting will be rather wearisome,\nthe princess, your daughter, shall go with me, feed me with her own\nhands, and look at me now and then, to comfort me; for you must confess\nit _is_ rather hard. As soon as the water is up to my eyes, she may go\nand be happy, and forget her poor shoeblack.\"\n\nHere the prince's voice faltered, and he very nearly grew sentimental,\nin spite of his resolution.\n\n\"Why didn't you tell me before what your condition was? Such a fuss\nabout nothing!\" exclaimed the king.\n\n\"Do you grant it?\" persisted the prince.\n\n\"Of course I do,\" replied the king.\n\n\"Very well. I am ready.\"\n\n\"Go and have some dinner, then, while I set my people to find the\nplace.\"\n\nThe king ordered out his guards, and gave directions to the officers to\nfind the hole in the lake at once. So the bed of the lake was marked\nout in divisions and thoroughly examined, and in an hour or so the hole\nwas discovered. It was in the middle of a stone, near the centre of the\nlake, in the very pool where the golden plate had been found. It was a\nthree-cornered hole of no great size. There was water all round the\nstone, but very little was flowing through the hole.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXIV. THIS IS VERY KIND OF YOU.\n\n\nThe prince went to dress for the occasion, for he was resolved to die\nlike a prince.\n\nWhen the princess heard that a man had offered to die for her, she was\nso transported that she jumped off the bed, feeble as she was, and\ndanced about the room for joy. She did not care who the man was; that\nwas nothing to her. The hole wanted stopping; and if only a man would\ndo, why, take one. In an hour or two more everything was ready. Her\nmaid dressed her in haste, and they carried her to the side of the\nlake. When she saw it she shrieked, and covered her face with her\nhands. They bore her across to the stone, where they had already placed\na little boat for her. The water was not deep enough to float it, but\nthey hoped it would be, before long. They laid her on cushions, placed\nin the boat wines and fruits and other nice things, and stretched a\ncanopy over all.\n\nIn a few minutes the prince appeared. The princess recognized him at\nonce, but did not think it worth while to acknowledge him.\n\n\"Here I am,\" said the prince. \"Put me in.\"\n\n\"They told me it was a shoeblack,\" said the princess.\n\n\"So I am,\" said the prince. \"I blacked your little boots three times a\nday, because they were all I could get of you. Put me in.\"\n\nThe courtiers did not resent his bluntness, except by saying to each\nother that he was taking it out in impudence.\n\nBut how was he to be put in? The golden plate contained no instructions\non this point. The prince looked at the hole, and saw but one way. He\nput both his legs into it, sitting on the stone, and, stooping forward,\ncovered the corner that remained open with his two hands. In this\nuncomfortable position he resolved to abide his fate, and turning to\nthe people, said,--\n\n\"Now you can go.\"\n\nThe king had already gone home to dinner.\n\n\"Now you can go,\" repeated the princess after him, like a parrot.\n\nThe people obeyed her and went.\n\nPresently a little wave flowed over the stone, and wetted one of the\nprince's knees. But he did not mind it much. He began to sing, and the\nsong he sung was this:--\n\n   \"As a world that has no well,\n    Darkly bright in forest dell;\n    As a world without the gleam\n    Of the downward-going stream;\n    As a world without the glance\n    Of the ocean's fair expanse;\n    As a world where never rain\n    Glittered on the sunny plain;--\n    Such, my heart, thy world would be,\n    If no love did flow in thee.\n\n   \"As a world without the sound\n    Of the rivulets underground;\n    Or the bubbling of the spring\n    Out of darkness wandering;\n    Or the mighty rush and flowing\n    Of the river's downward going;\n    Or the music-showers that drop\n    On the outspread beech's top;\n    Or the ocean's mighty voice,\n    When his lifted waves rejoice;--\n    Such, my soul, thy world would be,\n    If no love did sing in thee.\n\n   \"Lady, keep thy world's delight;\n    Keep the waters in thy sight.\n    Love hath made me strong to go,\n    For thy sake, to realms below,\n    Where the water's shine and hum\n    Through the darkness never come:\n    Let, I pray, one thought of me\n    Spring, a little well, in thee;\n    Lest thy loveless soul be found\n    Like a dry and thirsty ground.\"\n\n\"Sing again, prince. It makes it less tedious,\" said the princess.\n\nBut the prince was too much overcome to sing any more, and a long pause\nfollowed.\n\n\"This is very kind of you, prince,\" said the princess at last, quite\ncoolly, as she lay in the boat with her eyes shut.\n\n\"I am sorry I can't return the compliment,\" thought the prince; \"but\nyou are worth dying for, after all.\"\n\nAgain a wavelet, and another, and another flowed over the stone, and\nwetted both the prince's knees; but he did not speak or move.\nTwo--three--four hours passed in this way, the princess apparently\nasleep, and the prince very patient. But he was much disappointed in\nhis position, for he had none of the consolation he had hoped for.\n\nAt last he could bear it no longer.\n\n\"Princess!\" said he.\n\nBut at the moment up started the princess, crying,--\n\n\"I'm afloat! I'm afloat!\"\n\nAnd the little boat bumped against the stone.\n\n\"Princess!\" repeated the prince, encouraged by seeing her wide awake\nand looking eagerly at the water.\n\n\"Well?\" said she, without looking round.\n\n\"Your papa promised that you should look at me, and you haven't looked\nat me once.\"\n\n\"Did he? Then I suppose I must. But I am so sleepy!\"\n\n\"Sleep then, darling, and don't mind me,\" said the poor prince.\n\n\"Really, you are very good,\" replied the princess. \"I think I will go\nto sleep again.\"\n\n\"Just give me a glass of wine and a biscuit first,\" said the prince,\nvery humbly.\n\n\"With all my heart,\" said the princess, and gaped as she said it.\n\nShe got the wine and the biscuit, however, and leaning over the side of\nthe boat towards him, was compelled to look at him.\n\n\"Why, prince,\" she said, \"you don't look well! Are you sure you don't\nmind it?\"\n\n\"Not a bit,\" answered he, feeling very faint in deed. \"Only I shall die\nbefore it is of any use to you, unless I have something to eat.\"\n\n\"There, then,\" said she, holding out the wine to him.\n\n\"Ah! you must feed me. I dare not move my hands. The water would run\naway directly.\"\n\n\"Good gracious!\" said the princess; and she began at once to feed him\nwith bits of biscuit and sips of wine.\n\nAs she fed him, he contrived to kiss the tips of her fingers now and\nthen. She did not seem to mind it, one way or the other. But the prince\nfelt better.\n\n\"Now for your own sake, princess,\" said he, \"I cannot let you go to\nsleep. You must sit and look at me, else I shall not be able to keep\nup.\"\n\n\"Well, I will do anything I can to oblige you,\" answered she, with\ncondescension; and, sitting down, she did look at him, and kept looking\nat him with wonderful steadiness, considering all things.\n\nThe sun went down, and the moon rose, and, gush after gush, the waters\nwere rising up the prince's body. They were up to his waist now.\n\n\"Why can't we go and have a swim?\" said the princess. \"There seems to\nbe water enough just about here.\"\n\n\"I shall never swim more,\" said the prince.\n\n\"Oh, I forgot,\" said the princess, and was silent.\n\nSo the water grew and grew, and rose up and up on the prince. And the\nprincess sat and looked at him. She fed him now and then. The night\nwore on. The waters rose and rose. The moon rose likewise higher and\nhigher, and shone full on the face of the dying prince. The water was\nup to his neck.\n\n\"Will you kiss me, princess?\" said he, feebly. The nonchalance was all\ngone now.\n\n\"Yes, I will,\" answered the princess, and kissed him with a long,\nsweet, cold kiss.\n\n\"Now,\" said he, with a sigh of content, \"I die happy.\"\n\nHe did not speak again. The princess gave him some wine for the last\ntime: he was past eating. Then she sat down again, and looked at him.\nThe water rose and rose. It touched his chin. It touched his lower lip.\nIt touched between his lips. He shut them hard to keep it out. The\nprincess began to feel strange. It touched his upper lip. He breathed\nthrough his nostrils. The princess looked wild. It covered his\nnostrils. Her eyes looked scared, and shone strange in the moonlight.\nHis head fell back; the water closed over it, and the bubbles of his\nlast breath bubbled up through the water. The princess gave a shriek,\nand sprang into the lake.\n\nShe laid hold first of one leg, and then of the other, and pulled and\ntugged, but she could not move either. She stopped to take breath, and\nthat made her think that he could not get any breath. She was frantic.\nShe got hold of him, and held his head above the water, which was\npossible now his hands were no longer on the hole. But it was of no\nuse, for he was past breathing.\n\nLove and water brought back all her strength. She got under the water,\nand pulled and pulled with her whole might, till at last she got one\nleg out. The other easily followed. How she got him into the boat she\nnever could tell; but when she did, she fainted away. Coming to\nherself, she seized the oars, kept herself steady as best she could,\nand rowed and rowed, though she had never rowed before. Round rocks,\nand over shallows, and through mud she rowed, till she got to the\nlanding-stairs of the palace. By this time her people were on the\nshore, for they had heard her shriek. She made them carry the prince to\nher own room, and lay him in her bed, and light a fire, and send for\nthe doctors.\n\n\"But the lake, your highness!\" said the chamberlain, who, roused by the\nnoise, came in, in his nightcap.\n\n\"Go and drown yourself in it!\" she said.\n\nThis was the last rudeness of which the princess was ever guilty; and\none must allow that she had good cause to feel provoked with the lord\nchamberlain.\n\nHad it been the king himself, he would have fared no better. But both\nhe and the queen were fast asleep. And the chamberlain went back to his\nbed. Somehow, the doctors never came. So the princess and her old nurse\nwere left with the prince. But the old nurse was a wise woman, and knew\nwhat to do.\n\nThey tried everything for a long time without success. The princess was\nnearly distracted between hope and fear, but she tried on and on, one\nthing after another, and everything over and over again.\n\nAt last, when they had all but given it up, just as the sun rose, the\nprince opened his eyes.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXV. LOOK AT THE RAIN!\n\n\nThe princess burst into a passion of tears, and _fell_ on the floor.\nThere she lay for an hour and her tears never ceased. All the pent-up\ncrying of her life was spent now. And a rain came on, such as had never\nbeen seen in that country. The sun shone all the time, and the great\ndrops, which fell straight to the earth, shone likewise. The palace was\nin the heart of a rainbow. It was a rain of rubies, and sapphires, and\nemeralds, and topazes. The torrents poured from the mountains like\nmolten gold; and if it had not been for its subterraneous outlet, the\nlake would have overflowed and inundated the country. It was full from\nshore to shore.\n\nBut the princess did not heed the lake. She lay on the floor and wept.\nAnd this rain within doors was far more wonderful than the rain out of\ndoors. For when it abated a little, and she proceeded to rise, she\nfound, to her astonishment, that she could not. At length, after many\nefforts, she succeeded in getting upon her feet. But she tumbled down\nagain directly. Hearing her fall, her old nurse uttered a yell of\ndelight, and ran to her, screaming,--\n\n\"My darling child! she's found her gravity!\"\n\n\"Oh, that's it! is it?\" said the princess, rubbing her shoulder and her\nknee alternately. \"I consider it very unpleasant. I feel as if I should\nbe crushed to pieces.\"\n\n\"Hurrah!\" cried the prince from the bed. \"If you've come round,\nprincess, so have I. How's the lake?\"\n\n\"Brimful,\" answered the nurse.\n\n\"Then we're all happy.\"\n\n\"That we are indeed!\" answered the princess, sobbing.\n\nAnd there was rejoicing all over the country that rainy day. Even the\nbabies forgot their past troubles, and danced and crowed amazingly. And\nthe king told stories, and the queen listened to them. And he divided\nthe money in his box, and she the honey in her pot, to all the\nchildren. And there was such jubilation as was never heard of before.\n\nOf course the prince and princess were betrothed at once. But the\nprincess had to learn to walk, before they could be married with any\npropriety. And this was not so easy at her time of life, for she could\nwalk no more than a baby. She was always falling down and hurting\nherself.\n\n\"Is this the gravity you used to make so much of?\" said she one day to\nthe prince, as he raised her from the floor. \"For my part, I was a\ngreat deal more comfortable without it.\"\n\n\"No, no, that's not it. This is it,\" replied the prince, as he took her\nup, and carried her about like a baby, kissing her all the time. \"This\nis gravity.\"\n\n\"That's better,\" said she. \"I don't mind that so much.\"\n\nAnd she smiled the sweetest, loveliest smile in the prince's face. And\nshe gave him one little kiss in return for all his; and he thought them\noverpaid, for he was beside himself with delight. I fear she complained\nof her gravity more than once after this, notwithstanding.\n\nIt was a long time before she got reconciled to walking. But the pain\nof learning it was quite counterbalanced by two things, either of which\nwould have been sufficient consolation. The first was, that the prince\nhimself was her teacher; and the second, that she could tumble into the\nlake as often as she pleased. Still, she preferred to have the prince\njump in with her; and the splash they made before was nothing to the\nsplash they made now.