{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_21014/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_21014","id":"gutenberg_21014","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21014","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Category: Short Stories","Fairy tales"],"text":"E-text prepared by Sigal Alon, Fox in the Stars, Mary Meehan, and the\nProject Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team\n(https://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 21014-h.htm or 21014-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/0/1/21014/21014-h/21014-h.htm)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/0/1/21014/21014-h.zip)\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Editha Series\n\nWONDER-BOX TALES\n\nby\n\nJEAN INGELOW\n\nWith Illustrations by Diantha W. Horne\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nH. M. Caldwell Co.\nPublishers\nNew York & Boston\n\nCopyright, 1902\nBy Dana Estes & Company\nAll rights reserved\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"'TO BE SURE I CAN,' REPLIED THE LARK.\"]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nThe Ouphe of the Wood\n\nThe Fairy Who Judged Her Neighbors\n\nThe Prince's Dream\n\nThe Water-lily\n\nA Lost Wand\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n\"'To be sure I can,' replied the Lark\"\n\n\"So he sat down as close to the fire as he could, and spread out his\nhands to the flames\"\n\n\"Coming home on top of it, driving the four gray horses\nhimself\"\n\n\"While she was fitting on her shoes, she saw the Lark's friend\"\n\n\"Then he reclined beside the chafing-dish and inhaled the heavy\nperfume\"\n\n\"'I could not do so,' he replied, 'only that as I go on I keep\nlightening it'\"\n\n\"Lived on the borders of one of the great American forests\"\n\n\"The next moment a beautiful little creature stood upon his\nhand\"\n\n\"'Oh, don't go,' cried Hulda. 'I am going up-stairs to fetch my\nwand'\"\n\n\"The pedlar had now sunk up to his waist\"\n\n\n\n\nWONDER-BOX TALES\n\n\n\n\nTHE OUPHE[1] OF THE WOOD\n\n\n\"An Ouphe!\" perhaps you exclaim, \"and pray what might that be?\"\n\n[Footnote 1: _Ouphe_, pronounced \"oof,\" is an old-fashioned word for\ngoblin or elf.]\n\nAn Ouphe, fair questioner,--though you may never have heard of\nhim,--was a creature well known (by hearsay, at least) to your\ngreat-great-grandmother. It was currently reported that every forest had\none within its precincts, who ruled over the woodmen, and exacted\ntribute from them in the shape of little blocks of wood ready hewn for\nthe fire of his underground palace,--such blocks as are bought at shops\nin these degenerate days, and called in London \"kindling.\"\n\nIt was said that he had a silver axe, with which he marked those trees\nthat he did not object to have cut down; moreover, he was supposed to\npossess great riches, and to appear but seldom above ground, and when he\ndid to look like an old man in all respects but one, which was that he\nalways carried some green ash-keys about with him which he could not\nconceal, and by which he might be known.\n\nDo I hear you say that you don't believe he ever existed? It matters not\nat all to my story whether you do or not. He certainly does not exist\nnow. The Commissioners of Woods and Forests have much to answer for, if\nit was they who put an end to his reign; but I do not think they did; it\nis more likely that the spelling-book used in woodland districts\ndisagreed with his constitution.\n\nAfter this short preface please to listen while I tell you that once in\na little black-timbered cottage, at the skirts of a wood, a young woman\nsat before the fire rocking her baby, and, as she did so, building a\ncastle in the air: \"What a good thing it would be,\" she thought to\nherself, \"if we were rich!\"\n\nIt had been a bright day, but the evening was chilly; and, as she\nwatched the glowing logs that were blazing on her hearth, she wished\nthat all the lighted part of them would turn to gold.\n\nShe was very much in the habit--this little wife--of building castles in\nthe air, particularly when she had nothing else to do, or her husband\nwas late in coming home to his supper. Just as she was thinking how late\nhe was there was a tap at the door, and an old man walked in, who said:\n\n\"Mistress, will you give a poor man a warm at your fire?\"\n\n\"And welcome,\" said the young woman, setting him a chair.\n\nSo he sat down as close to the fire as he could, and spread out his\nhands to the flames.\n\n[Illustration: \"SO HE SAT DOWN AS CLOSE TO THE FIRE AS HE COULD, AND\nSPREAD OUT HIS HANDS TO THE FLAMES.\"]\n\nHe had a little knapsack on his back, and the young woman did not doubt\nthat he was an old soldier.\n\n\"Maybe you are used to the hot countries,\" she said.\n\n\"All countries are much the same to me,\" replied the stranger. \"I see\nnothing to find fault with in this one. You have fine hawthorn-trees\nhereabouts; just now they are as white as snow; and then you have a\nnoble wood behind you.\"\n\n\"Ah, you may well say that,\" said the young woman. \"It is a noble wood\nto us; it gets us bread. My husband works in it.\"\n\n\"And a fine sheet of water there is in it,\" continued the old man. \"As I\nsat by it to-day it was pretty to see those cranes, with red legs,\nstepping from leaf to leaf of the water-lilies so lightly.\"\n\nAs he spoke he looked rather wistfully at a little saucepan which stood\nupon the hearth.\n\n\"Why, I shouldn't wonder if you were hungry,\" said the young woman,\nlaying her baby in the cradle, and spreading a cloth on the round table.\n\"My husband will be home soon, and if you like to stay and sup with him\nand me, you will be kindly welcome.\"\n\nThe old man's eyes sparkled when she said this, and he looked so very\nold and seemed so weak that she pitied him. He turned a little aside\nfrom the fire, and watched her while she set a brown loaf on the table,\nand fried a few slices of bacon; but all was ready, and the kettle had\nbeen boiling some time before there were any signs of the husband's\nreturn.\n\n\"I never knew Will to be so late before,\" said the stranger. \"Perhaps he\nis carrying his logs to the saw-pits.\"\n\n\"Will!\" exclaimed the wife. \"What, you know my husband, then? I thought\nyou were a stranger in these parts.\"\n\n\"Oh, I have been past this place several times,\" said the old man,\nlooking rather confused; \"and so, of course, I have heard of your\nhusband. Nobody's stroke in the wood is so regular and strong as his.\"\n\n\"And I can tell you he is the handiest man at home,\" began his wife.\n\n\"Ah, ah,\" said the old man, smiling at her eagerness; \"and here he\ncomes, if I am not mistaken.\"\n\nAt that moment the woodman entered.\n\n\"Will,\" said his wife, as she took his bill-book from him, and hung up\nhis hat, \"here's an old soldier come to sup with us, my dear.\" And as\nshe spoke, she gave her husband a gentle push toward the old man, and\nmade a sign that he should speak to him.\n\n\"Kindly welcome, master,\" said the woodman. \"Wife, I'm hungry; let's to\nsupper.\"\n\nThe wife turned some potatoes out of the little saucepan, set a jug of\nbeer on the table, and they all began to sup. The best of everything was\noffered by the wife to the stranger. The husband, after looking\nearnestly at him for a few minutes, kept silence.\n\n\"And where might you be going to lodge to-night, good man, if I'm not\ntoo bold?\" asked she.\n\nThe old man heaved a deep sigh, and said he supposed he must lie out in\nthe forest.\n\n\"Well, that would be a great pity,\" remarked his kind hostess. \"No\nwonder your bones ache if you have no better shelter.\" As she said this,\nshe looked appealingly at her husband.\n\n\"My wife, I'm thinking, would like to offer you a bed,\" said the\nwoodman; \"at least, if you don't mind sleeping in this clean kitchen, I\nthink that we could toss you up something of that sort that you need not\ndisdain.\"\n\n\"Disdain, indeed!\" said the wife. \"Why, Will, when there's not a tighter\ncottage than ours in all the wood, and with a curtain, as we have, and a\nbrick floor, and everything so good about us--\"\n\nThe husband laughed; the old man looked on with a twinkle in his eye.\n\n\"I'm sure I shall be humbly grateful,\" said he.\n\nAccordingly, when supper was over, they made him up a bed on the floor,\nand spread clean sheets upon it of the young wife's own spinning, and\nheaped several fresh logs on the fire. Then they wished the stranger\ngood night, and crept up the ladder to their own snug little chamber.\n\n\"Disdain, indeed!\" laughed the wife, as soon as they shut the door.\n\"Why, Will, how could you say it? I should like to see him disdain me\nand mine. It isn't often, I'll engage to say, that he sleeps in such a\nwell-furnished kitchen.\"\n\nThe husband said nothing, but secretly laughed to himself.\n\n\"What are you laughing at, Will?\" said his wife, as she put out the\ncandle.\n\n\"Why, you soft little thing,\" answered the woodman, \"didn't you see that\nbunch of green ash-keys in his cap; and don't you know that nobody would\ndare to wear them but the Ouphe of the Wood? I saw him cutting those\nvery keys for himself as I passed to the sawmill this morning, and I\nknew him again directly, though he has disguised himself as an old man.\"\n\n\"Bless us!\" exclaimed the little wife; \"is the Wood Ouphe in our\ncottage? How frightened I am! I wish I hadn't put the candle out.\"\n\nThe husband laughed more and more.\n\n\"Will,\" said his wife, in a solemn voice, \"I wonder how you dare laugh,\nand that powerful creature under the very bed where you lie!\"\n\n\"And she to be so pitiful over him,\" said the woodman, laughing till the\nfloor shook under him, \"and to talk and boast of our house, and insist\non helping him to more potatoes, when he has a palace of his own, and\nheaps of riches! Oh, dear! oh, dear!\"\n\n\"Don't laugh, Will,\" said the wife, \"and I'll make you the most\nbeautiful firmity[2] you ever tasted to-morrow. Don't let him hear you\nlaughing.\"\n\n[Footnote 2: _Firmity_: generally written frumenty; wheat boiled in milk\nwith sugar and fruit.]\n\n\"Why, he comes for no harm,\" said the woodman. \"I've never cut down any\ntrees that he had not marked, and I've always laid his toll of the wood,\nneatly cut up, beside his foot-path, so I am not afraid. Besides, don't\nyou know that he always pays where he lodges, and very handsomely, too?\"\n\n\"Pays, does he?\" said the wife. \"Well, but he is an awful creature to\nhave so near one. I would much rather he had really been an old soldier.\nI hope he is not looking after my baby; he shall not have him, let him\noffer ever so much.\"\n\nThe more the wife talked, the more the husband laughed at her fears,\ntill at length he fell asleep, whilst she lay awake, thinking and\nthinking, till by degrees she forgot her fears, and began to wonder what\nthey might expect by way of reward. Hours appeared to pass away during\nthese thoughts. At length, to her great surprise, while it was still\nquite dark, her husband called to her from below:\n\n\"Come down, Kitty; only come down to see what the Ouphe has left us.\"\n\nAs quickly as possible Kitty started up and dressed herself, and ran\ndown the ladder, and then she saw her husband kneeling on the floor over\nthe knapsack, which the Ouphe had left behind him. Kitty rushed to the\nspot, and saw the knapsack bursting open with gold coins, which were\nrolling out over the brick floor. Here was good fortune! She began to\npick them up, and count them into her apron. The more she gathered, the\nfaster they rolled, till she left off counting, out of breath with joy\nand surprise.\n\n\"What shall we do with all this money?\" said the delighted woodman.\n\nThey consulted for some time. At last they decided to bury it in the\ngarden, all but twenty pieces, which they would spend directly.\nAccordingly they dug a hole and carefully hid the rest of the money, and\nthen the woodman went to the town, and soon returned laden with the\nthings they had agreed upon as desirable possessions; namely, a leg of\nmutton, two bottles of wine, a necklace for Kitty, some tea and sugar, a\ngrand velvet waistcoat, a silver watch, a large clock, a red silk cloak,\nand a hat and feather for the baby, a quilted petticoat, a great many\nmuffins and crumpets, a rattle, and two new pairs of shoes.\n\nHow enchanted they both were! Kitty cooked the nice things, and they\ndressed themselves in the finery, and sat down to a very good dinner.