\n\nThe lake never sank again. In process of time, it wore the roof of the\ncavern quite through, and was twice as deep as before.\n\nThe only revenge the princess took upon her aunt was to tread pretty\nhard on her gouty toe the next time she saw her. But she was sorry for\nit the very next day, when she heard that the water had undermined her\nhouse, and that it had fallen in the night, burying her in its ruins;\nwhence no one ever ventured to dig up her body. There she lies to this\nday.\n\nSo the prince and princess lived and were happy; and had crowns of\ngold, and clothes of cloth, and shoes of leather, and children of boys\nand girls, not one of whom was ever known, on the most critical\noccasion, to lose the smallest atom of his or her due proportion of\ngravity.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE GIANT'S HEART.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThere was once a giant who lived on the borders of Giantland where it\ntouched on the country of common people.\n\nEverything in Giantland was so big that the common people saw only a\nmass of awful mountains and clouds; and no living man had ever come\nfrom it, as far as anybody knew, to tell what he had seen in it.\n\nSomewhere near these borders, on the other side, by the edge of a great\nforest, lived a labourer with his wife and a great many children. One\nday Tricksey-Wee, as they called her, teased her brother Buffy-Bob,\ntill he could not bear it any longer, and gave her a box on the ear.\nTricksey-Wee cried; and Buffy-Bob was so sorry and so ashamed of\nhimself that he cried too, and ran off into the wood. He was so long\ngone that Tricksey-Wee began to be frightened, for she was very fond of\nher brother; and she was so distressed that she had first teased him\nand then cried, that at last she ran into the wood to look for him,\nthough there was more chance of losing herself than of finding him.\nAnd, indeed, so it seemed likely to turn out; for, running on without\nlooking, she at length found herself in a valley she knew nothing\nabout. And no wonder; for what she thought was a valley with round,\nrocky sides, was no other than the space between two of the roots of a\ngreat tree that grew on the borders of Giantland. She climbed over the\nside of it, and went towards what she took for a black, round-topped\nmountain, far away; but which she soon discovered to be close to her,\nand to be a hollow place so great that she could not tell what it was\nhollowed out of. Staring at it, she found that it was a doorway; and\ngoing nearer and staring harder, she saw the door, far in, with a\nknocker of iron upon it, a great many yards above her head, and as\nlarge as the anchor of a big ship. Now, nobody had ever been unkind to\nTricksey-Wee, and therefore she was not afraid of anybody. For\nBuffy-Bob's box on the ear she did not think worth considering. So\nspying a little hole at the bottom of the door which had been nibbled\nby some giant mouse, she crept through it, and found herself in an\nenormous hall. She could not have seen the other end of it at all,\nexcept for the great fire that was burning there, diminished to a spark\nin the distance. Towards this fire she ran as fast as she could, and\nwas not far from it when something fell before her with a great\nclatter, over which she tumbled, and went rolling on the floor. She was\nnot much hurt however, and got up in a moment. Then she saw that what\nshe had fallen over was not unlike a great iron bucket. When she\nexamined it more closely, she discovered that it was a thimble; and\nlooking up to see who had dropped it, beheld a huge face, with\nspectacles as big as the round windows in a church, bending over her,\nand looking everywhere for the thimble. Tricksey-Wee immediately laid\nhold of it in both her arms, and lifted it about an inch nearer to the\nnose of the peering giantess. This movement made the old lady see where\nit was, and, her finger popping into it, it vanished from the eyes of\nTricksey-Wee, buried in the folds of a white stocking like a cloud in\nthe sky, which Mrs. Giant was busy darning. For it was Saturday night,\nand her husband would wear nothing but white stockings on Sunday. To be\nsure he did eat little children, but only _very_ little ones; and if\never it crossed his mind that it was wrong to do so, he always said to\nhimself that he wore whiter stockings on Sunday than any other giant in\nall Giantland.\n\nAt the same instant Tricksey-Wee heard a sound like the wind in a tree\nfull of leaves, and could not think what it could be; till, looking up,\nshe found that it was the giantess whispering to her; and when she\ntried very hard she could hear what she said well enough.\n\n\"Run away, dear little girl,\" she said, \"as fast as you can; for my\nhusband will be home in a few minutes.\"\n\n\"But I've never been naughty to your husband,\" said Tricksey-Wee,\nlooking up in the giantess's face.\n\n\"That doesn't matter. You had better go. He is fond of little children,\nparticularly little girls.\"\n\n\"Oh, then he won't hurt me.\"\n\n\"I am not sure of that. He is so fond of them that he eats them up; and\nI am afraid he couldn't help hurting you a little. He's a very good man\nthough.\"\n\n\"Oh! then--\" began Tricksey-Wee, feeling rather frightened; but before\nshe could finish her sentence she heard the sound of footsteps very far\napart and very heavy. The next moment, who should come running towards\nher, full speed, and as pale as death, but Buffy-Bob. She held out her\narms, and he ran into them. But when she tried to kiss him, she only\nkissed the back of his head; for his white face and round eyes were\nturned to the door.\n\n\"Run, children; run and hide!\" said the giantess.\n\n\"Come, Buffy,\" said Tricksey; \"yonder's a great brake; we'll hide in\nit.\"\n\nThe brake was a big broom; and they had just got into the bristles of\nit when they heard the door open with a sound of thunder, and in\nstalked the giant. You would have thought you saw the whole earth\nthrough the door when he opened it, so wide was it; and when he closed\nit, it was like nightfall.\n\n\"Where is that little boy?\" he cried, with a voice like the bellowing\nof a cannon. \"He looked a very nice boy indeed. I am almost sure he\ncrept through the mousehole at the bottom of the door. Where is he, my\ndear?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" answered the giantess.\n\n\"But you know it is wicked to tell lies; don't you, my dear?\" retorted\nthe giant.\n\n\"Now, you ridiculous old Thunderthump!\" said his wife, with a smile as\nbroad as the sea in the sun, \"how can I mend your white stockings and\nlook after little boys? You have got plenty to last you over Sunday, I\nam sure. Just look what good little boys they are!\"\n\nTricksey-Wee and Buffy-Bob peered through the bristles, and discovered\na row of little boys, about a dozen, with very fat faces and goggle\neyes, sitting before the fire, and looking stupidly into it.\nThunderthump intended the most of these for pickling, and was feeding\nthem well before salting them. Now and then, however, he could not keep\nhis teeth off them, and would eat one by the bye, without salt.\n\nHe strode up to the wretched children. Now, what made them very\nwretched indeed was, that they knew if they could only keep from\neating, and grow thin, the giant would dislike them, and turn them out\nto find their way home; but notwithstanding this, so greedy were they,\nthat they ate as much as ever they could hold. The giantess, who fed\nthem, comforted herself with thinking that they were not real boys and\ngirls, but only little pigs pretending to be boys and girls.\n\n\"Now tell me the truth,\" cried the giant, bending his face down over\nthem. They shook with terror, and every one hoped it was somebody else\nthe giant liked best. \"Where is the little boy that ran into the hall\njust now? Whoever tells me a lie shall be instantly boiled.\"\n\n\"He's in the broom,\" cried one dough-faced boy. \"He's in there, and a\nlittle girl with him.\"\n\n\"The naughty children,\" cried the giant, \"to hide from _me_!\" And he\nmade a stride towards the broom.\n\n\"Catch hold of the bristles, Bobby. Get right into a tuft, and hold\non,\" cried Tricksey-Wee, just in time.\n\nThe giant caught up the broom, and seeing nothing under it, set it down\nagain with a force that threw them both on the floor. He then made two\nstrides to the boys, caught the dough-faced one by the neck, took the\nlid off a great pot that was boiling on the fire, popped him in as if\nhe had been a trussed chicken, put the lid on again, and saying,\n\"There, boys! See what comes of lying!\" asked no more questions; for,\nas he always kept his word, he was afraid he might have to do the same\nto them all; and he did not like boiled boys. He like to eat them\ncrisp, as radishes, whether forked or not, ought to be eaten. He then\nsat down, and asked his wife if his supper was ready. She looked into\nthe pot, and throwing the boy out with the ladle, as if he had been a\nblack beetle that had tumbled in and had had the worst of it, answered\nthat she thought it was. Whereupon he rose to help her; and taking the\npot from the fire, poured the whole contents, bubbling and splashing,\ninto a dish like a vat. Then they sat down to supper. The children in\nthe broom could not see what they had; but it seemed to agree with\nthem, for the giant talked like thunder, and the giantess answered like\nthe sea, and they grew chattier and chattier. At length the giant\nsaid,--\n\n\"I don't feel quite comfortable about that heart of mine.\" And as he\nspoke, instead of laying his hand on his bosom, he waved it away\ntowards the corner where the children were peeping from the\nbroom-bristles, like frightened little mice.\n\n\"Well, you know, my darling Thunderthump,\" answered his wife, \"I always\nthought it ought to be nearer home. But you know best, of course.\"\n\n\"Ha! ha! You don't know where it is, wife. I moved it a month ago.\"\n\n\"What a man you are, Thunderthump! You trust any creature alive rather\nthan your wife.\"\n\nHere the giantess gave a sob which sounded exactly like a wave going\nflop into the mouth of a cave up to the roof.\n\n\"Where have you got it now?\" she resumed, checking her emotion.\n\n\"Well, Doodlem, I don't mind telling _you_,\" answered the giant,\nsoothingly. \"The great she-eagle has got it for a nest egg. She sits on\nit night and day, and thinks she will bring the greatest eagle out of\nit that ever sharpened his beak on the rocks of Mount Skycrack. I can\nwarrant no one else will touch it while she has got it. But she is\nrather capricious, and I confess I am not easy about it; for the least\nscratch of one of her claws would do for me at once. And she\n_has_ claws.\"\n\nI refer anyone who doubts this part of my story to certain chronicles\nof Giantland preserved among the Celtic nations. It was quite a common\nthing for a giant to put his heart out to nurse, because he did not\nlike the trouble and responsibility of doing it himself; although I\nmust confess it was a dangerous sort of plan to take, especially with\nsuch a delicate viscus as the heart.\n\nAll this time Buffy-Bob and Tricksey-Wee were listening with long ears.\n\n\"Oh!\" thought Tricksey-Wee, \"if I could but find the giant's cruel\nheart, wouldn't I give it a squeeze!\"\n\nThe giant and giantess went on talking for a long time. The giantess\nkept advising the giant to hide his heart somewhere in the house; but\nhe seemed afraid of the advantage it would give her over him.\n\n\"You could hide it at the bottom of the flour-barrel,\" said she.\n\n\"That would make me feel chokey,\" answered he.\n\n\"Well, in the coal-cellar. Or in the dust-hole--that's the place! No\none would think of looking for your heart in the dust-hole.\"\n\n\"Worse and worse!\" cried the giant.\n\n\"Well, the water-butt,\" suggested she.\n\n\"No, no; it would grow spongy there,\" said he.\n\n\"Well, what _will_ you do with it?\"\n\n\"I will leave it a month longer where it is, and then I will give it to\nthe Queen of the Kangaroos, and she will carry it in her pouch for me.\nIt is best to change its place, you know, lest my enemies should scent\nit out. But, dear Doodlem, it's a fretting care to have a heart of\none's own to look after. The responsibility is too much for me. If it\nwere not for a bite of a radish now and then, I never could bear it.\"\n\nHere the giant looked lovingly towards the row of little boys by the\nfire, all of whom were nodding, or asleep on the floor.\n\n\"Why don't you trust it to me, dear Thunderthump?\" said his wife. \"I\nwould take the best possible care of it.\"\n\n\"I don't doubt it, my love. But the responsibility would be too much\nfor _you_. You would no longer be my darling, light-hearted, airy,\nlaughing Doodlem. It would transform you into a heavy, oppressed woman,\nweary of life--as I am.\"\n\nThe giant closed his eyes and pretended to go to sleep. His wife got\nhis stockings, and went on with her darning. Soon the giant's pretence\nbecame reality, and the giantess began to nod over her work.\n\n\"Now, Buffy,\" whispered Tricksey-Wee, \"now's our time. I think it's\nmoonlight, and we had better be off. There's a door with a hole for the\ncat just behind us.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Bob; \"I'm ready.\"\n\nSo they got out of the broom-brake and crept to the door. But to their\ngreat disappointment, when they got through it, they found themselves\nin a sort of shed. It was full of tubs and things, and, though it was\nbuilt of wood only, they could not find a crack.\n\n\"Let us try this hole,\" said Tricksey; for the giant and giantess were\nsleeping behind them, and they dared not go back.\n\n\"All right,\" said Bob.