\nBut, alas! the woodman drank so much of the wine that he soon got quite\ntipsy, and began to dance and sing. Kitty was very much shocked; but\nwhen he proposed to dig up some more of the gold, and go to market for\nsome more wine and some more blue velvet waistcoats, she remonstrated\nvery strongly. Such was the change that had come over this loving\ncouple, that they presently began to quarrel, and from words the woodman\nsoon got to blows, and, after beating his little wife, lay down on the\nfloor and fell fast asleep, while she sat crying in a corner.\n\nThe next day they both felt very miserable, and the woodman had such a\nterrible headache that he could neither eat nor work; but the day after,\nbeing pretty well again, he dug up some more gold and went to town,\nwhere he bought such quantities of fine clothes and furniture and so\nmany good things to eat, that in the end he was obliged to buy a wagon\nto bring them home in, and great was the delight of his wife when she\nsaw him coming home on the top of it, driving the four gray horses\nhimself.\n\n[Illustration: \"COMING HOME ON TOP OF IT, DRIVING THE FOUR GRAY HORSES\nHIMSELF.\"]\n\nThey soon began to unpack the goods and lay them out on the grass, for\nthe cottage was far too small to hold them.\n\n\"There are some red silk curtains with gold rods,\" said the woodman.\n\n\"And grand indeed they are!\" exclaimed his wife, spreading them over the\nonion bed.\n\n\"And here's a great looking-glass,\" continued the woodman, setting one\nup against the outside of the cottage, for it would not go in the door.\n\nSo they went on handing down the things, and it took nearly the whole\nafternoon to empty the wagon. No wonder, when it contained, among other\nthings, a coral and bells for the baby, and five very large tea-trays\nadorned with handsome pictures of impossible scenery, two large sofas\ncovered with green damask, three bonnets trimmed with feathers and\nflowers, two glass tumblers for them to drink out of,--for Kitty had\ndecided that mugs were very vulgar things,--six books bound in handsome\nred morocco, a mahogany table, a large tin saucepan, a spit and silver\nwaiter, a blue coat with gilt buttons, a yellow waistcoat, some\npictures, a dozen bottles of wine, a quarter of lamb, cakes, tarts,\npies, ale, porter, gin, silk stockings, blue and red and white shoes,\nlace, ham, mirrors, three clocks, a four-post bedstead, and a bag of\nsugar candy.\n\nThese articles filled the cottage and garden; the wagon stood outside\nthe paling. Though the little kitchen was very much encumbered with\nfurniture, they contrived to make a fire in it; and, having eaten a\nsumptuous dinner, they drank each other's health, using the new tumblers\nto their great satisfaction.\n\n\"All these things remind me that we must have another house built,\" said\nKitty.\n\n\"You may do just as you please about that, my dear,\" replied her\nhusband, with a bottle of wine in his hand.\n\n\"My dear,\" said Kitty, \"how vulgar you are! Why don't you drink out of\none of our new tumblers, like a gentleman?\"\n\nThe woodman refused, and said it was much more handy to drink it out of\nthe bottle.\n\n\"Handy, indeed!\" retorted Kitty; \"yes, and by that means none will be\nleft for me.\"\n\nThereupon another quarrel ensued, and the woodman, being by this time\nquite tipsy, beat his wife again. The next day they went and got numbers\nof workmen to build them a new house in their garden. It was quite\nastonishing even to Kitty, who did not know much about building, to see\nhow quick these workmen were; in one week the house was ready. But in\nthe meantime the woodman, who had very often been tipsy, felt so unwell\nthat he could not look after them; therefore it is not surprising that\nthey stole a great many of his fine things while he lay smoking on the\ngreen damask sofa which stood on the carrot bed. Those articles which\nthe workmen did not steal the rain and dust spoilt; but that they\nthought did not much matter, for still more than half the gold was left;\nso they soon furnished the new house. And now Kitty had a servant, and\nused to sit every morning on a couch dressed in silks and jewels till\ndinner-time, when the most delicious hot beefsteaks and sausage pudding\nor roast goose were served up, with more sweet pies, fritters, tarts,\nand cheese-cakes than they could possibly eat. As for the baby, he had\nthree elegant cots, in which he was put to sleep by turns; he was\nallowed to tear his picture-books as often as he pleased, and to eat so\nmany sugar-plums and macaroons that they often made him quite ill.\n\nThe woodman looked very pale and miserable, though he often said what a\nfine thing it was to be rich. He never thought of going to his work, and\nused generally to sit in the kitchen till dinner was ready, watching the\nspit. Kitty wished she could see him looking as well and cheerful as in\nold days, though she felt naturally proud that her husband should always\nbe dressed like a gentleman, namely, in a blue coat, red waistcoat, and\ntop-boots.\n\nHe and Kitty could never agree as to what should be done with the rest\nof the money; in fact, no one would have known them for the same people;\nthey quarrelled almost every day, and lost nearly all their love for one\nanother. Kitty often cried herself to sleep--a thing she had never done\nwhen they were poor; she thought it was very strange that she should be\na lady, and yet not be happy. Every morning when the woodman was sober\nthey invented new plans for making themselves happy, yet, strange to\nsay, none of them succeeded, and matters grew worse and worse. At last\nKitty thought she should be happy if she had a coach; so she went to the\nplace where the knapsack was buried, and began to dig; but the garden\nwas so trodden down that she could not dig deep enough, and soon got\ntired of trying. At last she called the servant, and told her the secret\nas to where the money was, promising her a gold piece if she could dig\nit up. The servant dug with all her strength, and with a great deal of\ntrouble they got the knapsack up, and Kitty found that not many gold\npieces were left. However, she resolved to have the coach, so she took\nthem and went to the town, where she bought a yellow chariot, with a\nmost beautiful coat of arms upon it, and two cream-colored horses to\ndraw it.\n\nIn the meantime the maid ran to the magistrates, and told them she had\ndiscovered something very dreadful, which was, that her mistress had\nnothing to do but dig in the ground and that she could make money\ncome--coined money: \"which,\" said the maid, \"is a very terrible thing,\nand it proves that she must be a witch.\"\n\nThe mayor and aldermen were very much shocked, for witches were commonly\nbelieved in in those days; and when they heard that Kitty had dug up\nmoney that very morning, and bought a yellow coach with it, they decided\nthat the matter must be investigated.\n\nWhen Kitty drove up to her own door, she saw the mayor and aldermen\nstanding in the kitchen waiting for her. She demanded what they wanted,\nand they said they were come in the king's name to search the house.\n\nKitty immediately ran up-stairs and took the baby out of his cradle,\nlest any of them should steal him, which, of course, seemed a very\nprobable thing for them to do. Then she went to look for her husband,\nwho, shocking to relate, was quite tipsy, quarrelling and arguing with\nthe mayor, and she actually saw him box an alderman's ears.\n\n\"The thing is proved,\" said the indignant mayor; \"this woman is\ncertainly a witch.\"\n\nKitty was very much bewildered at this; but how much more when she saw\nher husband seize the mayor--yes, the very mayor himself--and shake him\nso hard that he actually shook his head off, and it rolled under the\ndresser! \"If I had not seen this with my own eyes,\" said Kitty, \"I could\nnot have believed it--even now it does not seem at all real.\"\n\nAll the aldermen wrung their hands.\n\n\"Murder! murder!\" cried the maid.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the aldermen, \"this woman and her husband must immediately\nbe put to death, and the baby must be taken from them and made a slave.\"\n\nIn vain Kitty fell on her knees; the proofs of their guilt were so plain\nthat there was no hope for mercy; and they were just going to be led out\nto execution when--why, then she opened her eyes, and saw that she was\nlying in bed in her own little chamber where she had lived and been so\nhappy; her baby beside her in his wicker[3] cradle was crowing and\nsucking his fingers.\n\n[Footnote 3: _Wicker_: made of willow twigs like a basket.]\n\n\"So, then, I have never been rich, after all,\" said Kitty; \"and it was\nall only a dream! I thought it was very strange at the time that a man's\nhead should roll off.\"\n\nAnd she heaved a deep sigh, and put her hand to her face, which was wet\nwith the tears she had shed when she thought that she and her husband\nwere going to be executed.\n\n\"I am very glad, then, my husband is not a drunken man; and he does\n_not_ beat me; but he goes to work every day, and I am as happy as a\nqueen.\"\n\nJust then she heard her husband's good-tempered voice whistling as he\nwent down the ladder.\n\n\"Kitty, Kitty,\" said he, \"come, get up, my little woman; it's later than\nusual, and our good visitor will want his breakfast.\"\n\n\"Oh, Will, Will, do come here,\" answered the wife; and presently her\nhusband came up again, dressed in his fustian jacket, and looking quite\nhealthy and good-tempered--not at all like the pale man in the blue\ncoat, who sat watching the meat while it roasted.\n\n\"Oh, Will, I have had such a frightful dream,\" said Kitty, and she began\nto cry; \"we are not going to quarrel and hate each other, are we?\"\n\n\"Why, what a silly little thing thou art to cry about a dream,\" said the\nwoodman, smiling. \"No, we are not going to quarrel as I know of. Come,\nKitty, remember the Ouphe.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, yes, I remember,\" said Kitty, and she made haste to dress\nherself and come down.\n\n\"Good morning, mistress; how have you slept?\" said the Ouphe, in a\ngentle voice, to her.\n\n\"Not so well as I could have wished, sir,\" said Kitty.\n\nThe Ouphe smiled. \"_I_ slept very well,\" he said. \"The supper was good,\nand kindly given, without any thought of reward.\"\n\n\"And that is the certain truth,\" interrupted Kitty: \"I never had the\nleast thought what you were till my husband told me.\"\n\nThe woodman had gone out to cut some fresh cresses, for his guest's\nbreakfast.\n\n\"I am sorry, mistress,\" said the Ouphe, \"that you slept uneasily--my\nrace are said sometimes by their presence to affect the dreams of you\nmortals. Where is my knapsack? Shall I leave it behind me in payment of\nbed and board?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, no, I pray you don't,\" said the little wife, blushing and\nstepping back; \"you are kindly welcome to all you have had, I'm sure:\ndon't repay us so, sir.\"\n\n\"What, mistress, and why not?\" asked the Ouphe, smiling. \"It is as full\nof gold pieces as it can hold, and I shall never miss them.\"\n\n\"No, I entreat you, do not,\" said Kitty, \"and do not offer it to my\nhusband, for maybe he has not been warned as I have.\"\n\nJust then the woodman came in.\n\n\"I have been thanking your wife for my good entertainment,\" said the\nOuphe, \"and if there is anything in reason that I can give either of\nyou--\"\n\n\"Will, we do very well as we are,\" said his wife, going up to him and\nlooking anxiously in his face.\n\n\"I don't deny,\" said the woodman, thoughtfully, \"that there are one or\ntwo things I should like my wife to have, but somehow I've not been able\nto get them for her yet.\"\n\n\"What are they?\" asked the Ouphe.\n\n\"One is a spinning-wheel,\" answered the woodman; \"she used to spin a\ngood deal when she was at home with her mother.\"\n\n\"She shall have a spinning-wheel,\" replied the Ouphe; \"and is there\nnothing else, my good host?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the woodman, frankly, \"since you are so obliging, we should\nlike a hive of bees.\"\n\n\"The bees you shall have also; and now, good morning both, and a\nthousand thanks to you.\"\n\nSo saying, he took his leave, and no pressing could make him stay to\nbreakfast.\n\n\"Well,\" thought Kitty, when she had had a little time for reflection, \"a\nspinning-wheel is just what I wanted; but if people had told me this\ntime yesterday morning that I should be offered a knapsack full of\nmoney, and should refuse it, I could not possibly have believed them!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRY WHO JUDGED HER NEIGHBORS\n\n\nThere was once a Fairy who was a good Fairy, on the whole, but she had\none very bad habit; she was too fond of finding fault with other people,\nand of taking for granted that everything must be wrong if it did not\nappear right to her.\n\nOne day, when she had been talking very unkindly of some friends of\nhers, her mother said to her: \"My child, I think if you knew a little\nmore of the world, you would become more charitable. I would therefore\nadvise you to set out on your travels; you will find plenty of food, for\nthe cowslips are now in bloom, and they contain excellent honey. I need\nnot be anxious about your lodging, for there is no place more delightful\nfor sleeping in than an empty robin's nest when the young have flown.\nAnd if you want a new gown, you can sew two tulip leaves together, which\nwill make you a very becoming dress, and one that I should be proud to\nsee you in.\"\n\nThe young Fairy was pleased at this permission to set out on her\ntravels; so she kissed her mother, and bade good-by to her nurse, who\ngave her a little ball of spiders' threads to sew with, and a beautiful\nlittle box, made of the egg-shell of a wren, to keep her best thimble\nin, and took leave of her, wishing her safe home again.\n\nThe young Fairy then flew away till she came to a large meadow, with a\nclear river flowing on one side of it, and some tall oak-trees on the\nother. She sat down on a high branch in one of these oaks, and, after\nher long flight, was thinking of a nap, when, happening to look down at\nher little feet, she observed that her shoes were growing shabby and\nfaded. \"Quite a disgrace, I declare,\" said she. \"I must look for another\npair. Perhaps two of the smallest flowers of that snapdragon which I see\ngrowing in the hedge would fit me. I think I should like a pair of\nyellow slippers.\" So she flew down, and, after a little trouble, she\nfound two flowers which fitted her very neatly, and she was just going\nto return to the oak-tree, when she heard a deep sigh beneath her, and,\npeeping out from her place among the hawthorn blossoms, she saw a fine\nyoung Lark sitting in the long grass, and looking the picture of misery.\n\n\"What is the matter with you, cousin?\" asked the Fairy.\n\n\"Oh, I am so unhappy,\" replied the poor Lark; \"I want to build a nest,\nand I have got no wife.\"\n\n\"Why don't you look for a wife, then?\" said the Fairy, laughing at him.\n\"Do you expect one to come and look for you? Fly up, and sing a\nbeautiful song in the sky, and then perhaps some pretty hen will hear\nyou; and perhaps, if you tell her that you will help her to build a\ncapital nest, and that you will sing to her all day long, she will\nconsent to be your wife.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't like,\" said the Lark, \"I don't like to fly up, I am so\nugly. If I were a goldfinch, and had yellow bars on my wings, or a\nrobin, and had red feathers on my breast, I should not mind the defect\nwhich now I am afraid to show. But I am only a poor brown Lark, and I\nknow I shall never get a wife.\"\n\n\"I never heard of such an unreasonable bird,\" said the Fairy. \"You\ncannot expect to have everything.\"\n\n\"Oh, but you don't know,\" proceeded the Lark, \"that if I fly up my feet\nwill be seen; and no other bird has feet like mine. My claws are enough\nto frighten any one, they are so long; and yet I assure you, Fairy, I am\nnot a cruel bird.\"\n\n\"Let me look at your claws,\" said the Fairy.\n\nSo the Lark lifted up one of his feet, which he had kept hidden in the\nlong grass, lest any one should see it.\n\n\"It looks certainly very fierce,\" said the Fairy. \"Your hind claw is at\nleast an inch long, and all your toes have very dangerous-looking\npoints. Are, you sure you never use them to fight with?\"\n\n\"No, never!\" said the Lark, earnestly; \"I never fought a battle in my\nlife; but yet these claws grow longer and longer, and I am so ashamed of\ntheir being seen that I very often lie in the grass instead of going up\nto sing, as I could wish.\"\n\n\"I think, if I were you, I would pull them off,\" said the Fairy.\n\n\"That is easier said than done,\" answered the poor Lark. \"I have often\ngot them entangled in the grass, and I scrape them against the hard\nclods; but it is of no use, you cannot think how fast they stick.\"\n\n\"Well, I am sorry for you,\" observed the Fairy; \"but at the same time I\ncannot but see that, in spite of what you say, you must be a quarrelsome\nbird, or you would not have such long spurs.\"\n\n\"That is just what I am always afraid people will say,\" sighed the Lark.\n\n\"For,\" proceeded the Fairy, \"nothing is given us to be of no use. You\nwould not have wings unless you were to fly, nor a voice unless you were\nto sing; and so you would not have those dreadful spurs unless you were\ngoing to fight. If your spurs are not to fight with,\" continued the\nunkind Fairy, \"I should like to know what they _are_ for?\"\n\n\"I am sure I don't know,\" said the Lark, lifting up his foot and looking\nat it. \"Then you are not inclined to help me at all, Fairy? I thought\nyou might be willing to mention among my friends that I am not a\nquarrelsome bird, and that I should always take care not to hurt my wife\nand nestlings with my spurs.\"\n\n\"Appearances are very much against you,\" answered the Fairy; \"and it is\nquite plain to me that those spurs are meant to scratch with. No, I\ncannot help you. Good morning.\"\n\nSo the Fairy withdrew to her oak bough, and the poor Lark sat moping in\nthe grass while the Fairy watched him. \"After all,\" she thought, \"I am\nsorry he is such a quarrelsome fellow, for that he is such is fully\nproved by those long spurs.\"\n\nWhile she was so thinking, the Grasshopper came chirping up to the Lark,\nand tried to comfort him.\n\n\"I have heard all that the Fairy said to you,\" he observed, \"and I\nreally do not see that it need make you unhappy. I have known you some\ntime, and have never seen you fight or look out of temper; therefore I\nwill spread a report that you are a very good-tempered bird, and that\nyou are looking out for a wife.\"\n\nThe Lark upon this thanked the Grasshopper warmly.\n\n\"At the same time,\" remarked the Grasshopper, \"I should be glad if you\ncould tell me what is the use of those claws, because the question might\nbe asked me, and I should not know what to answer.\"\n\n\"Grasshopper,\" replied the Lark, \"I cannot imagine what they are\nfor--that is the real truth.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the kind Grasshopper, \"perhaps time will show.\"\n\nSo he went away, and the Lark, delighted with his promise to speak well\nof him, flew up into the air, and the higher he went the sweeter and the\nlouder he sang. He was so happy, and he poured forth such delightful\nnotes, so clear and thrilling, that the little ants who were carrying\ngrains to their burrow stopped and put down their burdens to listen; and\nthe doves ceased cooing, and the little field-mice came and sat in the\nopenings of their holes; and the Fairy, who had just begun to doze, woke\nup delighted; and a pretty brown Lark, who had been sitting under some\ngreat foxglove leaves, peeped out and exclaimed, \"I never heard such a\nbeautiful song in my life--never!\"\n\n\"It was sung by my friend, the Skylark,\" said the Grasshopper, who just\nthen happened to be on a leaf near her. \"He is a very good-tempered\nbird, and he wants a wife.\"\n\n\"Hush!\" said the pretty brown Lark. \"I want to hear the end of that\nwonderful song.\"\n\nFor just then the Skylark, far up in the heaven, burst forth again, and\nsang better than ever--so well, indeed, that every creature in the field\nsat still to listen; and the little brown Lark under the foxglove leaves\nheld her breath, for she was afraid of losing a single note.\n\n\"Well done, my friend!\" exclaimed the Grasshopper, when at length he\ncame down panting, and with tired wings; and then he told him how much\nhis friend the brown Lark, who lived by the foxglove, had been pleased\nwith his song, and he took the poor Skylark to see her.\n\nThe Skylark walked as carefully as he could, that she might not see his\nfeet; and he thought he had never seen such a pretty bird in his life.\nBut when she told him how much she loved music, he sprang up again into\nthe blue sky as if he was not at all tired, and sang anew, clearer and\nsweeter than before. He was so glad to think that he could please her.\n\nHe sang several songs, and the Grasshopper did not fail to praise him,\nand say what a cheerful, kind bird he was. The consequence was, that\nwhen he asked the brown Lark to overlook his spurs and be his wife, she\nsaid:\n\n\"I will see about it, for I do not mind your spurs particularly.\"\n\n\"I am very glad of that,\" said the Skylark. \"I was afraid you would\ndisapprove of them.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" she replied. \"On the contrary, now I think of it, I should\nnot have liked you to have short claws like other birds; but I cannot\nexactly say why, for they seem to be of no use in particular.\"\n\nThis was very good news for the Skylark, and he sang such delightful\nsongs in consequence, that he very soon won his wife; and they built a\ndelightful little nest in the grass, which made him so happy that he\nalmost forgot to be sorry about his long spurs.\n\nThe Fairy, meanwhile, flew about from field to field, and I am sorry to\nsay that she seldom went anywhere without saying something unkind or\nill-natured; for, as I told you before, she was very hasty, and had a\nsad habit of judging her neighbors.\n\nShe had been several days wandering about in search of adventures, when\none afternoon she came back to the old oak-tree, because she wanted a\nnew pair of shoes, and there were none to be had so pretty as those made\nof the yellow snapdragon flower in the hedge hard by.\n\nWhile she was fitting on her shoes, she saw the Lark's friend.\n\n[Illustration: \"WHILE SHE WAS FITTING ON HER SHOES, SHE SAW THE LARK'S\nFRIEND.\"]\n\n\"How do you do, Grasshopper?\" asked the Fairy.\n\n\"Thank you, I am very well and very happy,\" said the Grasshopper;\n\"people are always so kind to me.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" replied the Fairy. \"I wish I could say that they were always\nkind to me. How is that quarrelsome Lark who found such a pretty brown\nmate the other day?\"\n\n\"He is not a quarrelsome bird indeed,\" replied the Grasshopper. \"I wish\nyou would not say that he is.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, we need not quarrel about that,\" said the Fairy, laughing; \"I\nhave seen the world, Grasshopper, and I know a few things, depend upon\nit. Your friend the Lark does not wear those long spurs for nothing.\"\n\nThe Grasshopper did not choose to contend with the Fairy, who all this\ntime was busily fitting yellow slippers to her tiny feet. When, however,\nshe had found a pair to her mind--\n\n\"Suppose you come and see the eggs that our pretty friend the Lark has\ngot in her nest,\" asked the Grasshopper. \"Three pink eggs spotted with\nbrown. I am sure she will show them to you with pleasure.\"\n\nOff they set together; but what was their surprise to find the poor\nlittle brown Lark sitting on them with rumpled feathers, drooping head,\nand trembling limbs.\n\n\"Ah, my pretty eggs!\" said the Lark, as soon as she could speak, \"I am\nso miserable about them--they will be trodden on, they will certainly be\nfound.\"\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked the Grasshopper. \"Perhaps we can help you.\"\n\n\"Dear Grasshopper,\" said the Lark, \"I have just heard the farmer and his\nson talking on the other side of the hedge, and the farmer said that\nto-morrow morning he should begin to cut this meadow.\"\n\n\"That is a great pity,\" said the Grasshopper. \"What a sad thing it was\nthat you laid your eggs on the ground!\"\n\n\"Larks always do,\" said the poor little brown bird; \"and I did not know\nhow to make a fine nest such as those in the hedges. Oh, my pretty\neggs!--my heart aches for them! I shall never hear my little nestlings\nchirp!\"\n\nSo the poor Lark moaned and lamented, and neither the Grasshopper nor\nthe Fairy could do anything to help her. At last her mate dropped down\nfrom the white cloud where he had been singing, and when he saw her\ndrooping, and the Grasshopper and the Fairy sitting silently before her,\nhe inquired in a great fright what the matter was.\n\nSo they told him, and at first he was very much shocked; but presently\nhe lifted first one and then the other of his feet, and examined his\nlong spurs.\n\n\"He does not sympathize much with his poor mate,\" whispered the Fairy;\nbut the Grasshopper took no notice of the speech.\n\nStill the Lark looked at his spurs, and seemed to be very deep in\nthought.