\n\nHe seldom said anything else than _All right_.\n\nNow this hole was in a mound that came in through the wall of the shed,\nand went along the floor for some distance. They crawled into it, and\nfound it very dark. But groping their way along, they soon came to a\nsmall crack, through which they saw grass, pale in the moonshine. As\nthey crept on, they found the hole began to get wider and lead upwards.\n\n\"What is that noise of rushing?\" said Buffy-Bob.\n\n\"I can't tell,\" replied Tricksey; \"for, you see, I don't know what we\nare in.\"\n\nThe fact was, they were creeping along a channel in the heart of a\ngiant tree; and the noise they heard was the noise of the sap rushing\nalong in its wooden pipes. When they laid their ears to the wall, they\nheard it gurgling along with a pleasant noise.\n\n\"It sounds kind and good,\" said Tricksey. \"It is water running. Now it\nmust be running from somewhere to somewhere. I think we had better go\non, and we shall come somewhere.\"\n\nIt was now rather difficult to go on, for they had to climb as if they\nwere climbing a hill; and now the passage was wide. Nearly worn out,\nthey saw light overhead at last, and creeping through a crack into the\nopen air, found themselves on the fork of a huge tree. A great, broad,\nuneven space lay around them, out of which spread boughs in every\ndirection, the smallest of them as big as the biggest tree in the\ncountry of common people. Overhead were leaves enough to supply all the\ntrees they had ever seen. Not much moonlight could come through, but\nthe leaves would glimmer white in the wind at times. The tree was full\nof giant birds. Every now and then, one would sweep through, with a\ngreat noise. But, except an occasional chirp, sounding like a shrill\npipe in a great organ, they made no noise. All at once an owl began to\nhoot. He thought he was singing. As soon as he began, other birds\nreplied, making rare game of him. To their astonishment, the children\nfound they could understand every word they sang. And what they sang\nwas something like this:--\n\n  \"I will sing a song.\n    I'm the Owl.\"\n  \"Sing a song, you Sing-song\n    Ugly fowl!\n   What will you sing about,\n   Night in and Day out?\"\n\n  \"Sing about the night;\n    I'm the Owl.\"\n  \"You could not see for the light,\n    Stupid fowl.\"\n  \"Oh! the Moon! and the Dew!\n   And the Shadows!--tu-whoo!\"\n\nThe owl spread out his silent, soft, sly wings, and lighting between\nTricksey-Wee and Buffy-Bob, nearly smothered them, closing up one under\neach wing. It was like being buried in a down bed. But the owl did not\nlike anything between his sides and his wings, so he opened his wings\nagain, and the children made haste to get out. Tricksey-Wee immediately\nwent in front of the bird, and looking up into his huge face, which was\nas round as the eyes of the giantess's spectacles, and much bigger,\ndropped a pretty courtesy, and said,--\"Please, Mr. Owl, I want to\nwhisper to you.\"\n\n\"Very well, small child,\" answered the owl, looking important, and\nstooping his ear towards her. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"Please tell me where the eagle lives that sits on the giant's heart.\"\n\n\"Oh, you naughty child! That's a secret. For shame!\"\n\nAnd with a great hiss that terrified them, the owl flew into the tree.\nAll birds are fond of secrets; but not many of them can keep them so\nwell as the owl.\n\nSo the children went on because they did not know what else to do. They\nfound the way very rough and difficult, the tree was so full of humps\nand hollows. Now and then they plashed into a pool of rain; now and\nthen they came upon twigs growing out of the trunk where they had no\nbusiness, and they were as large as full-grown poplars. Sometimes they\ncame upon great cushions of soft moss, and on one of them they lay down\nand rested. But they had not lain long before they spied a large\nnightingale sitting on a branch, with its bright eyes looking up at the\nmoon. In a moment more he began to sing, and the birds about him began\nto reply, but in a different tone from that in which they had replied\nto the owl. Oh, the birds did call the nightingale such pretty names!\nThe nightingale sang, and the birds replied like this:--\n\n  \"I will sing a song.\n    I'm the nightingale.\"\n  \"Sing a song, long, long,\n    Little Neverfail!\n   What will you sing about,\n    Light in or light out?\"\n\n  \"Sing about the light\n    Gone away;\n   Down, away, and out of sight--\n    Poor lost Day!\n   Mourning for the Day dead,\n    O'er his dim bed.\"\n\nThe nightingale sang so sweetly, that the children would have fallen\nasleep but for fear of losing any of the song. When the nightingale\nstopped they got up and wandered on. They did not know where they were\ngoing, but they thought it best to keep going on, because then they\nmight come upon something or other. They were very sorry they had\nforgotten to ask the nightingale about the eagle's nest, but his music\nhad put everything else out of their heads. They resolved, however, not\nto forget the next time they had a chance. So they went on and on, till\nthey were both tired, and Tricksey-Wee said at last, trying to laugh,--\n\n\"I declare my legs feel just like a Dutch doll's.\"\n\n\"Then here's the place to go to bed in,\" said Buffy-Bob.\n\nThey stood at the edge of a last year's nest, and looked down with\ndelight into the round, mossy cave. Then they crept gently in, and,\nlying down in each other's arms, found it so deep, and warm, and\ncomfortable, and soft, that they were soon fast asleep.\n\nNow, close beside them, in a hollow, was another nest, in which lay a\nlark and his wife; and the children were awakened, very early in the\nmorning, by a dispute between Mr. and Mrs. Lark.\n\n\"Let me up,\" said the lark.\n\n\"It is not time,\" said the lark's wife.\n\n\"It is,\" said the lark, rather rudely. \"The darkness is quite thin. I\ncan almost see my own beak.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" said the lark's wife. \"You know you came home yesterday\nmorning quite worn out--you had to fly so very high before you saw him.\nI am sure he would not mind if you took it a little easier. Do be quiet\nand go to sleep again.\"\n\n\"That's not it at all,\" said the lark. \"He doesn't want me. I want him.\nLet me up, I say.\"\n\nHe began to sing; and Tricksey-Wee and Buffy-Bob, having now learned\nthe way, answered him:--\n\n  \"I will sing a song.\n    I'm the Lark.\"\n  \"Sing, sing, Throat-strong,\n    Little Kill-the-dark.\n   What will you sing about,\n   Now the night is out?\"\n\n  \"I can only call;\n    I can't think.\n   Let me up--that's all.\n    Let me drink!\n   Thirsting all the long night\n   For a drink of light.\"\n\nBy this time the lark was standing on the edge of his nest and looking\nat the children.\n\n\"Poor little things! You can't fly,\" said the lark.\n\n\"No; but we can look up,\" said Tricksey.\n\n\"Ah, you don't know what it is to see the very first of the sun.\"\n\n\"But we know what it is to wait till he comes. He's no worse for your\nseeing him first, is he?\"\n\n\"Oh no, certainly not,\" answered the lark, with condescension, and\nthen, bursting into his _Jubilate_, he sprang aloft, clapping his wings\nlike a clock running down.\n\n\"Tell us where--\" began Buffy-Bob.\n\nBut the lark was out of sight. His song was all that was left of him.\nThat was everywhere, and he was nowhere.\n\n\"Selfish bird!\" said Buffy. \"It's all very well for larks to go hunting\nthe sun, but they have no business to despise their neighbours, for all\nthat.\"\n\n\"Can I be of any use to you?\" said a sweet bird-voice out of the nest.\n\nThis was the lark's wife, who stayed at home with the young larks while\nher husband went to church.\n\n\"Oh! thank you. If you please,\" answered Tricksey-Wee.\n\nAnd up popped a pretty brown head; and then up came a brown feathery\nbody; and last of all came the slender legs on to the edge of the nest.\nThere she turned, and, looking down into the nest, from which came a\nwhole litany of chirpings for breakfast, said, \"Lie still, little\nones.\" Then she turned to the children.\n\n\"My husband is King of the Larks,\" she said.\n\nBuffy-Bob took off his cap, and Tricksey-Wee courtesied very low.\n\n\"Oh, it's not me,\" said the bird, looking very shy. \"I am only his\nwife. It's my husband.\" And she looked up after him into the sky,\nwhence his song was still falling like a shower of musical hailstones.\nPerhaps _she_ could see him.\n\n\"He's a splendid bird,\" said Buffy-Bob; \"only you know he _will_ get up\na little too early.\"\n\n\"Oh, no! he doesn't. It's only his way, you know. But tell me what I\ncan do for you.\"\n\n\"Tell us, please, Lady Lark, where the she-eagle lives that sits on\nGiant Thunderthump's heart.\"\n\n\"Oh! that is a secret.\"\n\n\"Did you promise not to tell?\"\n\n\"No; but larks ought to be discreet. They see more than other birds.\"\n\n\"But you don't fly up high like your husband, do you?\"\n\n\"Not often. But it's no matter. I come to know things for all that.\"\n\n\"Do tell me, and I will sing you a song,\" said Tricksey-Wee.\n\n\"Can you sing too?--You have got no wings!\"\n\n\"Yes. And I will sing you a song I learned the other day about a lark\nand his wife.\"\n\n\"Please do,\" said the lark's wife. \"Be quiet, children, and listen.\"\n\nTricksey-Wee was very glad she happened to know a song which would\nplease the lark's wife, at least, whatever the lark himself might have\nthought of it, if he had heard it. So she sang,--\n\n  \"'Good morrow, my lord!' in the sky alone,\n   Sang the lark, as the sun ascended his throne.\n   'Shine on me, my lord; I only am come,\n   Of all your servants, to welcome you home.\n   I have flown a whole hour, right up, I swear,\n   To catch the first shine of your golden hair!'\n\n  \"'Must I thank you, then,' said the king, 'Sir Lark,\n   For flying so high, and hating the dark?\n   You ask a full cup for half a thirst:\n   Half is love of me, and half love to be first.\n   There's many a bird that makes no haste,\n   But waits till I come. That's as much to my taste.\n\n  \"And the king hid his head in a turban of cloud;\n   And the lark stopped singing, quite vexed and cowed.\n   But he flew up higher, and thought, 'Anon,\n   The wrath of the king will be over and gone,\n   And his crown, shining out of its cloudy fold,\n   Will change my brown feathers to a glory of gold.'\n\n  \"So he flew, with the strength of a lark he flew.\n   But as he rose, the cloud rose too;\n   And not a gleam of the golden hair\n   Came through the depth of the misty air;\n   Till, weary with flying, with sighing sore,\n   The strong sun-seeker could do no more.\n\n  \"His wings had had no chrism of gold,\n   And his feathers felt withered and worn and old;\n   So he quivered and sank, and dropped like a stone.\n   And there on his nest, where he left her, alone,\n   Sat his little wife on her little eggs,\n   Keeping them warm with wings and legs.\n\n  \"Did I say alone? Ah, no such thing!\n   Full in her face was shining the king.\n   'Welcome, Sir Lark! You look tired,' said he.\n   '_Up_ is not always the best way to me.\n   While you have been singing so high and away,\n   I've been shining to your little wife all day.'\n\n  \"He had set his crown all about the nest,\n   And out of the midst shone her little brown breast;\n   And so glorious was she in russet gold,\n   That for wonder and awe Sir Lark grew cold.\n   He popped his head under her wing, and lay\n   As still as a stone, till the king was away.\"\n\nAs soon as Tricksey-Wee had finished her song, the lark's wife began a\nlow, sweet, modest little song of her own; and after she had piped away\nfor two or three minutes, she said,--\n\n\"You dear children, what can I do for you?\"\n\n\"Tell us where the she-eagle lives, please,\" said Tricksey-Wee.\n\n\"Well, I don't think there can be much harm in telling such wise, good\nchildren,\" said Lady Lark; \"I am sure you don't want to do any\nmischief.\"\n\n\"Oh, no; quite the contrary,\" said Buffy-Bob.\n\n\"Then I'll tell you. She lives on the very topmost peak of Mount\nSkycrack; and the only way to get up is to climb on the spiders' webs\nthat cover it from top to bottom.\"\n\n\"That's rather serious,\" said Tricksey-Wee.\n\n\"But you don't want to go up, you foolish little thing! You can't go.\nAnd what do you want to go up for?\"\n\n\"That is a secret,\" said Tricksey-Wee.\n\n\"Well, it's no business of mine,\" rejoined Lady Lark, a little\noffended, and quite vexed that she had told them. So she flew away to\nfind some breakfast for her little ones, who by this time were chirping\nvery impatiently. The children looked at each other, joined hands, and\nwalked off.\n\nIn a minute more the sun was up, and they soon reached the outside of\nthe tree. The bark was so knobby and rough, and full of twigs, that\nthey managed to get down, though not without great difficulty. Then,\nfar away to the north, they saw a huge peak, like the spire of a\nchurch, going right up into the sky. They thought this must be Mount\nSkycrack, and turned their faces towards it. As they went on, they saw\na giant or two, now and then, striding about the fields or through the\nwoods, but they kept out of their way. Nor were they in much danger;\nfor it was only one or two of the border giants that were so very fond\nof children.\n\nAt last they came to the foot of Mount Skycrack. It stood in a plain\nalone, and shot right up, I don't know how many thousand feet, into the\nair, a long, narrow, spearlike mountain. The whole face of it, from top\nto bottom, was covered with a network of spiders' webs, with threads of\nvarious sizes, from that of silk to that of whipcord. The webs shook\nand quivered, and waved in the sun, glittering like silver. All about\nran huge greedy spiders, catching huge silly flies, and devouring them.\n\nHere they sat down to consider what could be done. The spiders did not\nheed them, but ate away at the flies.