\n\n\"If I had only laid my eggs on the other side of the hedge,\" sighed the\npoor mother, \"among the corn, there would have been plenty of time to\nrear my birds before harvest time.\"\n\n\"My dear,\" answered her mate, \"don't be unhappy.\" And so saying, he\nhopped up to the eggs, and laying one foot upon the prettiest, he\nclasped it with his long spurs. Strange to say, it exactly fitted them.\n\n\"Oh, my clever mate!\" cried the poor little mother, reviving; \"do you\nthink you can carry them away for me?\"\n\n\"To be sure I can,\" replied the Lark, beginning slowly and carefully to\nhop on with the egg in his right foot; \"nothing more easy. I have often\nthought it was likely that our eggs would be disturbed in this meadow;\nbut it never occurred to me till this moment that I could provide\nagainst this misfortune. I have often wondered what my spurs could be\nfor, and now I see.\" So saying, he hopped gently on till he came to the\nhedge, and then got through it, still holding the egg, till he found a\nnice little hollow place in among the corn, and there he laid it and\ncame back for the others.\n\n\"Hurrah!\" cried the Grasshopper, \"Larkspurs forever!\"\n\nThe Fairy said nothing, but she felt heartily ashamed of herself. She\nsat looking on till the happy Lark had carried the last of his eggs to a\nsafe place, and had called his mate to come and sit on them. Then, when\nhe sprang up into the sky again, exulting and rejoicing and singing to\nhis mate that now he was quite happy, because he knew what his long\nspurs were for, she stole gently away, saying to herself, \"Well, I could\nnot have believed such a thing. I thought he must be a quarrelsome bird\nas his spurs were so long; but it appears that I was wrong, after all.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRINCE'S DREAM\n\n\nIf we may credit the fable, there is a tower in the midst of a great\nAsiatic plain, wherein is confined a prince who was placed there in his\nearliest infancy, with many slaves and attendants, and all the luxuries\nthat are compatible with imprisonment.\n\nWhether he was brought there from some motive of state, whether to\nconceal him from enemies, or to deprive him of rights, has not\ntranspired; but it is certain that up to the date of this little history\nhe had never set his foot outside the walls of that high tower, and that\nof the vast world without he knew only the green plains which surrounded\nit; the flocks and the birds of that region were all his experience of\nliving creatures, and all the men he saw outside were shepherds.\n\nAnd yet he was not utterly deprived of change, for sometimes one of his\nattendants would be ordered away, and his place would be supplied by a\nnew one. The prince would never weary of questioning this fresh\ncompanion, and of letting him talk of cities, of ships, of forests, of\nmerchandise, of kings; but though in turns they all tried to satisfy his\ncuriosity, they could not succeed in conveying very distinct notions to\nhis mind; partly because there was nothing in the tower to which they\ncould compare the external world, partly because, having chiefly lived\nlives of seclusion and indolence in Eastern palaces, they knew it only\nby hearsay themselves.\n\nAt length, one day, a venerable man of a noble presence was brought to\nthe tower, with soldiers to guard him and slaves to attend him. The\nprince was glad of his presence, though at first he seldom opened his\nlips, and it was manifest that confinement made him miserable. With\nrestless feet he would wander from window to window of the stone tower,\nand mount from story to story; but mount as high as he would there was\nstill nothing to be seen but the vast, unvarying plain, clothed with\nscanty grass, and flooded with the glaring sunshine; flocks and herds\nand shepherds moved across it sometimes, but nothing else, not even a\nshadow, for there was no cloud in the sky to cast one. The old man,\nhowever, always treated the prince with respect, and answered his\nquestions with a great deal of patience, till at length he found a\npleasure in satisfying his curiosity, which so much pleased the poor\nyoung prisoner, that, as a great condescension, he invited him to come\nout on the roof of the tower and drink sherbet with him in the cool of\nthe evening, and tell him of the country beyond the desert, and what\nseas are like, and mountains, and towns.\n\n\"I have learnt much from my attendants, and know this world pretty well\nby hearsay,\" said the prince, as they reclined on the rich carpet which\nwas spread on the roof.\n\nThe old man smiled, but did not answer; perhaps because he did not care\nto undeceive his young companion, perhaps because so many slaves were\npresent, some of whom were serving them with fruit, and others burning\nrich odors on a little chafing-dish that stood between them.\n\n\"But there are some words to which I never could attach any particular\nmeaning,\" proceeded the prince, as the slaves began to retire, \"and\nthree in particular that my attendants cannot satisfy me upon, or are\nreluctant to do so.\"\n\n\"What words are those, my prince?\" asked the old man. The prince turned\non his elbow to be sure that the last slave had descended the tower\nstairs, then replied:\n\n\"O man of much knowledge, the words are these--Labor, and Liberty, and\nGold.\"\n\n\"Prince,\" said the old man, \"I do not wonder that it has been hard to\nmake thee understand the first, the nature of it, and the cause why most\nmen are born to it; as for the second, it would be treason for thee and\nme to do more than whisper it here, and sigh for it when none are\nlistening; but the third need hardly puzzle thee; thy hookah[4] is\nbright with it; all thy jewels are set in it; gold is inlaid in the\nivory of thy bath; thy cup and thy dish are of gold, and golden threads\nare wrought into thy raiment.\"\n\n[Footnote 4: _Hookah_: a kind of pipe for smoking tobacco, used in\nEastern Europe and Asia.]\n\n\"That is true,\" replied the prince, \"and if I had not seen and handled\nthis gold, perhaps I might not find its merits so hard to understand;\nbut I possess it in abundance, and it does not feed me, nor make music\nfor me, nor fan me when the sun is hot, nor cause me to sleep when I am\nweary; therefore when my slaves have told me how merchants go out and\nbrave the perilous wind and sea, and live in the unstable ships, and run\nrisks from shipwreck and pirates, and when, having asked them why they\nhave done this, they have answered, 'For gold,' I have found it hard to\nbelieve them; and when they have told me how men have lied, and robbed,\nand deceived; how they have murdered one another, and leagued together\nto depose kings, to oppress provinces, and all for gold; then I have\nsaid to myself, either my slaves have combined to make me believe that\nwhich is not, or this gold must be very different from the yellow stuff\nthat this coin is made of, this coin which is of no use but to have a\nhole pierced through it and hang to my girdle, that it may tinkle when I\nwalk.\"\n\n\"Notwithstanding this,\" said the old man, \"nothing can be done without\ngold; for it is better than bread, and fruit, and music, for it can buy\nthem all, since all men love it, and have agreed to exchange it for\nwhatever they may need.\"\n\n\"How so?\" asked the prince.\n\n\"If a man has many loaves he cannot eat them all,\" answered the old man;\n\"therefore he goes to his neighbor and says, 'I have bread and thou hast\na coin of gold--let us exchange;' so he receives the gold and goes to\nanother man, saying, 'Thou hast two houses and I have none; lend me one\nof thy houses to live in, and I will give thee my gold;' thus again they\nexchange.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" said the prince; \"but in time of drought, if there is no\nbread in a city, can they make it of gold?\"\n\n\"Not so,\" answered the old man, \"but they must send their gold to a city\nwhere there is food, and bring that back instead of it.\"\n\n\"But if there was a famine all over the world,\" asked the prince, \"what\nwould they do then?\"\n\n\"Why, then, and only then,\" said the old man, \"they must starve, and the\ngold would be nought, for it can only be changed for that which _is_; it\ncannot make that which is not.\"\n\n\"And where do they get gold?\" asked the prince. \"Is it the precious\nfruit of some rare tree, or have they whereby they can draw it down from\nthe sky at sunset?\"\n\n\"Some of it,\" said the old man, \"they dig out of the ground.\"\n\nThen he told the prince of ancient rivers running through terrible\ndeserts, whose sands glitter with golden grains and are yellow in the\nfierce heat of the sun, and of dreary mines where the Indian slaves work\nin gangs tied together, never seeing the light of day; and lastly (for\nhe was a man of much knowledge, and had travelled far), he told him of\nthe valley of the Sacramento in the New World, and of those mountains\nwhere the people of Europe send their criminals, and where now their\nfree men pour forth to gather gold, and dig for it as hard as if for\nlife; sitting up by it at night lest any should take it from them,\ngiving up houses and country, and wife and children, for the sake of a\nfew feet of mud, whence they dig clay that glitters as they wash it; and\nhow they sift it and rock it as patiently as if it were their own\nchildren in the cradle, and afterward carry it in their bosoms, and\nforego on account of it safety and rest.\n\n\"But, prince,\" he went on, seeing that the young man was absorbed in his\nnarrative, \"if you would pass your word to me never to betray me, I\nwould procure for you a sight of the external world, and in a trance you\nshould see those places where gold is dug, and traverse those regions\nforbidden to your mortal footsteps.\"\n\nUpon this, the prince threw himself at the old man's feet, and promised\nheartily to observe the secrecy required, and entreated that, for\nhowever short a time, he might be suffered to see this wonderful world.\n\nThen, if we may credit the story, the old man drew nearer to the\nchafing-dish which stood between them, and having fanned the dying\nembers in it, cast upon them a certain powder and some herbs, from\nwhence as they burnt a peculiar smoke arose. As their vapors spread, he\ndesired the prince to draw near and inhale them, and then (says the\nfable) assured him that when he should sleep he would find himself, in\nhis dream, at whatever place he might desire, with this strange\nadvantage, that he should see things in their truth and reality as well\nas in their outward shows.\n\n[Illustration: \"THEN HE RECLINED BESIDE THE CHAFING-DISH AND INHALED THE\nHEAVY PERFUME.\"]\n\nSo the prince, not without some fear, prepared to obey; but first he\ndrank his sherbet, and handed over the golden cup to the old man by way\nof recompense; then he reclined beside the chafing-dish and inhaled the\nheavy perfume till he became overpowered with sleep, and sank down upon\nthe carpet in a dream.\n\nThe prince knew not where he was, but a green country was floating\nbefore him, and he found himself standing in a marshy valley where a few\nwretched cottages were scattered here and there with no means of\ncommunication. There was a river, but it had overflowed its banks and\nmade the central land impassable, the fences had been broken down by it,\nand the fields of corn laid low; a few wretched peasants were wandering\nabout there; they looked half-clad and half-starved. \"A miserable\nvalley, indeed!\" exclaimed the prince; but as he said it a man came down\nfrom the hills with a great bag of gold in his hand.\n\n\"This valley is mine,\" said he to the people; \"I have bought it for\ngold. Now make banks that the river may not overflow, and I will give\nyou gold; also make fences and plant fields, and cover in the roofs of\nyour houses, and buy yourselves richer clothing.\" So the people did so,\nand as the gold got lower in the bag the valley grew fairer and greener,\ntill the prince exclaimed, \"O gold, I see your value now! O wonderful,\nbeneficent gold!\"\n\nBut presently the valley melted away like a mist, and the prince saw an\narmy besieging a city; he heard a general haranguing his soldiers to\nurge them on, and the soldiers shouting and battering the walls; but\nshortly, when the city was well-nigh taken, he saw some men secretly\ngiving gold among the soldiers, so much of it that they threw down their\narms to pick it up, and said that the walls were so strong that they\ncould not throw them down. \"O powerful gold!\" thought the prince; \"thou\nart stronger than the city walls!\"\n\nAfter that it seemed to him that he was walking about in a desert\ncountry, and in his dream he thought, \"Now I know what labor is, for I\nhave seen it, and its benefits; and I know what liberty is, for I have\ntasted it; I can wander where I will, and no man questions me; but gold\nis more strange to me than ever, for I have seen it buy both liberty and\nlabor.\" Shortly after this he saw a great crowd digging upon a barren\nhill, and when he drew near he understood that he was to see the place\nwhence the gold came.\n\nHe came up and stood a long time watching the people as they toiled\nready to faint in the sun, so great was the labor of digging up the\ngold.\n\nHe saw some who had much and could not trust any one to help them to\ncarry it, binding it in bundles over their shoulders, and bending and\ngroaning under its weight; he saw others hide it in the ground, and\nwatch the place clothed in rags, that none might suspect that they were\nrich; but some, on the contrary, who had dug up an unusual quantity, he\nsaw dancing and singing, and vaunting their success, till robbers\nwaylaid them when they slept, and rifled their bundles and carried their\ngolden sand away.\n\n\"All these men are mad,\" thought the prince, \"and this pernicious gold\nhas made them so.\"\n\nAfter this, as he wandered here and there, he saw groups of people\nsmelting the gold under the shadow of the trees, and he observed that a\ndancing, quivering vapor rose up from it which dazzled their eyes, and\ndistorted everything that they looked at; arraying it also in different\ncolors from the true one. He observed that this vapor from the gold\ncaused all things to rock and reel before the eyes of those who looked\nthrough it, and also, by some strange affinity, it drew their hearts\ntoward those who carried much gold on their persons, so that they called\nthem good and beautiful; it also caused them to see darkness and dulness\nin the faces of those who had carried none. \"This,\" thought the prince,\n\"is very strange;\" but not being able to explain it, he went still\nfarther, and there he saw more people. Each of these had adorned himself\nwith a broad golden girdle, and was sitting in the shade, while other\nmen waited on them.\n\n\"What ails these people?\" he inquired of one who was looking on, for he\nobserved a peculiar air of weariness and dulness in their faces. He was\nanswered that the girdles were very tight and heavy, and being bound\nover the regions of the heart, were supposed to impede its action, and\nprevent it from beating high, and also to chill the wearer, as, being of\nopaque material, the warm sunshine of the earth could not get through to\nwarm them.\n\n\"Why, then, do they, not break them asunder,\" exclaimed the prince, \"and\nfling them away?\"\n\n\"Break them asunder!\" cried the man; \"why, what a madman you must be;\nthey are made of the purest gold!\"\n\n\"Forgive my ignorance,\" replied the prince; \"I am a stranger.\"\n\nSo he walked on, for feelings of delicacy prevented him from gazing any\nlonger at the men with the golden girdles; but as he went he pondered on\nthe misery he had seen, and thought to himself that this golden sand did\nmore mischief than all the poisons of the apothecary; for it dazzled the\neyes of some, it strained the hearts of others, it bowed down the heads\nof many to the earth with its weight; it was a sore labor to gather it,\nand when it was gathered the robber might carry it away; it would be a\ngood thing, he thought, if there were none of it.\n\nAfter this he came to a place where were sitting some aged widows and\nsome orphan children of the gold-diggers, who were helpless and\ndestitute; they were weeping and bemoaning themselves, but stopped at\nthe approach of a man whose appearance attracted the prince, for he had\na very great bundle of gold on his back, and yet it did not bow him down\nat all; his apparel was rich, but he had no girdle on, and his face was\nanything but sad.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the prince to him, \"you have a great burden; you are\nfortunate to be able to stand under it.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"'I COULD NOT DO SO,' HE REPLIED, 'ONLY THAT AS I GO ON I\nKEEP LIGHTENING IT.'\"]\n\n\"I could not do so,\" he replied, \"only that as I go on I keep lightening\nit;\" and as he passed each of the widows, he threw gold to her, and,\nstooping down, hid pieces of it in the bosoms of the children.\n\n\"You have no girdle,\" said the prince.\n\n\"I once had one,\" answered the gold-gatherer; \"but it was so tight over\nmy breast that my heart grew cold under it, and almost ceased to beat.\nHaving a great quantity of gold on my back, I felt almost at the last\ngasp; so I threw off my girdle, and being on the bank of a river, which\nI knew not how to cross, I was about to fling it in, I was so vexed!\n'But no,' thought I, 'there are many people waiting here to cross\nbesides myself. I will make my girdle into a bridge, and we will cross\nover on it.'\"\n\n\"Turn your girdle into a bridge!\" said the prince, doubtfully, for he\ndid not quite understand.\n\nThe man explained himself.\n\n\"And, then, sir, after that,\" he continued, \"I turned one-half of my\nburden into bread, and gave it to these poor people. Since then I have\nnot been oppressed by its weight, however heavy it may have been; for\nfew men have a heavier one. In fact, I gather more from day to day.\"\n\nAs the man kept speaking, he scattered his gold right and left with a\ncheerful countenance, and the prince was about to reply, when suddenly a\ngreat trembling under his feet made him fall to the ground. The refining\nfires of the gold-gatherers sprang up into flames, and then went out;\nnight fell over everything on the earth, and nothing was visible in the\nsky but the stars of the southern cross.\n\n\"It is past midnight,\" thought the prince, \"for the stars of the cross\nbegin to bend.\"\n\nHe raised himself upon his elbow, and tried to pierce the darkness, but\ncould not. At length a slender blue flame darted out, as from ashes in a\nchafing-dish, and by the light of it he saw the strange pattern of his\ncarpet and the cushions lying about. He did not recognize them at first,\nbut presently he knew that he was lying in his usual place, at the top\nof his tower.\n\n\"Wake up, prince,\" said the old man.\n\nThe prince sat up and sighed, and the old man inquired what he had seen.\n\n\"O man of much learning!\" answered the prince, \"I have seen that this is\na wonderful world; I have seen the value of labor, and I know the uses\nof it; I have tasted the sweetness of liberty, and am grateful, though\nit was but in a dream; but as for that other word that was so great a\nmystery to me, I only know this, that it must remain a mystery forever,\nsince I am fain to believe that all men are bent on getting it; though,\nonce gotten, it causeth them endless disquietude, only second to their\ndiscomfort that are without it. I am fain to believe that they can\nprocure with it whatever they most desire, and yet that it cankers their\nhearts and dazzles their eyes; that it is their nature and their duty to\ngather it; and yet that, when once gathered, the best thing they can do\nis to scatter it!\"\n\nThe next morning, when he awoke, the old man was gone. He had taken with\nhim the golden cup. And the sentinel was also gone, none knew whither.\nPerhaps the old man had turned his golden cup into a golden key.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WATER-LILY\n\n\nMy father and mother were gone out for the day, and had left me charge\nof the children. It was very hot, and they kept up a continual fidget. I\nbore it patiently for some time, for children will be restless in hot\nweather, but at length I requested that they would get something to do.\n\n\"Why don't you work, or paint, or read, Hatty?\" I demanded of my little\nsister.\n\n\"I'm tired of always grounding those swans,\" said Harriet, \"and my\ncrochet is so difficult; I seem to do it quite right, and yet it comes\nwrong.\"\n\n\"Then why don't you write your diary?\"\n\n\"Oh, because Charlie won't write his.\"\n\n\"A very bad reason; his not writing leaves you the more to say; besides,\nI thought you promised mamma you would persevere if she would give you a\nbook.\"\n\n\"And so we did for a long time,\" said Charlie; \"why, I wrote pages and\npages of mine. Look here!\"\n\nSo saying, he produced a copy-book with a marbled cover, and showed me\nthat it was about half-full of writing in large text.\n\n\"If you wrote all that yourself, I should think you might write more.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I am so tired of it, and besides, this is such a very hot day.\"\n\n\"I know that, and to have you leaning on my knee makes me no cooler; but\nI have something for you to do just now, which I think you will like.\"\n\n\"Oh, what is it, sister? May we both do it?\"\n\n\"Yes, if you like. You may go into the field to gardener, and ask him to\nget me a water-lily out of the stream; I want one to finish my sketch\nwith.\"\n\n\"You really do want one? you are not pretending, just to give us\nsomething to do?\"\n\n\"No, I really want one; you see these in the glass begin to wither.\"'\n\n\"Make haste then, Hatty. Sister, you shall have the very best lily we\ncan find.\"\n\nThereupon they ran off, leaving me to inspect the diary. Its first page\nwas garnished with the resemblance of a large swan with curly wings;\nfrom his beak proceeded the owner's name in full, and underneath were\nhis lucubrations. The first few pages ran as follows:\n\n\"_Wednesday._ To-day mamma said, as all the others were writing diaries,\nI might do one too if I liked, so I said I should, and I shall write it\nevery day till I am grown up. I did a long division sum, a very hard\none. We dined early to-day, and we had a boiled leg of mutton and an\napple pudding, but I shall not say another time what we had for dinner,\nbecause I shall have plenty of other things to say.\"\n\n\"_Friday._ Gardener has been mending the palings; he gave me five nails;\nthey were very good ones, such as I like. He said if any boy that he\nknew was to pull nails out of his wall trees when _he'd_ done them, he\nshould certainly tell their papa of them. Aunt Fanny came and took away\nSophy to spend a fortnight. Uncle Tom came too; he said I was a fine\nboy, and gave me a shilling.\"\n\n\"_Saturday._ My half-holiday. Hurrah! I went and bought two hoop-sticks\nfor me and Hatty; they cost fourpence each.\"\n\n\"_Sunday._ On Sunday I went to church.\"\n\n\"_Monday._ To-day I had a cold, and after school I was just going to\nbowl my hoop when Orris said to mamma it rained, and ma said she\ncouldn't think of my going out in the rain, and so I couldn't go. After\nthat Orris called me to come into her room, and gave me a fourpenny\npiece and two pictures, so now I've got eightpence. Orris is very kind,\nbut sometimes she thinks she ought to command, because she is the\neldest.\"\n\n\"_Tuesday._ I shall not write my diary every day, unless I like.\"\n\n\"_Wednesday._ I dined late with papa and mamma and the elder ones: it\nrained. If the others won't tell me what to say, of course I don't\nknow.\"\n\n\"_Friday._ I went to the shop and bought some tin _tax_. I don't like\nwriting diaries particularly. It will be a good thing to leave off till\nthe holidays.\"\n\nI had only got so far when the children ran in with a beautiful\nwater-lily. They had scarcely deposited it in my hand when they both\nexclaimed in a breath:\n\n\"And what are we to do now?\"\n\n\"You may bring me a glass of water to put it in.\"\n\nThis was soon done, and then the question was repeated. I saw there was\nbut one chance of quiet, so I resolved to make a virtue of necessity,\nand say that if they would each immediately begin some ordinary\noccupation, I would tell them a story. What child was ever proof against\na story?\n\n\"But we are to choose what it shall be about?\" said one of them.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Oh, never mind why. Shall we tell her, Harriet? Well, it's because you\ntell cheating stories: you say, 'I'll tell you a story about a girl, or\na cottage, or a thimble, or anything you like,' and it really is\nsomething about us.\"\n\n\"You may choose, then.\"\n\n\"Then it shall be about the lily we got for you.\"\n\n\"Give me ten minutes to think about it, and collect your needles and\npencils.\"\n\nUpon this they brought together a heap of articles which they were not\nat all likely to want, and after altering the position of their stools\nand discussing what they would do, and changing their minds many times,\ndeclared at length that they were quite ready.