--Now, at the foot of the\nmountain, and all round it, was a ring of water, not very broad, but\nvery deep. As they sat watching them, one of the spiders, whose web was\nwoven across this water, somehow or other lost his hold, and fell in on\nhis back. Tricksey-Wee and Buffy-Bob ran to his assistance, and laying\nhold each of one of his legs, succeeded, with the help of the other\nlegs, which struggled spiderfully, in getting him out upon dry land. As\nsoon as he had shaken himself, and dried himself a little, the spider\nturned to the children, saying,--\n\n\"And now, what can I do for you?\"\n\n\"Tell us, please,\" said they, \"how we can get up the mountain to the\nshe-eagle's nest.\"\n\n\"Nothing is easier,\" answered the spider. \"Just run up there, and tell\nthem all I sent you, and nobody will mind you.\"\n\n\"But we haven't got claws like you, Mr. Spider,\" said Buffy.\n\n\"Ah! no more you have, poor unprovided creatures! Still, I think we can\nmanage it. Come home with me.\"\n\n\"You won't eat us, will you?\" said Buffy.\n\n\"My dear child,\" answered the spider, in a tone of injured dignity, \"I\neat nothing but what is mischievous or useless. You have helped me, and\nnow I will help you.\"\n\nThe children rose at once, and climbing as well as they could, reached\nthe spider's nest in the centre of the web. Nor did they find it very\ndifficult; for whenever too great a gap came, the spider spinning a\nstrong cord stretched it just where they would have chosen to put their\nfeet next. He left them in his nest, after bringing them two enormous\nhoney-bags, taken from bees that he had caught; but presently about six\nof the wisest of the spiders came back with him. It was rather horrible\nto look up and see them all round the mouth of the nest, looking down\non them in contemplation, as if wondering whether they would be nice\neating. At length one of them said,--\"Tell us truly what you want with\nthe eagle, and we will try to help you.\"\n\nThen Tricksey-Wee told them that there was a giant on the borders who\ntreated little children no better than radishes, and that they had\nnarrowly escaped being eaten by him; that they had found out that the\ngreat she-eagle of Mount Skycrack was at present sitting on his heart;\nand that, if they could only get hold of the heart, they would soon\nteach the giant better behaviour.\n\n\"But,\" said their host, \"if you get at the heart of the giant, you will\nfind it as large as one of your elephants. What can you do with it?\"\n\n\"The least scratch will kill it,\" replied Buffy-Bob.\n\n\"Ah! but you might do better than that,\" said the spider.--\"Now we have\nresolved to help you. Here is a little bag of spider-juice. The giants\ncannot bear spiders, and this juice is dreadful poison to them. We are\nall ready to go up with you, and drive the eagle away. Then you must\nput the heart into this other bag, and bring it down with you; for then\nthe giant will be in your power.\"\n\n\"But how can we do that?\" said Buffy. \"The bag is not much bigger than\na pudding-bag.\"\n\n\"But it is as large as you will be able to carry.\"\n\n\"Yes; but what are we to do with the heart?\"\n\n\"Put it in the bag, to be sure. Only, first, you must squeeze a drop\nout of the other bag upon it. You will see what will happen.\"\n\n\"Very well; we will do as you tell us,\" said Tricksey-Wee. \"And now, if\nyou please, how shall we go?\"\n\n\"Oh, that's our business,\" said the first spider. \"You come with me,\nand my grandfather will take your brother. Get up.\"\n\nSo Tricksey-Wee mounted on the narrow part of the spider's back, and\nheld fast. And Buffy-Bob got on the grandfather's back. And up they\nscrambled, over one web after another, up and up--so fast! And every\nspider followed; so that, when Tricksey-Wee looked back, she saw a\nwhole army of spiders scrambling after them.\n\n\"What can we want with so many?\" she thought; but she said nothing.\n\nThe moon was now up, and it was a splendid sight below and around them.\nAll Giantland was spread out under them, with its great hills, lakes,\ntrees, and animals. And all above them was the clear heaven, and Mount\nSkycrack rising into it, with its endless ladders of spider-webs,\nglittering like cords made of moonbeams. And up the moonbeams went,\ncrawling, and scrambling, and racing, a huge army of huge spiders.\n\nAt length they reached all but the very summit, where they stopped.\nTricksey-Wee and Buffy-Bob could see above them a great globe of\nfeathers, that finished off the mountain like an ornamental knob.\n\n\"But how shall we drive her off?\" said Buffy.\n\n\"We'll soon manage that,\" answered the grandfather-spider. \"Come on\nyou, down there.\"\n\nUp rushed the whole army, past the children, over the edge of the nest,\non to the she-eagle, and buried themselves in her feathers. In a moment\nshe became very restless, and went pecking about with her beak. All at\nonce she spread out her wings, with a sound like a whirlwind, and flew\noff to bathe in the sea; and then the spiders began to drop from her in\nall directions on their gossamer wings. The children had to hold fast\nto keep the wind of the eagle's flight from blowing them off. As soon\nas it was over, they looked into the nest, and there lay the giant's\nheart--an awful and ugly thing.\n\n\"Make haste, child!\" said Tricksey's spider.\n\nSo Tricksey took her bag, and squeezed a drop out of it upon the heart.\nShe thought she heard the giant give a far-off roar of pain, and she\nnearly fell from her seat with terror. The heart instantly began to\nshrink. It shrunk and shrivelled till it was nearly gone; and Buffy-Bob\ncaught it up and put it into his bag. Then the two spiders turned and\nwent down again as fast as they could. Before they got to the bottom,\nthey heard the shrieks of the she-eagle over the loss of her egg; but\nthe spiders told them not to be alarmed, for her eyes were too big to\nsee them.--By the time they reached the foot of the mountain, all the\nspiders had got home, and were busy again catching flies, as if nothing\nhad happened.\n\nAfter renewed thanks to their friends, the children set off, carrying\nthe giant's heart with them.\n\n\"If you should find it at all troublesome, just give it a little more\nspider-juice directly,\" said the grandfather, as they took their leave.\n\nNow, the giant had given an awful roar of pain the moment they anointed\nhis heart, and had fallen down in a fit, in which he lay so long that\nall the boys might have escaped if they had not been so fat. One did,\nand got home in safety. For days the giant was unable to speak. The\nfirst words he uttered were,--\n\n\"Oh, my heart! my heart!\"\n\n\"Your heart is safe enough, dear Thunderstump,\" said his wife. \"Really,\na man of your size ought not to be so nervous and apprehensive. I am\nashamed of you.\"\n\n\"You have no heart, Doodlem,\" answered he. \"I assure you that at this\nmoment mine is in the greatest danger. It has fallen into the hands of\nfoes, though who they are I cannot tell.\"\n\nHere he fainted again; for Tricksey-Wee, finding the heart begin to\nswell a little, had given it the least touch of spider-juice.\n\nAgain he recovered, and said,--\n\n\"Dear Doodlem, my heart is coming back to me. It is coming nearer and\nnearer.\"\n\nAfter lying silent for hours, he exclaimed,--\n\n\"It is in the house, I know!\"\n\nAnd he jumped up and walked about, looking in every corner.\n\nAs he rose, Tricksey-Wee and Buffy-Bob came out of the hole in the\ntree-root, and through the cat-hole in the door, and walked boldly\ntowards the giant. Both kept their eyes busy watching him. Led by the\nlove of his own heart, the giant soon spied them, and staggered\nfuriously towards them.\n\n\"I will eat you, you vermin!\" he cried. \"Here with my heart!\"\n\nTricksey gave the heart a sharp pinch. Down fell the giant on his\nknees, blubbering, and crying, and begging for his heart.\n\n\"You shall have it, if you behave yourself properly,\" said Tricksey.\n\n\"How shall I behave myself properly?\" asked he, whimpering.\n\n\"Take all those boys and girls, and carry them home at once.\"\n\n\"I'm not able; I'm too ill. I should fall down.\"\n\n\"Take them up directly.\"\n\n\"I can't, till you give me my heart.\"\n\n\"Very well!\" said Tricksey; and she gave the heart another pinch.\n\nThe giant jumped to his feet, and catching up all the children, thrust\nsome into his waistcoat pockets, some into his breast pocket, put two\nor three into his hat, and took a bundle of them under each arm. Then\nhe staggered to the door.\n\nAll this time poor Doodlem was sitting in her arm-chair, crying, and\nmending a white stocking.\n\nThe giant led the way to the borders. He could not go so fast but that\nBuffy and Tricksey managed to keep up with him. When they reached the\nborders, they thought it would be safer to let the children find their\nown way home. So they told him to set them down. He obeyed.\n\n\"Have you put them all down, Mr. Thunderthump?\" asked Tricksey-Wee.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the giant.\n\n\"That's a lie!\" squeaked a little voice; and out came a head from his\nwaistcoat pocket.\n\nTricksey-Wee pinched the heart till the giant roared with pain.\n\n\"You're not a gentleman. You tell stories,\" she said.\n\n\"He was the thinnest of the lot,\" said Thunderthump, crying.\n\n\"Are you all there now, children?\" asked Tricksey.\n\n\"Yes, ma'am,\" returned they, after counting themselves very carefully,\nand with some difficulty; for they were all stupid children.\n\n\"Now,\" said Tricksey-Wee to the giant, \"will you promise to carry off\nno more children, and never to eat a child again all you life?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes! I promise,\" answered Thunderthump, sobbing.\n\n\"And you will never cross the borders of Giantland?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"And you shall never again wear white stockings on a Sunday, all your\nlife long.--Do you promise?\"\n\nThe giant hesitated at this, and began to expostulate; but\nTricksey-Wee, believing it would be good for his morals, insisted;\nand the giant promised.\n\nThen she required of him, that, when she gave him back his heart, he\nshould give it to his wife to take care of for him for ever after.\n\nThe poor giant fell on his knees, and began again to beg. But\nTricksey-Wee giving the heart a slight pinch, he bawled out,--\n\n\"Yes, yes! Doodlem shall have it, I swear. Only she must not put it in\nthe flour-barrel, or in the dust-hole.\"\n\n\"Certainly not. Make your own bargain with her.--And you promise not to\ninterfere with my brother and me, or to take any revenge for what we\nhave done?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, my dear children; I promise everything. Do, pray, make haste\nand give me back my poor heart.\"\n\n\"Wait there, then, till I bring it to you.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes. Only make haste, for I feel very faint.\"\n\nTricksey-Wee began to undo the mouth of the bag. But Buffy-Bob, who had\ngot very knowing on his travels, took out his knife with the pretence\nof cutting the string; but, in reality, to be prepared for any\nemergency.\n\nNo sooner was the heart out of the bag, than it expanded to the size of\na bullock; and the giant, with a yell of rage and vengeance, rushed on\nthe two children, who had stepped sideways from the terrible heart. But\nBuffy-Bob was too quick for Thunderthump. He sprang to the heart, and\nburied his knife in it, up to the hilt. A fountain of blood spouted\nfrom it; and with a dreadful groan the giant fell dead at the feet of\nlittle Tricksey-Wee, who could not help being sorry for him after all.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOLDEN KEY.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThere was a boy who used to sit in the twilight and listen to his\ngreat-aunt's stories.\n\nShe told him that if he could reach the place where the end of the\nrainbow stands he would find there a golden key.\n\n\"And what is the key for?\" the boy would ask. \"What is it the key of?\nWhat will it open?\"\n\n\"That nobody knows,\" his aunt would reply. \"He has to find that out.\"\n\n\"I suppose, being gold,\" the boy once said, thoughtfully, \"that I could\nget a good deal of money for it if I sold it.\"\n\n\"Better never find it than sell it,\" returned his aunt. And then the\nboy went to bed and dreamed about the golden key.\n\nNow, all that his great-aunt told the boy about the golden key would\nhave been nonsense, had it not been that their little house stood on\nthe borders of Fairyland. For it is perfectly well known that out of\nFairyland nobody ever can find where the rainbow stands. The creature\ntakes such good care of its golden key, always flitting from place to\nplace, lest anyone should find it! But in Fairyland it is quite\ndifferent. Things that look real in this country look very thin indeed\nin Fairyland, while some of the things that here cannot stand still for\na moment, will not move there. So it was not in the least absurd of the\nold lady to tell her nephew such things about the golden key.\n\n\"Did you ever know anybody find it?\" he asked one evening.\n\n\"Yes. Your father, I believe, found it.\"\n\n\"And what did he do with it, can you tell me?\"\n\n\"He never told me.\"\n\n\"What was it like?\"\n\n\"He never showed it to me.\"\n\n\"How does a new key come there always?\"\n\n\"I don't know. There it is.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it is the rainbow's egg.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it is. You will be a happy boy if you find the nest.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it comes tumbling down the rainbow from the sky.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it does.