\n\n[Illustration: \"LIVED ON THE BORDERS OF ONE OF THE GREAT AMERICAN\nFORESTS.\"]\n\n\"Now begin, please. _There was once--_\" So I accordingly began. \"There\nwas once a boy who was very fond of pictures. There were not many\npictures for him to look at, for his mother, who was a widow, lived on\nthe borders of one of the great American forests. She had come out from\nEngland with her husband, and now that he was dead, the few pictures\nhanging on her walls were almost the only luxuries she possessed.\n\n\"Her son would often spend his holidays in trying to copy them, but as\nhe had very little application, he often threw his half-finished\ndrawings away, and once he was heard to say that he wished some\nkind-hearted fairy would take it in hand and finish it for him.\n\n\"'Child,' said the mother, 'for my part I don't believe there are any\nsuch things as fairies. I never saw one, and your father never did; but\nby all accounts, if fairies there be, they are a jealous and revengeful\nrace. Mind your books, my child, and never mind the fairies.'\n\n\"'Very well, mother,' said the boy.\n\n\"'It makes me sad to see you stand gazing at the pictures,' said his\nmother, coming up to him and laying her hand on his curly head; 'why,\nchild, pictures can't feed a body, pictures can't clothe a body, and a\nlog of wood is far better to burn and warm a body.'\n\n\"'All that is quite true, mother,' said the boy.\n\n\"'Then why do you keep looking at them, child?'\n\n\"The boy hesitated, and then answered, 'I don't know, mother.'\n\n\"'You don't know! nor I neither. Why, child, you look at the dumb things\nas if you loved them. Put on your cap and run out to play.'\n\n\"So the boy went out, and wandered toward the forest till he came to the\nbrink of a sheet of water. It was too small to be called a lake, but it\nwas deep, clear, and overhung with crowds of trees. It was evening, and\nthe sun was getting low. There was a narrow strip of land stretching out\ninto the water. Pine-trees grew upon it; and here and there a plane-tree\nor a sumach dipped its large leaves over, and seemed intent on watching\nits own clear reflection.\n\n\"The boy stood still, and thought how delightful it was to see the sun\nred and glorious between the black trunks of the pine-trees. Then he\nlooked up into the abyss of clear sky overhead, and thought how\nbeautiful it was to see the little frail clouds folded over one another\nlike a belt of rose-colored waves. Then he drew still nearer to the\nwater, and saw how they were all reflected down there among the leaves\nand flowers of the lilies; and he wished he were a painter, for he said\nto himself, 'I am sure there are no trees in the world with such\nbeautiful leaves as these pines; I am sure there are no other clouds in\nthe world so lovely as these; I know this is the sweetest piece of water\nin the world, and, if I could paint it, every one else would know it\ntoo.' He stood still for awhile, watching the water-lilies as they\nclosed their leaves for the night, and listening to the slight sound\nthey made when they dipped their heads under water. 'The sun has been\nplaying tricks with these lilies as well as with the clouds,' he said to\nhimself, 'for when I passed by in the morning they swayed about like\nfloating snowballs, and now there is not a bud of them that has not got\na rosy side. I must gather one, and see if I cannot make a drawing of\nit.' So he gathered a lily, sat down with it in his hand, and tried very\nhard to make a correct sketch of it in a blank leaf of his copy-book. He\nwas far more patient than usual, but he succeeded so little to his own\nsatisfaction, that at length he threw down the book, and, looking into\nthe cup of his lily, said to it, in a sorrowful voice, 'Ah, what use is\nit my trying to copy anything so beautiful as you are? How much I wish I\nwere a painter!'\n\n\"As he said these words he felt a slight quivering in the flower; and,\nwhile he looked, the cluster of stamens at the bottom of the cup floated\nupward, and glittered like a crown of gold; the dewdrops which hung upon\nthem changed into diamonds before his eyes; the white petals flowed\ntogether; the tall pistil was a golden wand; and the next moment a\nbeautiful little creature stood upon his hand, clad in a robe of the\npurest white, and scarcely taller than the flower from which she sprung.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE NEXT MOMENT A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE CREATURE STOOD UPON\nHIS HAND.\"]\n\n\"Struck with astonishment, the boy kept silence. She lifted up her face,\nand opened her lips more than once. He expected her to say some\nwonderful thing; but, when at length she did speak, she only said,\n'Child, are you happy?'\n\n\"'No,' said the boy, in a low voice, 'because I want to paint, and I\ncannot.'\n\n\"'How do you know that you cannot?' asked the fairy.\n\n\"'Oh, fairy,' replied the boy, 'because I have tried a great many times.\nIt is of no use trying any longer.'\n\n\"'What if I were to help you?' said the fairy.\n\n\"'There would then indeed be some pleasure in the work and some chance\nof success,' said the boy.\n\n\"'I was just closing my leaves for the night,' answered the fairy, 'when\nyou drew me out of the water; and I should have made you feel the\neffects of my resentment if it had not happened that you are the\nfavorite of our race. Under the water, at the bottom of this lake, are\nour palaces and castles; and when, after visiting the upper world, we\nwish to return to them, we close one of these lilies over us, and sink\nin it to our home. The wish that I heard you utter just now induced me\nto appear to you. I know a powerful charm which will ensure your success\nand the accomplishment of your highest wishes; but it is one which\nrequires a great deal of care and patience in the working, and I cannot\nput you in possession of it unless you will promise the most implicit\nobedience to my directions.'\n\n\"'Spirit of a water-lily!' said the boy, 'I promise with all my heart.'\n\n\"'Go home, then,' continued the fairy, 'and you will find lying on the\nthreshold a little key: take it up.'\n\n\"'I will,' answered the boy; 'and what then shall I do?'\n\n\"'Carry it to the nearest pine-tree,' said the fairy, 'strike the trunk\nwith it, and a keyhole will appear. Do not be afraid to unlock that\nmagic door. Slip in your hand, and you will bring out a wonderful\npalette. I have not time now to tell you half its virtues, but they will\nsoon unfold themselves. You must be very careful to paint with colors\nfrom that palette every day. On this depends the success of the charm.\nYou will find that it will soon give grace to your figures and beauty to\nyour coloring; and I promise you that, if you do not break the spell,\nyou shall not only in a few years be able to produce as beautiful a copy\nof these flowers as can be wished, but your name shall become known to\nfame, and your genius shall be honored, and your pictures admired on\nboth sides the Atlantic.'\n\n\"'Can it be possible?' said the boy; and the hand trembled on which\nstood the fairy.\n\n\"'It shall be so, if only you do not break the charm,' said the fairy;\n'but lest, like the rest of your ungrateful race, you should forget what\nyou owe to me, and even when you grow older begin to doubt whether you\nhave ever seen me, the Lily you gathered will never fade till my promise\nis accomplished.'\n\n\"So saying, she gathered around her the folds of her robe, crossed her\narms, and dropping her head on her breast, trembled slightly; and,\nbefore the boy could remark the change, he had nothing in his hand but a\nflower.\n\n\"He looked up. All the beautiful rosy flowers were faded to a shady\ngray. The gold had disappeared from the water, and the forest was dense\nand gloomy. He arose with the lily in his hand, went slowly home, laid\nit in a casket to protect it from injury, and then proceeded to search\nfor the palette, which he shortly found; and, lest he should break the\nspell, he began to use it that very night.\n\n\"Who would not like to have a fairy friend? Who would not like to work\nwith a magic palette? Every day its virtues become more apparent. He\nworked very hard, and it was astonishing how soon he improved. His deep,\nheavy outlines soon became light and clear; and his coloring began to\nassume a transparent delicacy. He was so delighted with the fairy\npresent that he even did more than was required of him. He spent nearly\nall his leisure time in using it, and often passed whole days beside the\nsheet of water in the forest. He painted it when the sun shone, and it\nwas spotted all over with the reflection of fleeting white clouds; he\npainted it covered with water-lilies rocking on the ripples; by\nmoonlight, when two or three stars in the empty sky shone down upon it;\nand at sunset, when it lay trembling like liquid gold.\n\n\"But the fairy never came to look at his work. He often called to her\nwhen he had been more than usually successful; but she never made him\nany answer, nor took the least notice of his entreaties that he might\nsee her again.\n\n\"So a long time--several years--passed away. He was grown up to be a\nman, and he had never broken the charm; he still worked every day with\nhis magic palette.\n\n\"No one in these parts cared at all for his pictures. His mother's\nfriends told him he would never get his bread by painting; his mother\nherself was sorry that he chose to waste his leisure so; and the more\nbecause the pictures on her walls were brighter far than his, and had\nclouds and trees of far clearer color, not like the common clouds and\nmisty hills that he was so fond of painting, and his faintly colored\ndistant forest, with uncertain and variable hues, such as she could see\nany day when she looked out at her window.\n\n\"It made the young man unhappy to hear all this fault found with his\nproceedings, but it never made him leave off using the fairy's palette,\nthough about this time he himself began to doubt whether he should ever\nbe a painter. One evening he sat at his easel, trying in vain to give\nthe expression he wished to an angel's face, which seemed to get less\nand less like the face in his heart with every touch he gave it. On a\nsudden he threw down his brush, and with a feeling of bitter\ndisappointment upbraided himself for what he now thought his folly in\nlistening to the fairy, and accepting her delusive gift. What had he got\nby it hitherto? Nothing but his mother's regrets and the ridicule of his\ncompanions. He threw himself on his bed. It grew dark; he could no\nlonger be vexed with the sight of his unfinished angel; and presently he\nfell asleep and forgot his sorrow.\n\n\"In the middle of the night he suddenly awoke. His chamber was full of\nmoonlight. The lid of the casket where he kept the lily had sprung open,\nand his fairy friend stood near it.\n\n\"'American painter,' she said, in a reproachful voice, 'since you think\nI have been rather a foe than a friend to you, I am ready to take back\nmy gift.'\n\n\"But sleep had now cooled the young painter's mind, and softened his\nfeelings of vexation, so that he did not find himself at all willing to\npart with the palette. While he hesitated how to excuse himself, she\nfurther said, 'But if you still wish to try what it can do for you, take\nthis ring which _my sister_ sends you; wear it, and it will greatly\nassist the charm.'\n\n\"The youth held out his hand and took the ring. As he cast his eyes upon\nit, the fairy vanished. He turned it to the moonlight, and saw that it\nwas set with a stone of a transparent blue color. It had the property of\nreflecting everything bright that came near it; and there was a word\nengraven upon it. He thought--he could not be sure--but he thought the\nword was 'Hope.'\n\n\"After this, and during a long time, I can tell you no more about him:\nwhether he finished the angel's face, and whether it pleased him at\nlast, I do not know. I only know that, in process of time, his mother\ndied--that he came to Europe--and that he was quite unknown and very\npoor.\n\n\"The next thing recorded of him is this, that on a sudden he became\nfamous. The world began to admire his works, and to seek his company. He\nwas considered a great man, and wealth and honors flowed in upon him. It\nhappened to him that one day in travelling he came to a great city,\nwhere there was a large collection of pictures. He went to see them, and\namong them he saw many of his own pictures; some of them he had painted\nbefore he had left his forest home; others were of more recent date. All\nthe people and all the painters praised them. But there was one that\nthey liked better than the others; and when he heard them call it his\nmasterpiece, he went and sat down opposite to it, that he might think\nover again some of the thoughts that he had had when he painted it.\n\n\"It was a picture of a little child, holding in its hands several\nbeautiful water-lilies; and the crowd that gathered round it praised the\nlightness of the drapery, the beauty of the infant form, the soft light\nshed down upon it, and, above all, the innocent expression of the baby\nfeatures.\n\n\"He was pleased, but not elated. He called to mind the words of his\nfairy benefactress, and acknowledged to himself that at length they were\ncertainly fulfilled.\n\n\"And then it drew toward evening, and the people one by one disappeared,\ntill he was left alone with his masterpiece. The excitement of the day\nhad made him anxious for repose. He was thinking of leaving the place,\nwhen suddenly he fell asleep, and dreamed that he was standing behind\nthe sheet of water in his native country, and lingering, as of old, to\nwatch the rays of the setting sun as they melted away from its surface.\nHe thought, too, that his beautiful lily was in his hand, and that while\nhe looked at it the leaves withered and fell at his feet. Then followed\na confused recollection of his conversation with the fairy; and after\nthat his thoughts became clearer, and, though still asleep, he\nremembered where he was, and in what place he was sitting. His\nimpressions became more vivid. He dreamed that something lightly touched\nhis hand. He looked up, and his fairy benefactress was at his side,\nstanding on the arm of his chair.\n\n\"'O wonderful enchantress!' said the dreaming painter, 'do not vanish\nbefore I have had time to thank you for your magic gift. I have nothing\nto offer you but my gratitude in return; for the diamonds of this world\nare too heavy for such an ethereal being, and the gold of this world is\nuseless to you who have no wants that it can supply. The fame I have\nacquired I cannot impart to you, for few of my race believe in the\nexistence of yours. What, then, can I do? I can only thank you for your\ngoodness. But tell me at least your name, if you have a name, that I may\ncut it on a ring, and wear it always on my finger.'\n\n\"'My name,' replied the fairy, 'is Perseverance.'\"\n\n\"Well!\" said the children, looking at each other, \"she has cheated us\nafter all!\"\n\n\n\n\nA LOST WAND\n\n\nMore than a hundred years ago, at the foot of a wild mountain in Norway,\nstood an old castle, which even at the time I write of was so much out\nof repair as in some parts to be scarcely habitable.\n\nIn a hall of this castle a party of children met once on Twelfth-night\nto play at Christmas games and dance with little Hulda, the only child\nof the lord and lady.\n\nThe winters in Norway are very cold, and the snow and ice lie for months\non the ground; but the night on which these merry children met it froze\nwith more than ordinary severity, and a keen wind shook the trees\nwithout, and roared in the wide chimneys like thunder.\n\nLittle Hulda's mother, as the evening wore on, kept calling on the\nservants to heap on fresh logs of wood, and these, when the long flames\ncrept around them, sent up showers of sparks that lit up the brown\nwalls, ornamented with the horns of deer and goats, and made it look as\ncheerful and gay as the faces of the children. Hulda's grandmother had\nsent her a great cake, and when the children had played enough at all\nthe games they could think of, the old gray-headed servants brought it\nin and set it on the table, together with a great many other nice things\nsuch as people eat in Norway--pasties made of reindeer meat, and castles\nof the sweet pastry sparkling with sugar ornaments of ships and flowers\nand crowns, and cranberry pies, and whipped cream as white as the snow\noutside; but nothing was admired so much as the great cake, and when the\nchildren saw it they set up a shout which woke the two hounds who were\nsleeping on the hearths, and they began to bark, which roused all the\nfour dogs in the kennels outside who had not been invited to see either\nthe cake or the games, and they barked, too, shaking and shivering with\ncold, and then a great lump of snow slid down from the roof, and fell\nwith a dull sound like distant thunder on the pavement of the yard.\n\n\"Hurrah!\" cried the children, \"the dogs and the snow are helping us to\nshout in honor of the cake.\"\n\nAll this time more and more nice things were coming in--fritters,\nroasted grouse, frosted apples, and buttered crabs. As the old servants\ncame shivering along the passages, they said, \"It is a good thing that\nchildren are not late with their suppers; if the confects had been kept\nlong in the larder they would have frozen on the dishes.\"\n\nNobody wished to wait at all; so, as soon as the supper was ready, they\nall sat down, more wood was heaped on to the fire, and when the moon\nshone in at the deep casements, and glittered on the dropping snowflakes\noutside, it only served to make the children more merry over their\nsupper to think how bright and warm everything was inside.\n\nThis cake was a real treasure, such as in the days of the fairies, who\nstill lived in certain parts of Norway, was known to be of the kind they\nloved. A piece of it was always cut and laid outside in the snow, in\ncase they should wish to taste it. Hulda's grandmother had also dropped\na ring into this cake before it was put into the oven, and it is well\nknown that whoever gets such a ring in his or her slice of cake has only\nto wish for something directly, and the fairies are bound to give it,\n_if they possibly can_. There have been cases known when the fairies\ncould not give it, and then, of course, they were not to blame.\n\nOn this occasion the children said: \"Let us all be ready with our\nwishes, because sometimes people have been known to lose them from being\nso long making up their minds when the ring has come to them.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" cried the eldest boy. \"It does not seem fair that only one should\nwish. I am the eldest. I begin. I shall wish that Twelfth-night would\ncome twice a year.\"\n\n\"They cannot give you that, I am sure,\" said Friedrich, his brother, who\nsat by him.\n\n\"Then,\" said the boy, \"I wish father may take me with him the next time\nhe goes out bear-shooting.\"\n\n\"I wish for a white kitten with blue eyes,\" said a little girl whose\nname was Therese.\n\n\"I shall wish to find an amber necklace that does not belong to any\none,\" said another little girl.\n\n\"I wish to be a king,\" said a boy whose name was Karl. \"No, I think I\nshall wish to be the burgomaster, that I may go on board the ships in\nthe harbor, and make their captains show me what is in them. I shall see\nhow the sailors make their sails go up.\"\n\n\"I shall wish to marry Hulda,\" said another boy; \"when I am a man I\nmean. And besides that, I wish I may find a black puppy in my room at\nhome, for I love dogs.\"\n\n\"But that is not fair,\" said the other children. \"You must only wish for\none thing, as we did.\"\n\n\"But I really wish for both,\" said the boy.\n\n\"If you wish for both perhaps you will get neither,\" said little Hulda.\n\n\"Well, then,\" answered the boy, \"I wish for the puppy.\"\n\nAnd so they all went on wishing till at last it came to Hulda's turn.\n\n\"What do you wish for, my child?\" said her mother.\n\n\"Not for anything at all,\" she answered, shaking her head.\n\n\"Oh, but you must wish for something!\" cried all the children.\n\n\"Yes,\" said her mother, \"and I am now going to cut the cake. See, Hulda,\nthe knife is going into it. Think of something.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" answered the little girl, \"I cannot think of anything\nelse, so I shall wish that you may all have your wishes.\"\n\nUpon this the knife went crunching down into the cake, the children gave\nthree cheers, and the white waxen tulip bud at the top came tumbling on\nthe table, and while they were all looking it opened its leaves, and out\nof the middle of it stepped a beautiful little fairy woman, no taller\nthan your finger. She had a white robe on, a little crown on her long\nyellow hair; there were two wings on her shoulders, just like the downy\nbrown wings of a butterfly, and in her hand she had a little sceptre\nsparkling with precious stones.\n\n\"Only one wish,\" she said, jumping down on to the table, and speaking\nwith the smallest little voice you ever heard. \"Your fathers and mothers\nwere always contented if we gave them one wish every year.\"\n\nAs she spoke, Hulda's mother gave a slice of cake to each child, and,\nwhen Hulda took hers, out dropped the ring, and fell clattering on her\nplatter.\n\n\"Only one wish,\" repeated the fairy. And the children were all so much\nastonished (for even in those days fairies were but rarely seen) that\nnone of them spoke a word, not even in a whisper. \"Only one wish. Speak,\nthen, little Hulda, for I am one of that race which delights to give\npleasure and to do good. Is there really nothing that you wish, for you\nshall certainly have it if there is?\"\n\n\"There was nothing, dear fairy, before I saw you,\" answered the little\ngirl, in a hesitating tone.\n\n\"But now there is?\" asked the fairy. \"Tell it me, then, and you shall\nhave it.\"\n\n\"I wish for that pretty little sceptre of yours,\" said Hulda, pointing\nto the fairy's wand.\n\nThe moment Hulda said this the fairy shuddered and became pale, her\nbrilliant colors faded, and she looked to the children's eyes like a\nthin white mist standing still in her place. The sceptre, on the\ncontrary, became brighter than ever, and the precious stones glowed like\nburning coals.\n\n\"Dear child,\" she sighed, in a faint, mournful voice, \"I had better have\nleft you with the gift of your satisfied, contented heart, than thus\nhave urged you to form a wish to my destruction. Alas! alas! my power\nand my happiness fade from me, and are as if they had never been. My\nwand must now go to you, who can make no use of it, and I must flutter\nabout forlornly and alone in the cold world, with no more ability to do\ngood, and waste away my time--a helpless and defenceless thing.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, no!\" replied little Hulda. \"Do not speak so mournfully, dear\nfairy. I did not wish at first to ask for it. I will not take the wand\nif it is of value to you, and I should be grieved to have it against\nyour will.\"\n\n\"Child,\" said the fairy, \"you do not know our nature. I have said\nwhatever you wished should be yours. I cannot alter this decree; it\n_must_ be so. Take my wand; and I entreat you to guard it carefully, and\nnever to give it away lest it should get into the hands of my enemy; for\nif once it should, I shall become his miserable little slave. Keep my\nwand with care; it is of no use to you, but in the course of years it is\npossible I may be able to regain it, and on Midsummer night I shall for\na few hours return to my present shape, and be able for a short time to\ntalk with you again.\"\n\n\"Dear fairy,\" said little Hulda, weeping, and putting out her hand for\nthe wand, which the fairy held to her, \"is there nothing else that I can\ndo for you?\"\n\n\"Nothing, nothing,\" said the fairy, who had now become so transparent\nand dim that they could scarcely see her; only the wings on her\nshoulders remained, and their bright colors had changed to a dusky\nbrown. \"I have long contended with my bitter enemy, the chief of the\ntribe of the gnomes--the ill-natured, spiteful gnomes. Their desire is\nas much to do harm to mortals as it is mine to do them good. If now he\nshould find me I shall be at his mercy. It was decreed long ages ago\nthat I should one day lose my wand, and it depends in some degree upon\nyou, little Hulda, whether I shall ever receive it again. Farewell.\"\n\nAnd now nothing was visible but the wings; the fairy had changed into a\nmoth, with large brown wings freckled with dark eyes, and it stood\ntrembling upon the table, till at length, when the children had watched\nit some time, it fluttered toward the window and beat against the panes,\nas if it wished to be released, so they opened the casement and let it\nout in the wind and cold.\n\nPoor little thing! They were very sorry for it; but after a while they\nnearly forgot it, for they were but children. Little Hulda only\nremembered it, and she carefully enclosed the beautiful sceptre in a\nsmall box. But Midsummer day passed by, and several other Midsummer\ndays, and still Hulda saw nothing and heard nothing of the fairy. She\nthen began to fear that she must be dead, and it was a long time since\nshe had looked at the wand, when one day in the middle of the Norway\nsummer, as she was playing on one of the deep bay windows of the castle,\nshe saw a pedlar with a pack on his back coming slowly up the avenue of\npine-trees, and singing a merry song.