\"\n\nOne evening, in summer, he went into his own room, and stood at the\nlattice-window, and gazed into the forest which fringed the outskirts\nof Fairyland. It came close up to his great-aunt's garden, and, indeed,\nsent some straggling trees into it. The forest lay to the east, and the\nsun, which was setting behind the cottage, looked straight into the\ndark wood with his level red eye. The trees were all old, and had few\nbranches below, so that the sun could see a great way into the forest;\nand the boy, being keen-sighted, could see almost as far as the sun.\nThe trunks stood like rows of red columns in the shine of the red sun,\nand he could see down aisle after aisle in the vanishing distance. And\nas he gazed into the forest he began to feel as if the trees were all\nwaiting for him, and had something they could not go on with till he\ncame to them. But he was hungry, and wanted his supper. So he lingered.\n\nSuddenly, far among the trees, as far as the sun could shine, he saw a\nglorious thing. It was the end of a rainbow, large and brilliant. He\ncould count all the seven colours, and could see shade after shade\nbeyond the violet; while before the red stood a colour more gorgeous\nand mysterious still. It was a colour he had never seen before. Only\nthe spring of the rainbow-arch was visible. He could see nothing of it\nabove the trees.\n\n\"The golden key!\" he said to himself, and darted out of the house, and\ninto the wood.\n\nHe had not gone far before the sun set. But the rainbow only glowed the\nbrighter: for the rainbow of Fairyland is not dependent upon the sun as\nours is. The trees welcomed him. The bushes made way for him. The\nrainbow grew larger and brighter; and at length he found himself within\ntwo trees of it.\n\nIt was a grand sight, burning away there in silence, with its gorgeous,\nits lovely, its delicate colours, each distinct, all combining. He\ncould now see a great deal more of it. It rose high into the blue\nheavens, but bent so little that he could not tell how high the crown\nof the arch must reach. It was still only a small portion of a huge\nbow.\n\nHe stood gazing at it till he forgot himself with delight--even forgot\nthe key which he had come to seek. And as he stood it grew more\nwonderful still. For in each of the colours, which was as large as the\ncolumn of a church, he could faintly see beautiful forms slowly\nascending as if by the steps of a winding stair. The forms appeared\nirregularly--now one, now many, now several, now none--men and women\nand children--all different, all beautiful.\n\nHe drew nearer to the rainbow. It vanished. He started back a step in\ndismay. It was there again, as beautiful as ever. So he contented\nhimself with standing as near it as he might, and watching the forms\nthat ascended the glorious colours towards the unknown height of the\narch, which did not end abruptly, but faded away in the blue air, so\ngradually that he could not say where it ceased.\n\nWhen the thought of the golden key returned, the boy very wisely\nproceeded to mark out in his mind the space covered by the foundation\nof the rainbow, in order that he might know where to search, should the\nrainbow disappear. It was based chiefly upon a bed of moss.\n\nMeantime it had grown quite dark in the wood. The rainbow alone was\nvisible by its own light. But the moment the moon rose the rainbow\nvanished. Nor could any change of place restore the vision to the boy's\neyes. So he threw himself down upon the mossy bed, to wait till the\nsunlight would give him a chance of finding the key. There he fell fast\nasleep.\n\nWhen he woke in the morning the sun was looking straight into his eyes.\nHe turned away from it, and the same moment saw a brilliant little\nthing lying on the moss within a foot of his face. It was the golden\nkey. The pipe of it was of plain gold, as bright as gold could be. The\nhandle was curiously wrought and set with sapphires. In a terror of\ndelight he put out his hand and took it, and had it.\n\nHe lay for a while, turning it over and over, and feeding his eyes upon\nits beauty. Then he jumped to his feet, remembering that the pretty\nthing was of no use to him yet. Where was the lock to which the key\nbelonged? It must be somewhere, for how could anybody be so silly as\nmake a key for which there was no lock? Where should he go to look for\nit? He gazed about him, up into the air, down to the earth, but saw no\nkeyhole in the clouds, in the grass, or in the trees.\n\nJust as he began to grow disconsolate, however, he saw something\nglimmering in the wood. It was a mere glimmer that he saw, but he took\nit for a glimmer of rainbow, and went towards it.--And now I will go\nback to the borders of the forest.\n\nNot far from the house where the boy had lived there was another house,\nthe owner of which was a merchant, who was much away from home. He had\nlost his wife some years before, and had only one child, a little girl,\nwhom he left to the charge of two servants, who were very idle and\ncareless. So she was neglected and left untidy, and was sometimes\nill-used besides.\n\nNow, it is well known that the little creatures commonly called\nfairies, though there are many different kinds of fairies in Fairyland,\nhave an exceeding dislike to untidiness. Indeed, they are quite\nspiteful to slovenly people. Being used to all the lovely ways of the\ntrees and flowers, and to the neatness of the birds and all woodland\ncreatures, it makes them feel miserable, even in their deep woods and\non their grassy carpets, to think that within the same moonlight lies a\ndirty, uncomfortable, slovenly house. And this makes them angry with\nthe people that live in it, and they would gladly drive them out of the\nworld if they could. They want the whole earth nice and clean. So they\npinch the maids black and blue, and play them all manner of\nuncomfortable tricks.\n\nBut this house was quite a shame, and the fairies in the forest could\nnot endure it. They tried everything on the maids without effect, and\nat last resolved upon making a clean riddance, beginning with the\nchild. They ought to have known that it was not her fault, but they\nhave little principle and much mischief in them, and they thought that\nif they got rid of her the maids would be sure to be turned away.\n\nSo one evening, the poor little girl having been put to bed early,\nbefore the sun was down, the servants went off to the village, locking\nthe door behind them. The child did not know she was alone, and lay\ncontentedly looking out of her window towards the forest, of which,\nhowever, she could not see much, because of the ivy and other creeping\nplants which had straggled across her window. All at once she saw an\nape making faces at her out of the mirror, and the heads carved upon a\ngreat old wardrobe grinning fearfully. Then two old spider-legged\nchairs came forward into the middle of the room, and began to dance a\nqueer, old-fashioned dance. This set her laughing, and she forgot the\nape and the grinning heads. So the fairies saw they had made a mistake,\nand sent the chairs back to their places. But they knew that she had\nbeen reading the story of Silverhair all day. So the next moment she\nheard the voices of the three bears upon the stair, big voice, middle\nvoice, and little voice, and she heard their soft, heavy tread, as if\nthey had had stockings over their boots, coming nearer and nearer to\nthe door of her room, till she could bear it no longer. She did just as\nSilverhair did, and as the fairies wanted her to do: she darted to the\nwindow, pulled it open, got upon the ivy, and so scrambled to the\nground. She then fled to the forest as fast as she could run.\n\nNow, although she did not know it, this was the very best way she could\nhave gone; for nothing is ever so mischievous in its own place as it is\nout of it; and, besides, these mischievous creatures were only the\nchildren of Fairyland, as it were, and there are many other beings\nthere as well; and if a wanderer gets in among them, the good ones will\nalways help him more than the evil ones will be able to hurt him.\n\nThe sun was now set, and the darkness coming on, but the child thought\nof no danger but the bears behind her. If she had looked round,\nhowever, she would have seen that she was followed by a very different\ncreature from a bear. It was a curious creature, made like a fish, but\ncovered, instead of scales, with feathers of all colours, sparkling\nlike those of a humming-bird. It had fins, not wings, and swam through\nthe air as a fish does through the water. Its head was like the head of\na small owl.\n\nAfter running a long way, and as the last of the light was\ndisappearing, she passed under a tree with drooping branches. It\ndropped its branches to the ground all about her, and caught her as in\na trap. She struggled to get out, but the branches pressed her closer\nand closer to the trunk. She was in great terror and distress, when the\nair-fish, swimming into the thicket of branches, began tearing them\nwith its beak. They loosened their hold at once, and the creature went\non attacking them, till at length they let the child go. Then the\nair-fish came from behind her, and swam on in front, glittering and\nsparkling all lovely colours; and she followed.\n\nIt led her gently along till all at once it swam in at a cottage-door.\nThe child followed still. There was a bright fire in the middle of the\nfloor, upon which stood a pot without a lid, full of water that boiled\nand bubbled furiously. The air-fish swam straight to the pot and into\nthe boiling water, where it lay quiet. A beautiful woman rose from the\nopposite side of the fire and came to meet the girl. She took her up in\nher arms, and said,--\n\n\"Ah, you are come at last! I have been looking for you a long time.\"\n\nShe sat down with her on her lap, and there the girl sat staring at\nher. She had never seen anything so beautiful. She was tall and strong,\nwith white arms and neck, and a delicate flush on her face. The child\ncould not tell what was the colour of her hair, but could not help\nthinking it had a tinge of dark green. She had not one ornament upon\nher, but she looked as if she had just put off quantities of diamonds\nand emeralds. Yet here she was in the simplest, poorest little cottage,\nwhere she was evidently at home. She was dressed in shining green.\n\nThe girl looked at the lady, and the lady looked at the girl.\n\n\"What is your name?\" asked the lady.\n\n\"The servants always call me Tangle.\"\n\n\"Ah, that was because your hair was so untidy. But that was their\nfault, the naughty women! Still it is a pretty name, and I will call\nyou Tangle too. You must not mind my asking you questions, for you may\nask me the same questions, every one of them, and any others that you\nlike. How old are you?\"\n\n\"Ten,\" answered Tangle.\n\n\"You don't look like it,\" said the lady.\n\n\"How old are you, please?\" returned Tangle.\n\n\"Thousands of years old,\" answered the lady.\n\n\"You don't look like it,\" said Tangle.\n\n\"Don't I? I think I do. Don't you see how beautiful I am?\"\n\nAnd her great blue eyes looked down on the little Tangle, as if all the\nstars in the sky were melted in them to make their brightness.\n\n\"Ah! but,\" said Tangle, \"when people live long they grow old. At least\nI always thought so.\"\n\n\"I have no time to grow old,\" said the lady. \"I am too busy for that.\nIt is very idle to grow old.--But I cannot have my little girl so\nuntidy. Do you know I can't find a clean spot on your face to kiss?\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" suggested Tangle, feeling ashamed, but not too much so to\nsay a word for herself--\"perhaps that is because the tree made me cry\nso.\"\n\n\"My poor darling!\" said the lady, looking now as if the moon were\nmelted in her eyes, and kissing her little face, dirty as it was, \"the\nnaughty tree must suffer for making a girl cry.\"\n\n\"And what is your name, please?\" asked Tangle.\n\n\"Grandmother,\" answered the lady.\n\n\"Is it really?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed. I never tell stories, even in fun.\"\n\n\"How good of you!\"\n\n\"I couldn't if I tried. It would come true if I said it, and then I\nshould be punished enough.\" And she smiled like the sun through a\nsummer-shower.\n\n\"But now,\" she went on, \"I must get you washed and dressed, and then we\nshall have some supper.\"\n\n\"Oh! I had supper long ago,\" said Tangle.\n\n\"Yes, indeed you had,\" answered the lady--\"three years ago. You don't\nknow that it is three years since you ran away from the bears. You are\nthirteen and more now.\"\n\nTangle could only stare. She felt quite sure it was true.\n\n\"You will not be afraid of anything I do with you--will you?\" said the\nlady.\n\n\"I will try very hard not to be; but I can't be certain, you know,\"\nreplied Tangle.\n\n\"I like your saying so, and I shall be quite satisfied,\" answered the\nlady.\n\nShe took off the girl's night-gown, rose with her in her arms, and\ngoing to the wall of the cottage, opened a door. Then Tangle saw a deep\ntank, the sides of which were filled with green plants, which had\nflowers of all colours. There was a roof over it like the roof of the\ncottage. It was filled with beautiful clear water, in which swam a\nmultitude of such fishes as the one that had led her to the cottage. It\nwas the light their colours gave that showed the place in which they\nwere.\n\nThe lady spoke some words Tangle could not understand, and threw her\ninto the tank.\n\nThe fishes came crowding about her. Two or three of them got under her\nhead and kept it up. The rest of them rubbed themselves all over her,\nand with their wet feathers washed her quite clean. Then the lady, who\nhad been looking on all the time, spoke again; whereupon some thirty or\nforty of the fishes rose out of the water underneath Tangle, and so\nbore her up to the arms the lady held out to take her. She carried her\nback to the fire, and, having dried her well, opened a chest, and\ntaking out the finest linen garments, smelling of grass and lavender,\nput them upon her, and over all a green dress, just like her own,\nshining like hers, and soft like hers, and going into just such lovely\nfolds from the waist, where it was tied with a brown cord, to her bare\nfeet.\n\n\"Won't you give me a pair of shoes too, Grandmother?\" said Tangle.\n\n\"No, my dear; no shoes. Look here. I wear no shoes.\"\n\nSo saying she lifted her dress a little, and there were the loveliest\nwhite feet, but no shoes. Then Tangle was content to go without shoes\ntoo. And the lady sat down with her again, and combed her hair, and\nbrushed it, and then left it to dry while she got the supper.\n\nFirst she got bread out of one hole in the wall; then milk out of\nanother; then several kinds of fruit out of a third; and then she went\nto the pot on the fire, and took out the fish, now nicely cooked, and,\nas soon as she had pulled off its feathered skin, ready to be eaten.\n\n\"But,\" exclaimed Tangle. And she stared at the fish, and could say no\nmore.\n\n\"I know what you mean,\" returned the lady. \"You do not like to eat the\nmessenger that brought you home. But it is the kindest return you can\nmake. The creature was afraid to go until it saw me put the pot on, and\nheard me promise it should be boiled the moment it returned with you.\nThen it darted out of the door at once. You saw it go into the pot of\nitself the moment it entered, did you not?\"\n\n\"I did,\" answered Tangle, \"and I thought it very strange; but then I\nsaw you, and forgot all about the fish.\"\n\n\"In Fairyland,\" resumed the lady, as they sat down to the table, \"the\nambition of the animals is to be eaten by the people; for that is their\nhighest end in that condition. But they are not therefore destroyed.\nOut of that pot comes something more than the dead fish, you will see.\"\n\nTangle now remarked that the lid was on the pot. But the lady took no\nfurther notice of it till they had eaten the fish, which Tangle found\nnicer than any fish she had ever tasted before. It was as white as\nsnow, and as delicate as cream. And the moment she had swallowed a\nmouthful of it, a change she could not describe began to take place in\nher. She heard a murmuring all about her, which became more and more\narticulate, and at length, as she went on eating, grew intelligible. By\nthe time she had finished her share, the sounds of all the animals in\nthe forest came crowding through the door to her ears; for the door\nstill stood wide open, though it was pitch dark outside; and they were\nno longer sounds only; they were speech, and speech that she could\nunderstand. She could tell what the insects in the cottage were saying\nto each other too. She had even a suspicion that the trees and flowers\nall about the cottage were holding midnight communications with each\nother; but what they said she could not hear.\n\nAs soon as the fish was eaten, the lady went to the fire and took the\nlid off the pot. A lovely little creature in human shape, with large\nwhite wings, rose out of it, and flew round and round the roof of the\ncottage; then dropped, fluttering, and nestled in the lap of the lady.\nShe spoke to it some strange words, carried it to the door, and threw\nit out into the darkness. Tangle heard the flapping of its wings die\naway in the distance.\n\n\"Now have we done the fish any harm?\" she said, returning.\n\n\"No,\" answered Tangle, \"I do not think we have. I should not mind\neating one every day.\"\n\n\"They must wait their time, like you and me too, my little Tangle.\"\n\nAnd she smiled a smile which the sadness in it made more lovely.\n\n\"But,\" she continued, \"I think we may have one for supper to-morrow.\"\n\nSo saying she went to the door of the tank, and spoke; and now Tangle\nunderstood her perfectly.\n\n\"I want one of you,\" she said,--\"the wisest.\"\n\nThereupon the fishes got together in the middle of the tank, with their\nheads forming a circle above the water, and their tails a larger circle\nbeneath it. They were holding a council, in which their relative wisdom\nshould be determined. At length one of them flew up into the lady's\nhand, looking lively and ready.\n\n\"You know where the rainbow stands?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes, Mother, quite well,\" answered the fish.\n\n\"Bring home a young man you will find there, who does not know where to\ngo.\"\n\nThe fish was out of the door in a moment. Then the lady told Tangle it\nwas time to go to bed; and, opening another door in the side of the\ncottage, showed her a little arbour, cool and green, with a bed of\npurple heath growing in it, upon which she threw a large wrapper made\nof the feathered skins of the wise fishes, shining gorgeous in the\nfirelight.\n\nTangle was soon lost in the strangest, loveliest dreams. And the\nbeautiful lady was in every one of her dreams.\n\nIn the morning she woke to the rustling of leaves over her head, and\nthe sound of running water. But, to her surprise, she could find no\ndoor--nothing but the moss-grown wall of the cottage. So she crept\nthrough an opening in the arbour, and stood in the forest. Then she\nbathed in a stream that ran merrily through the trees, and felt\nhappier; for having once been in her grandmother's pond, she must be\nclean and tidy ever after; and, having put on her green dress, felt\nlike a lady.\n\nShe spent that day in the wood, listening to the birds and beasts and\ncreeping things. She understood all that they said, though she could\nnot repeat a word of it; and every kind had a different language, while\nthere was a common though more limited understanding between all the\ninhabitants of the forest. She saw nothing of the beautiful lady, but\nshe felt that she was near her all the time; and she took care not to\ngo out of sight of the cottage. It was round, like a snow-hut or a\nwigwam; and she could see neither door nor window in it. The fact was,\nit had no windows; and though it was full of doors, they all opened\nfrom the inside, and could not even be seen from the outside.\n\nShe was standing at the foot of a tree in the twilight, listening to a\nquarrel between a mole and a squirrel, in which the mole told the\nsquirrel that the tail was the best of him, and the squirrel called the\nmole Spade-fists, when, the darkness having deepened around her, she\nbecame aware of something shining in her face, and looking round, saw\nthat the door of the cottage was open, and the red light of the fire\nflowing from it like a river through the darkness. She left Mole and\nSquirrel to settle matters as they might, and darted off to the\ncottage. Entering, she found the pot boiling on the fire, and the\ngrand, lovely lady sitting on the other side of it.\n\n\"I've been watching you all day,\" said the lady. \"You shall have\nsomething to eat by and by, but we must wait till our supper comes\nhome.\"\n\nShe took Tangle on her knee, and began to sing to her--such songs as\nmade her wish she could listen to them for ever. But at length in\nrushed the shining fish, and snuggled down in the pot. It was followed\nby a youth who had outgrown his worn garments. His face was ruddy with\nhealth, and in his hand he carried a little jewel, which sparkled in\nthe firelight.\n\nThe first words the lady said were,--\n\n\"What is that in your hand, Mossy?\"\n\nNow Mossy was the name his companions had given him, because he had a\nfavourite stone covered with moss, on which he used to sit whole days\nreading; and they said the moss had begun to grow upon him too.\n\nMossy held out his hand. The moment the lady saw that it was the golden\nkey, she rose from her chair, kissed Mossy on the forehead, made him\nsit down on her seat, and stood before him like a servant. Mossy could\nnot bear this, and rose at once. But the lady begged him, with tears in\nher beautiful eyes, to sit, and let her wait on him.\n\n\"But you are a great, splendid, beautiful lady,\" said Mossy.\n\n\"Yes, I am. But I work all day long--that is my pleasure; and you will\nhave to leave me so soon!\"\n\n\"How do you know that, if you please, madam?\" asked Mossy.\n\n\"Because you have got the golden key.\"\n\n\"But I don't know what it is for. I can't find the key-hole. Will you\ntell me what to do?\"\n\n\"You must look for the key-hole. That is your work. I cannot help you.\nI can only tell you that if you look for it you will find it.\"\n\n\"What kind of box will it open? What is there inside?\"\n\n\"I do not know. I dream about it, but I know nothing.\"\n\n\"Must I go at once?\"\n\n\"You may stop here to-night, and have some of my supper. But you must\ngo in the morning. All I can do for you is to give you clothes. Here is\na girl called Tangle, whom you must take with you.\"\n\n\"That _will_ be nice,\" said Mossy.\n\n\"No, no!\" said Tangle. \"I don't want to leave you, please,\nGrandmother.\"\n\n\"You must go with him, Tangle. I am sorry to lose you, but it will be\nthe best thing for you. Even the fishes, you see, have to go into the\npot, and then out into the dark. If you fall in with the Old Man of the\nSea, mind you ask him whether he has not got some more fishes ready for\nme. My tank is getting thin.\"\n\nSo saying, she took the fish from the pot, and put the lid on as\nbefore. They sat down and ate the fish, and then the winged creature\nrose from the pot, circled the roof, and settled on the lady's lap. She\ntalked to it, carried it to the door, and threw it out into the dark.\nThey heard the flap of its wings die away in the distance.\n\nThe lady then showed Mossy into just such another chamber as that of\nTangle; and in the morning he found a suit of clothes laid beside him.\nHe looked very handsome in them. But the wearer of Grandmother's\nclothes never thinks about how he or she looks, but thinks always how\nhandsome other people are.\n\nTangle was very unwilling to go.\n\n\"Why should I leave you? I don't know the young man,\" she said to the\nlady.\n\n\"I am never allowed to keep my children long. You need not go with him\nexcept you please, but you must go some day; and I should like you to\ngo with him, for he has the golden key. No girl need be afraid to go\nwith a youth that has the golden key. You will take care of her, Mossy,\nwill you not?\"\n\n\"That I will,\" said Mossy.\n\nAnd Tangle cast a glance at him, and thought she should like to go with\nhim.\n\n\"And,\" said the lady, \"if you should lose each other as you go through\nthe--the--I never can remember the name of that country,--do not be\nafraid, but go on and on.\"\n\nShe kissed Tangle on the mouth and Mossy on the forehead, led them to\nthe door, and waved her hand eastward. Mossy and Tangle took each\nother's hand and walked away into the depth of the forest. In his right\nhand Mossy held the golden key.\n\nThey wandered thus a long way, with endless amusement from the talk of\nthe animals. They soon learned enough of their language to ask them\nnecessary questions. The squirrels were always friendly, and gave them\nnuts out of their own hoards; but the bees were selfish and rude,\njustifying themselves on the ground that Tangle and Mossy were not\nsubjects of their queen, and charity must begin at home, though indeed\nthey had not one drone in their poorhouse at the time. Even the\nblinking moles would fetch them an earth-nut or a truffle now and then,\ntalking as if their mouths, as well as their eyes and ears, were full\nof cotton wool, or their own velvety fur. By the time they got out of\nthe forest they were very fond of each other, and Tangle was not in the\nleast sorry that her grandmother had sent her away with Mossy.\n\nAt length the trees grew smaller, and stood farther apart, and the\nground began to rise, and it got more and more steep, till the trees\nwere all left behind, and the two were climbing a narrow path with\nrocks on each side. Suddenly they came upon a rude doorway, by which\nthey entered a narrow gallery cut in the rock. It grew darker and\ndarker, till it was pitch-dark, and they had to feel their way. At\nlength the light began to return, and at last they came out upon a\nnarrow path on the face of a lofty precipice. This path went winding\ndown the rock to a wide plain, circular in shape, and surrounded on all\nsides by mountains. Those opposite to them were a great way off, and\ntowered to an awful height, shooting up sharp, blue, ice-enamelled\npinnacles. An utter silence reigned where they stood. Not even the\nsound of water reached them.\n\nLooking down, they could not tell whether the valley below was a grassy\nplain or a great still lake. They had never seen any space look like\nit. The way to it was difficult and dangerous, but down the narrow path\nthey went, and reached the bottom in safety. They found it composed of\nsmooth, light-coloured sandstone, undulating in parts, but mostly\nlevel. It was no wonder to them now that they had not been able to tell\nwhat it was, for this surface was everywhere crowded with shadows. The\nmass was chiefly made up of the shadows of leaves innumerable, of all\nlovely and imaginative forms, waving to and fro, floating and quivering\nin the breath of a breeze whose motion was unfelt, whose sound was\nunheard. No forests clothed the mountain-sides, no trees were anywhere\nto be seen, and yet the shadows of the leaves, branches, and stems of\nall various trees covered the valley as far as their eyes could reach.\nThey soon spied the shadows of flowers mingled with those of the\nleaves, and now and then the shadow of a bird with open beak, and\nthroat distended with song. At times would appear the forms of strange,\ngraceful creatures, running up and down the shadow-boles and along the\nbranches, to disappear in the wind-tossed foliage. As they walked they\nwaded knee-deep in the lovely lake. For the shadows were not merely\nlying on the surface of the ground, but heaped up above it like\nsubstantial forms of darkness, as if they had been cast upon a thousand\ndifferent planes of the air. Tangle and Mossy often lifted their heads\nand gazed upwards to discry whence the shadows came; but they could see\nnothing more than a bright mist spread above them, higher than the tops\nof the mountains, which stood clear against it. No forests, no leaves,\nno birds were visible.\n\nAfter a while, they reached more open spaces, where the shadows were\nthinner; and came even to portions over which shadows only flitted,\nleaving them clear for such as might follow. Now a wonderful form, half\nbird-like half human, would float across on outspread sailing pinions.\nAnon an exquisite shadow group of gambolling children would be followed\nby the loveliest female form, and that again by the grand stride of a\nTitanic shape, each disappearing in the surrounding press of shadowy\nfoliage. Sometimes a profile of unspeakable beauty or grandeur would\nappear for a moment and vanish. Sometimes they seemed lovers that\npassed linked arm in arm, sometimes father and son, sometimes brothers\nin loving contest, sometimes sisters entwined in gracefullest community\nof complex form. Sometimes wild horses would tear across, free, or\nbestrode by noble shadows of ruling men. But some of the things which\npleased them most they never knew how to describe.\n\nAbout the middle of the plain they sat down to rest in the heart of a\nheap of shadows. After sitting for a while, each, looking up, saw the\nother in tears: they were each longing after the country whence the\nshadows fell.\n\n\"We _must_ find the country from which the shadows come,\" said Mossy.\n\n\"We must, dear Mossy,\" responded Tangle. \"What if your golden key\nshould be the key to _it_?\"\n\n\"Ah! that would be grand,\" returned Mossy.--\"But we must rest here for\na little, and then we shall be able to cross the plain before night.\"\n\nSo he lay down on the ground, and about him on every side, and over his\nhead, was the constant play of the wonderful shadows. He could look\nthrough them, and see the one behind the other, till they mixed in a\nmass of darkness. Tangle, too, lay admiring, and wondering, and longing\nafter the country whence the shadows came. When they were rested they\nrose and pursued their journey.\n\nHow long they were in crossing this plain I cannot tell; but before\nnight Mossy's hair was streaked with gray, and Tangle had got wrinkles\non her forehead.\n\nAs evening grew on, the shadows fell deeper and rose higher. At length\nthey reached a place where they rose above their heads, and made all\ndark around them. Then they took hold of each other's hand, and walked\non in silence and in some dismay. They felt the gathering darkness, and\nsomething strangely solemn besides, and the beauty of the shadows\nceased to delight them. All at once Tangle found that she had not a\nhold of Mossy's hand, though when she lost it she could not tell.\n\n\"Mossy, Mossy!\" she cried aloud in terror.\n\nBut no Mossy replied.\n\nA moment after, the shadows sank to her feet, and down under her feet,\nand the mountains rose before her. She turned towards the gloomy region\nshe had left, and called once more upon Mossy. There the gloom lay\ntossing and heaving, a dark, stormy, foamless sea of shadows, but no\nMossy rose out of it, or came climbing up the hill on which she stood.\nShe threw herself down and wept in despair.\n\nSuddenly she remembered that the beautiful lady had told them, if they\nlost each other in a country of which she could not remember the name,\nthey were not to be afraid, but to go straight on.\n\n\"And besides,\" she said to herself, \"Mossy has the golden key, and so\nno harm will come to him, I do believe.\"\n\nShe rose from the ground, and went on.\n\nBefore long she arrived at a precipice, in the face of which a stair\nwas cut. When she had ascended half-way, the stair ceased, and the path\nled straight into the mountain. She was afraid to enter, and turning\nagain towards the stair, grew giddy at sight of the depth beneath her,\nand was forced to throw herself down in the mouth of the cave.\n\nWhen she opened her eyes, she saw a beautiful little figure with wings\nstanding beside her, waiting.\n\n\"I know you,\" said Tangle. \"You are my fish.\"\n\n\"Yes. But I am a fish no longer. I am an aeranth now.\"\n\n\"What is that?\" asked Tangle.\n\n\"What you see I am,\" answered the shape. \"And I am come to lead you\nthrough the mountain.\"\n\n\"Oh! thank you, dear fish--aeranth, I mean,\" returned Tangle, rising.\n\nThereupon the aeranth took to his wings, and flew on through the long,\nnarrow passage, reminding Tangle very much of the way he had swum on\nbefore her when he was a fish. And the moment his white wings moved,\nthey began to throw off a continuous shower of sparks of all colours,\nwhich lighted up the passage before them.--All at once he vanished, and\nTangle heard a low, sweet sound, quite different from the rush and\ncrackle of his wings. Before her was an open arch, and through it came\nlight, mixed with the sound of sea-waves.\n\nShe hurried out, and fell, tired and happy, upon the yellow sand of the\nshore. There she lay, half asleep with weariness and rest, listening to\nthe low plash and retreat of the tiny waves, which seemed ever enticing\nthe land to leave off being land, and become sea. And as she lay, her\neyes were fixed upon the foot of a great rainbow standing far away\nagainst the sky on the other side of the sea. At length she fell fast\nasleep.\n\nWhen she awoke, she saw an old man with long white hair down to his\nshoulders, leaning upon a stick covered with green buds, and so bending\nover her.\n\n\"What do you want here, beautiful woman?\" he said.\n\n\"Am I beautiful? I am so glad!\" said Tangle, rising. \"My grandmother is\nbeautiful.\"\n\n\"Yes. But what do you want?\" he repeated, kindly.\n\n\"I think I want you. Are not you the Old Man of the Sea?\"\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"Then Grandmother says, have you any more fishes ready for her?\"\n\n\"We will go and see, my dear,\" answered the old man, speaking yet more\nkindly than before. \"And I can do something for you, can I not?\"\n\n\"Yes--show me the way up to the country from which the shadows fall,\"\nsaid Tangle.\n\nFor there she hoped to find Mossy again.\n\n\"Ah! indeed, that would be worth doing,\" said the old man. \"But I\ncannot, for I do not know the way myself. But I will send you to the\nOld Man of the Earth. Perhaps he can tell you. He is much older than I\nam.\"\n\nLeaning on his staff, he conducted her along the shore to a steep rock,\nthat looked like a petrified ship turned upside down. The door of it\nwas the rudder of a great vessel, ages ago at the bottom of the sea.\nImmediately within the door was a stair in the rock, down which the old\nman went, and Tangle followed. At the bottom the old man had his house,\nand there he lived.\n\nAs soon as she entered it, Tangle heard a strange noise, unlike\nanything she had ever heard before. She soon found that it was the\nfishes talking. She tried to understand what they said; but their\nspeech was so old-fashioned, and rude, and undefined, that she could\nnot make much of it.\n\n\"I will go and see about those fishes for my daughter,\" said the Old\nMan of the Sea.\n\nAnd moving a slide in the wall of his house, he first looked out, and\nthen tapped upon a thick piece of crystal that filled the round\nopening. Tangle came up behind him, and peeping through the window into\nthe heart of the great deep green ocean, saw the most curious\ncreatures, some very ugly, all very odd, and with especially queer\nmouths, swimming about everywhere, above and below, but all coming\ntowards the window in answer to the tap of the Old Man of the Sea. Only\na few could get their mouths against the glass; but those who were\nfloating miles away yet turned their heads towards it. The old man\nlooked through the whole flock carefully for some minutes, and then\nturning to Tangle, said,--\n\n\"I am sorry I have not got one ready yet. I want more time than she\ndoes. But I will send some as soon as I can.\"\n\nHe then shut the slide.\n\nPresently a great noise arose in the sea. The old man opened the slide\nagain, and tapped on the glass, whereupon the fishes were all as still\nas sleep.\n\n\"They were only talking about you,\" he said. \"And they do speak such\nnonsense!--To-morrow,\" he continued, \"I must show you the way to the\nOld Man of the Earth. He lives a long way from here.\"\n\n\"Do let me go at once,\" said Tangle.\n\n\"No. That is not possible. You must come this way first.\"\n\nHe led her to a hole in the wall, which she had not observed before. It\nwas covered with the green leaves and white blossoms of a creeping\nplant.\n\n\"Only white-blossoming plants can grow under the sea,\" said the old\nman. \"In there you will find a bath, in which you must lie till I call\nyou.\"\n\nTangle went in, and found a smaller room or cave, in the further corner\nof which was a great basin hollowed out of a rock, and half-full of the\nclearest sea-water. Little streams were constantly running into it from\ncracks in the wall of the cavern. It was polished quite smooth inside,\nand had a carpet of yellow sand in the bottom of it. Large green leaves\nand white flowers of various plants crowded up and over it, draping and\ncovering it almost entirely.\n\nNo sooner was she undressed and lying in the bath, than she began to\nfeel as if the water were sinking into her, and she were receiving all\nthe good of sleep without undergoing its forgetfulness. She felt the\ngood coming all the time. And she grew happier and more hopeful than\nshe had been since she lost Mossy. But she could not help thinking how\nvery sad it was for a poor old man to live there all alone, and have to\ntake care of a whole seaful of stupid and riotous fishes.\n\nAfter about an hour, as she thought, she heard his voice calling her,\nand rose out of the bath. All the fatigue and aching of her long\njourney had vanished. She was as whole, and strong, and well as if she\nhad slept for seven days.\n\nReturning to the opening that led into the other part of the house, she\nstarted back with amazement, for through it she saw the form of a grand\nman, with a majestic and beautiful face, waiting for her.\n\n\"Come,\" he said; \"I see you are ready.\"\n\nShe entered with reverence.\n\n\"Where is the Old Man of the Sea?\" she asked, humbly.\n\n\"There is no one here but me,\" he answered, smiling. \"Some people call\nme the Old Man of the Sea. Others have another name for me, and are\nterribly frightened when they meet me taking a walk by the shore.\nTherefore I avoid being seen by them, for they are so afraid, that they\nnever see what I really am. You see me now.--But I must show you the\nway to the Old Man of the Earth.\"\n\nHe led her into the cave where the bath was, and there she saw, in the\nopposite corner, a second opening in the rock.\n\n\"Go down that stair, and it will bring you to him,\" said the Old Man of\nthe Sea.\n\nWith humble thanks Tangle took her leave. She went down the winding\nstair, till she began to fear there was no end to it. Still down and\ndown it went, rough and broken, with springs of water bursting out of\nthe rocks and running down the steps beside her. It was quite dark\nabout her, and yet she could see. For after being in that bath,\npeople's eyes always give out a light they can see by. There were no\ncreeping things in the way. All was safe and pleasant though so dark\nand damp and deep.\n\nAt last there was not one step more, and she found herself in a\nglimmering cave. On a stone in the middle of it sat a figure with its\nback towards her--the figure of an old man bent double with age. From\nbehind she could see his white beard spread out on the rocky floor in\nfront of him. He did not move as she entered, so she passed round that\nshe might stand before him and speak to him.\n\nThe moment she looked in his face, she saw that he was a youth of\nmarvellous beauty. He sat entranced with the delight of what he beheld\nin a mirror of something like silver, which lay on the floor at his\nfeet, and which from behind she had taken for his white beard. He sat\non, heedless of her presence, pale with the joy of his vision. She\nstood and watched him. At length, all trembling, she spoke. But her\nvoice made no sound. Yet the youth lifted up his head. He showed no\nsurprise, however, at seeing her--only smiled a welcome.\n\n\"Are you the Old Man of the Earth?\" Tangle had said.\n\nAnd the youth answered, and Tangle heard him, though not with her\nears:--\n\n\"I am. What can I do for you?\"\n\n\"Tell me the way to the country whence the shadows fall.\"\n\n\"Ah! that I do not know. I only dream about it myself. I see its\nshadows sometimes in my mirror: the way to it I do not know. But I\nthink the Old Man of the Fire must know. He is much older than I am. He\nis the oldest man of all.\"\n\n\"Where does he live?\"\n\n\"I will show you the way to his place. I never saw him myself.\"\n\nSo saying, the young man rose, and then stood for a while gazing at\nTangle.\n\n\"I wish I could see that country too,\" he said. \"But I must mind my\nwork.\"\n\nHe led her to the side of the cave, and told her to lay her ear against\nthe wall.\n\n\"What do you hear?\" he asked.\n\n\"I hear,\" answered Tangle, \"the sound of a great water running inside\nthe rock.\"\n\n\"That river runs down to the dwelling of the oldest man of all--the Old\nMan of the Fire. I wish I could go to see him. But I must mind my work.\nThat river is the only way to him.\"\n\nThen the Old Man of the Earth stooped over the floor of the cave,\nraised a huge stone from it, and left it leaning. It disclosed a great\nhole that went plumb-down.\n\n\"That is the way,\" he said.\n\n\"But there are no stairs.\"\n\n\"You must throw yourself in. There is no other way.\"\n\nShe turned and looked him full in the face--stood so for a whole\nminute, as she thought: it was a whole year--then threw herself\nheadlong into the hole.\n\nWhen she came to herself, she found herself gliding down fast and deep.\nHer head was under water, but that did not signify, for, when she\nthought about it, she could not remember that she had breathed once\nsince her bath in the cave of the Old Man of the Sea. When she lifted\nup her head a sudden and fierce heat struck her, and she sank it again\ninstantly, and went sweeping on.\n\nGradually the stream grew shallower. At length she could hardly keep\nher head under. Then the water could carry her no farther. She rose\nfrom the channel, and went step for step down the burning descent. The\nwater ceased altogether. The heat was terrible. She felt scorched to\nthe bone, but it did not touch her strength. It grew hotter and hotter.\nShe said, \"I can bear it no longer.\" Yet she went on.\n\nAt the long last, the stair ended at a rude archway in an all but\nglowing rock. Through this archway Tangle fell exhausted into a cool\nmossy cave. The floor and walls were covered with moss--green, soft,\nand damp. A little stream spouted from a rent in the rock and fell into\na basin of moss. She plunged her face into it and drank. Then she\nlifted her head and looked around. Then she rose and looked again. She\nsaw no one in the cave. But the moment she stood upright she had a\nmarvellous sense that she was in the secret of the earth and all its\nways. Everything she had seen, or learned from books; all that her\ngrandmother had said or sung to her; all the talk of the beasts, birds,\nand fishes; all that had happened to her on her journey with Mossy, and\nsince then in the heart of the earth with the Old man and the Older\nman--all was plain: she understood it all, and saw that everything\nmeant the same thing, though she could not have put it into words\nagain.\n\nThe next moment she descried, in a corner of the cave, a little naked\nchild sitting on the moss. He was playing with balls of various colours\nand sizes, which he disposed in strange figures upon the floor beside\nhim. And now Tangle felt that there was something in her knowledge\nwhich was not in her understanding. For she knew there must be an\ninfinite meaning in the change and sequence and individual forms of the\nfigures into which the child arranged the balls, as well as in the\nvaried harmonies of their colours, but what it all meant she could not\ntell.* He went on busily, tirelessly, playing his solitary game,\nwithout looking up, or seeming to know that there was a stranger in his\ndeep-withdrawn cell. Diligently as a lace-maker shifts her bobbins, he\nshifted and arranged his balls. Flashes of meaning would now pass from\nthem to Tangle, and now again all would be not merely obscure, but\nutterly dark. She stood looking for a long time, for there was\nfascination in the sight; and the longer she looked the more an\nindescribable vague intelligence went on rousing itself in her mind.\nFor seven years she had stood there watching the naked child with his\ncoloured balls, and it seemed to her like seven hours, when all at once\nthe shape the balls took, she knew not why, reminded her of the Valley\nof Shadows, and she spoke:--\n\n\"Where is the Old Man of the Fire?\" she said.\n\n* I think I must be indebted to Novalis for these geometrical figures.\n\n\"Here I am,\" answered the child, rising and leaving his balls on the\nmoss. \"What can I do for you?\"\n\nThere was such an awfulness of absolute repose on the face of the child\nthat Tangle stood dumb before him. He had no smile, but the love in his\nlarge gray eyes was deep as the centre. And with the repose there lay\non his face a shimmer as of moonlight, which seemed as if any moment it\nmight break into such a ravishing smile as would cause the beholder to\nweep himself to death. But the smile never came, and the moonlight lay\nthere unbroken. For the heart of the child was too deep for any smile\nto reach from it to his face.\n\n\"Are you the oldest man of all?\" Tangle at length, although filled with\nawe, ventured to ask.\n\n\"Yes, I am. I am very, very old. I am able to help you, I know. I can\nhelp everybody.\" And the child drew near and looked up in her face so\nthat she burst into tears.\n\n\"Can you tell me the way to the country the shadows fall from?\" she\nsobbed.\n\n\"Yes. I know the way quite well. I go there myself sometimes. But you\ncould not go my way; you are not old enough. I will show you how you\ncan go.\"\n\n\"Do not send me out into the great heat again,\" prayed Tangle.\n\n\"I will not,\" answered the child.\n\nAnd he reached up, and put his little cool hand on her heart.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, \"you can go. The fire will not burn you. Come.\"\n\nHe led her from the cave, and following him through another archway,\nshe found herself in a vast desert of sand and rock. The sky of it was\nof rock, lowering over them like solid thunderclouds; and the whole\nplace was so hot that she saw, in bright rivulets, the yellow gold and\nwhite silver and red copper trickling molten from the rocks. But the\nheat never came near her.\n\nWhen they had gone some distance, the child turned up a great stone,\nand took something like an egg from under it. He next drew a long\ncurved line in the sand with his finger, and laid the egg in it. He\nthen spoke something Tangle could not understand. The egg broke, a\nsmall snake came out, and, lying in the line in the sand, grew and grew\ntill he filled it. The moment he was thus full-grown, he began to glide\naway, undulating like a sea-wave.\n\n\"Follow that serpent,\" said the child. \"He will lead you the right\nway.\"\n\nTangle followed the serpent. But she could not go far without looking\nback at the marvellous child. He stood alone in the midst of the\nglowing desert, beside a fountain of red flame that had burst forth at\nhis feet, his naked whiteness glimmering a pale rosy red in the torrid\nfire. There he stood, looking after her, till, from the lengthening\ndistance, she could see him no more. The serpent went straight on,\nturning neither to the right nor left.\n\n\nMeantime Mossy had got out of the Lake of Shadows, and, following his\nmournful, lonely way, had reached the sea-shore. It was a dark, stormy\nevening. The sun had set. The wind was blowing from the sea. The waves\nhad surrounded the rock within which lay the old man's house. A deep\nwater rolled between it and the shore, upon which a majestic figure was\nwalking alone.\n\nMossy went up to him and said,--\n\n\"Will you tell me where to find the Old Man of the Sea?\"\n\n\"I am the Old Man of the Sea,\" the figure answered.\n\n\"I see a strong kingly man of middle age,\" returned Mossy.\n\nThen the old man looked at him more intently, and said,--\n\n\"Your sight, young man, is better than that of most who take this way.\nThe night is stormy: come to my house and tell me what I can do for\nyou.\"\n\nMossy followed him. The waves flew from before the footsteps of the Old\nMan of the Sea, and Mossy followed upon dry sand.\n\nWhen they had reached the cave, they sat down and gazed at each other.\n\nNow Mossy was an old man by this time. He looked much older than the\nOld Man of the Sea, and his feet were very weary.\n\nAfter looking at him for a moment, the old man took him by the hand and\nled him into his inner cave. There he helped him to undress, and laid\nhim in the bath. And he saw that one of his hands Mossy did not open.\n\n\"What have you in that hand?\" he asked.\n\nMossy opened his hand, and there lay the golden key.\n\n\"Ah!\" said the old man, \"that accounts for your knowing me. And I know\nthe way you have to go.\"\n\n\"I want to find the country whence the shadows fall,\" said Mossy.\n\n\"I dare say you do. So do I. But meantime, one thing is certain.--What\nis that key for, do you think?\"\n\n\"For a key-hole somewhere. But I don't know why I keep it. I never\ncould find the key-hole. And I have lived a good while, I believe,\"\nsaid Mossy, sadly. \"I'm not sure that I'm not old. I know my feet\nache.\"\n\n\"Do they?\" said the old man, as if he really meant to ask the question;\nand Mossy, who was still lying in the bath, watched his feet for a\nmoment before he replied,--\"No, they do not. Perhaps I am not old\neither.\"\n\n\"Get up and look at yourself in the water.\"\n\nHe rose and looked at himself in the water, and there was not a gray\nhair on his head or a wrinkle on his skin.\n\n\"You have tasted of death now,\" said the old man. \"Is it good?\"\n\n\"It is good,\" said Mossy. \"It is better than life.\"\n\n\"No, said the old man: it is only more life.--Your feet will make no\nholes in the water now.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I will show you that presently.\"\n\nThey returned to the outer cave, and sat and talked together for a long\ntime. At length the Old Man of the Sea rose, and said to Mossy,--\n\n\"Follow me.\"\n\nHe led him up the stair again, and opened another door. They stood on\nthe level of the raging sea, looking towards the east. Across the waste\nof waters, against the bosom of a fierce black cloud, stood the foot of\na rainbow, glowing in the dark.\n\n\"This indeed is my way,\" said Mossy, as soon as he saw the rainbow, and\nstepped out upon the sea. His feet made no holes in the water. He\nfought the wind, and clomb the waves, and went on towards the rainbow.\n\nThe storm died away. A lovely day and a lovelier night followed. A cool\nwind blew over the wide plain of the quiet ocean. And still Mossy\njourneyed eastward. But the rainbow had vanished with the storm.\n\nDay after day he held on, and he thought he had no guide. He did not\nsee how a shining fish under the water directed his steps. He crossed\nthe sea, and came to a great precipice of rock, up which he could\ndiscover but one path. Nor did this lead him farther than half-way up\nthe rock, where it ended on a platform. Here he stood and pondered.--It\ncould not be that the way stopped here, else what was the path for? It\nwas a rough path, not very plain, yet certainly a path.--He examined\nthe face of the rock. It was smooth as glass. But as his eyes kept\nroving hopelessly over it, something glittered, and he caught sight of\na row of small sapphires. They bordered a little hole in the rock.\n\n\"The key-hole!\" he cried.\n\nHe tried the key. It fitted. It turned. A great clang and clash, as of\niron bolts on huge brazen caldrons, echoed thunderously within. He drew\nout the key. The rock in front of him began to fall. He retreated from\nit as far as the breadth of the platform would allow. A great slab fell\nat his feet. In front was still the solid rock, with this one slab\nfallen forward out of it. But the moment he stepped upon it, a second\nfell, just short of the edge of the first, making the next step of a\nstair, which thus kept dropping itself before him as he ascended into\nthe heart of the precipice. It led him into a hall fit for such an\napproach--irregular and rude in formation, but floor, sides, pillars,\nand vaulted roof, all one mass of shining stones of every colour that\nlight can show. In the centre stood seven columns, ranged from red to\nviolet. And on the pedestal of one of them sat a woman, motionless,\nwith her face bowed upon her knees. Seven years had she sat there\nwaiting. She lifted her head as Mossy drew near. It was Tangle. Her\nhair had grown to her feet, and was rippled like the windless sea on\nbroad sands. Her face was beautiful, like her grandmother's, and as\nstill and peaceful as that of the Old Man of the Fire. Her form was\ntall and noble. Yet Mossy knew her at once.\n\n\"How beautiful you are, Tangle!\" he said, in delight and astonishment.\n\n\"Am I?\" she returned. \"Oh, I have waited for you so long! But you, you\nare like the Old Man of the Sea. No. You are like the Old Man of the\nEarth. No, no. You are like the oldest man of all. You are like them\nall. And yet you are my own old Mossy! How did you come here? What did\nyou do after I lost you? Did you find the key-hole? Have you got the\nkey still?\"\n\nShe had a hundred questions to ask him, and he a hundred more to ask\nher. They told each other all their adventures, and were as happy as\nman and woman could be. For they were younger and better, and stronger\nand wiser, than they had ever been before.\n\nIt began to grow dark. And they wanted more than ever to reach the\ncountry whence the shadows fall. So they looked about them for a way\nout of the cave. The door by which Mossy entered had closed again, and\nthere was half a mile of rock between them and the sea. Neither could\nTangle find the opening in the floor by which the serpent had led her\nthither. They searched till it grew so dark that they could see\nnothing, and gave it up.\n\nAfter a while, however, the cave began to glimmer again. The light came\nfrom the moon, but it did not look like moonlight, for it gleamed\nthrough those seven pillars in the middle, and filled the place with\nall colours. And now Mossy saw that there was a pillar beside the red\none, which he had not observed before. And it was of the same new\ncolour that he had seen in the rainbow when he saw it first in the\nfairy forest. And on it he saw a sparkle of blue. It was the sapphires\nround the key-hole.\n\nHe took his key. It turned in the lock to the sound of Aeolian music. A\ndoor opened upon slow hinges, and disclosed a winding stair within. The\nkey vanished from his fingers. Tangle went up. Mossy followed. The door\nclosed behind them. They climbed out of the earth; and, still climbing,\nrose above it. They were in the rainbow. Far abroad, over ocean and\nland, they could see through its transparent walls the earth beneath\ntheir feet. Stairs beside stairs wound up together, and beautiful\nbeings of all ages climbed along with them.\n\nThey knew that they were going up to the country whence the shadows\nfall.\n\nAnd by this time I think they must have got there.","title":"The Light Princess and Other Fairy Stories","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":32685}