\n\n\"Can I speak to the lady of this castle?\" he said to Hulda, making at\nthe same time a very low bow.\n\nHulda did not much like him, he had such restless black eyes and such a\ncunning smile. His face showed that he was a foreigner; it was as brown\nas a nut. His dress also was very strange; he wore a red turban, and had\nlarge earrings in his ears, and silver chains wound round and round his\nankles.\n\nHulda replied that her mother was gone to the fair at Christiana, and\nwould not be back for several days.\n\n\"Can I then speak with the lord of the castle?\" asked the pedlar.\n\n\"My father is gone out to fish in the fiord,\" replied little Hulda; \"he\nwill not return for some time, and the maids and the men are all gone to\nmake hay in the fields; there is no one left at home but me and my old\nnurse.\"\n\nThe pedlar was very much delighted to hear this. However, he pretended\nto be disappointed.\n\n\"It is very unfortunate,\" he said, \"that your honored parents are not at\nhome, for I have got some things here of such wonderful beauty that\nnothing could have given them so much pleasure as to have feasted their\neyes with the sight of them--rings, bracelets, lockets, pictures--in\nshort, there is nothing beautiful that I have not got in my pack, and if\nyour parents could have seen them they would have given all the money\nthey had in the world rather than not have bought some of them.\"\n\n\"Good pedlar,\" said little Hulda, \"could you not be so very kind as just\nto let me have a sight of them?\"\n\nThe pedlar at first pretended to be unwilling, but after he had looked\nall across the wide heath and seen that there was no one coming, and\nthat the hounds by the doorway were fast asleep in the sun, and the very\npigeons on the roof had all got their heads under their wings, he\nventured to step across the threshold into the bay window, and begin to\nopen his pack and display all his fine things, taking care to set them\nout in the sunshine, which, made them glitter like glowworms.\n\nLittle Hulda had never seen anything half so splendid before. There were\nlittle glasses set round with diamonds, and hung with small tinkling\nbells which made delightful music whenever they were shaken; ropes of\npearls which had a more fragrant scent than bean-fields or hyacinths;\nrings, the precious stones of which changed color as you frowned or\nsmiled upon them; silver boxes that could play tunes; pictures of\nbeautiful ladies and gentlemen, set with emeralds, with devices in coral\nat the back; little golden snakes, with brilliant eyes that would move\nabout; and so many other rare and splendid jewels that Hulda was quite\ndazzled, and stood looking at them with blushing cheeks and a beating\nheart, so much she wished that she might have one of them.\n\n\"Well, young lady,\" said the cunning pedlar, \"how do you find these\njewels? Did I boast too much of their beauty?\"\n\n\"Oh, no!\" said Hulda, \"I did not think there had been anything so\nbeautiful in the world. I did not think even our queen had such fine\njewels as these. Thank you, pedlar, for the sight of them.\"\n\n\"Will you buy something, then, of a poor man?\" answered the pedlar.\n\"I've travelled a great distance, and not sold anything this many a\nday.\"\n\n\"I should be very glad to buy,\" said little Hulda, \"but I have scarcely\nany money; not half the price of one of these jewels, I am sure.\"\n\nNow there was lying on the table an ancient signet-ring set with a large\nopal.\n\n\"Maybe the young lady would not mind parting with this?\" said he, taking\nit up. \"I could give her a new one for it of the latest fashion.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, thank you!\" cried Hulda, hastily, \"I must not do so. This ring\nis my mother's, and was left her by my grandmother.\"\n\nThe pedlar looked disappointed. However, he put the ring down, and said,\n\"But if my young lady has no money, perhaps she has some old trinkets or\ntoys that she would not mind parting with--a coral and bells, or a\nsilver mug, or a necklace, or, in short, anything that she keeps put\naway, and that is of no use to her?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the little girl, \"I don't think I have got anything of the\nkind. Oh, yes! to be sure, I have got somewhere up-stairs a little gold\nwand, which I was told not to give away; but I'm afraid she who gave it\nme must have been dead a long while, and it is of no use keeping it any\nlonger.\"\n\nNow this pedlar was the fairy's enemy. He had long suspected that the\nwand must be concealed somewhere in that region, and near the sea, and\nhe had disguised himself, and gone out wandering among the farmhouses\nand huts and castles to try if he could hear some tidings of it, and get\nit if possible into his power. The moment he heard Hulda mention her\ngold wand, he became excessively anxious to see it. He was a gnome, and\nwhen his malicious eyes gleamed with delight they shot out a burning\nray, which scorched the hound who was lying asleep close at hand, and he\nsprang up and barked at him.\n\n\"Peace, peace, Rhan!\" cried little Hulda; \"lie down, you unmannerly\nhound!\" The dog shrank back again growling, and the pedlar said in a\ncareless tone to Hulda:\n\n\"Well, lady, I have no objection just to look at the little gold wand,\nand see if it is worth anything.\"\n\n\"But I am not sure that I could part with it,\" said Hulda.\n\n\"Very well,\" replied the pedlar, \"as you please; but I may as well look\nat it. I should hope these beautiful things need not go begging.\" As he\nspoke he began carefully to lock up some of the jewels in their little\nboxes, as if he meant to go away.\n\n\"Oh, don't go,\" cried Hulda. \"I am going up-stairs to fetch my wand. I\nshall not be long; pray wait for me.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"'OH, DON'T GO,' CRIED HULDA. 'I AM GOING UP-STAIRS TO\nFETCH MY WAND.'\"]\n\nNothing was further from the pedlar's thought than to go away, and while\nlittle Hulda was running up to look for the wand he panted so hard for\nfear that after all he might not be able to get it that he woke the\nother hound, who came up to him, and smelt his leg.\n\n\"What sort of a creature is this?\" said the old hound to his companion,\nspeaking, of course, in the dogs' language.\n\n\"I'm sure I can't say,\" answered the other. \"I wonder what he is made\nof,--he smells of mushrooms! quite earthy, I declare! as if he had lived\nunderground all his life.\"\n\n\"Let us stand one on each side of him, and watch that he doesn't steal\nanything.\"\n\nSo the two dogs stood staring at him; but the pedlar was too cunning for\nthem. He looked out of the window, and said, \"I think I see the master\ncoming,\" upon which they both turned to look across the heath, and the\npedlar snatched up the opal ring, and hid it in his vest. When they\nturned around he was folding up his trinkets again as calmly as\npossible. \"One cannot be too careful to count one's goods,\" he said,\ngravely. \"Honest people often get cheated in houses like these, and\nhonest as these two dogs look, I know where one of them hid that\nleg-of-mutton bone that he stole yesterday!\" Upon hearing this the dogs\nsneaked under the table ashamed of themselves. \"I would not have it on\nmy conscience that I robbed my master for the best bone in the world,\"\ncontinued the pedlar, and as he said this he took up a little silver\nhorn belonging to the lord of the castle, and, having tapped it with his\nknuckle to see whether the metal was pure, folded it up in cotton, and\nput it in his pack with the rest of his curiosities.\n\nPresently Hulda came down with a little box in her hand, out of which\nshe took the fairy's wand.\n\nThe pedlar was so transported at the sight of it that he could scarcely\nconceal his joy; but he knew that unless he could get it by fair means\nit would be of no use to him.\n\n\"How dim it looks!\" said little Hulda; \"the stones used to be so very\nbright when first I had it.\"\n\n\"Ah! that is a sign that the person who gave it you is dead,\" said the\ndeceitful pedlar.\n\n\"I am sorry to hear she is dead,\" said Hulda, with a sigh. \"Well, then,\npedlar, as that is the case, I will part with the wand if you can give\nme one of your fine bracelets instead of it.\"\n\nThe pedlar's hand trembled with anxiety as he held it out for the wand,\nbut the moment he had got possession of it all his politeness vanished.\n\n\"There,\" he said, \"you have got a very handsome bracelet in your hand.\nIt is worth a great deal more than the wand. You may keep it. I have no\ntime to waste; I must be gone.\" So saying, he hastily snatched up the\nrest of his jewels, thrust them into his pack, and slung it over his\nshoulder, leaving Hulda looking after him with the bracelet in her hand.\nShe saw him walk rapidly along the heath till he came to a gravel-pit,\nvery deep, and with overhanging sides. He swung himself over by the\nbranches of the trees.\n\n\"What can he be going to do there?\" she said to herself. \"But I will run\nafter him, for I don't like this bracelet half so well as some of the\nothers.\"\n\nSo Hulda ran till she came to the edge of the gravel-pit, but was so\nmuch surprised that she could not say a word. There were the great\nfootmarks made by the pedlar down the steep sides of the pit; and at the\nbottom she saw him sitting in the mud, digging a hole with his hands.\n\n\"Hi!\" he said, putting his head down. \"Some of you come up. I've got the\nwand at last. Come and help me down with my pack.\"\n\n\"I'm coming,\" answered a voice, speaking under the ground; and presently\nup came a head, all covered with earth, through the hole the pedlar had\nmade. It was shaggy with hair, and had two little bright eyes, like\nthose of a mole. Hulda thought she had never seen such a curious little\nman. He was dressed in brown clothes, and had a red-peaked cap on his\nhead; and he and the pedlar soon laid the pack at the bottom of the\nhole, and began to stamp upon it, dancing and singing with great\nvehemence. As they went on the pack sank lower and lower, till at last,\nas they still stood upon it, Hulda could see only their heads and\nshoulders. In a little time longer she could only see the top of the red\ncap; and then the two little men disappeared altogether, and the ground\nclosed over them, and the white nettles and marsh marigolds waved their\nheads over the place as if nothing had happened.\n\nHulda walked away sadly and slowly. She looked at the beautiful\nbracelet, and wished she had not parted with the wand for it, for she\nnow began to fear that the pedlar had deceived her. Nevertheless, who\nwould not be delighted to have such a fine jewel? It consisted of a gold\nhoop, set with turquoise, and on the clasp was a beautiful bird, with\nopen wings, all made of gold, and which quivered as Hulda carried it.\nHulda looked at its bright eyes--ruby eyes, which sparkled in the\nsunshine--and at its crest, all powdered with pearls, and she forgot her\nregret.\n\n\"My beautiful bird!\" she said, \"I will not hide you in a dark box, as\nthe pedlar did. I will wear you on my wrist, and let you see all my\ntoys, and you shall be carried every day into the garden, that the\nflowers may see how elegant you are. But stop! I think I see a little\ndust on your wings. I must rub it off.\" So saying, Hulda took up her\nfrock and began gently rubbing the bird's wings, when, to her utter\nastonishment, it opened its pretty beak and sang:\n\n    \"My master, oh, my master,\n      The brown hard-hearted gnome,\n    He goes down faster, faster,\n      To his dreary home.\n    Little Hulda sold her\n      Golden wand for me,\n    Though the fairy told her\n      That must never be--\n    Never--she must never\n      Let the treasure go.\n    Ah! lost forever,\n      Woe! woe! woe!\"\n\nThe bird sang in such a sorrowful voice, and fluttered its golden wings\nso mournfully, that Hulda wept.\n\n\"Alas! alas!\" she said, \"I have done very wrong. I have lost the wand\nforever! Oh, what shall I do, dear little bird? Do tell me.\"\n\nBut the bird did not sing again, and it was now time to go to bed. The\nold nurse came out to fetch Hulda. She had been looking all over the\ncastle for her, and been wondering where she could have hidden herself.\n\nIn Norway, at midsummer, the nights are so short that the sun only dips\nunder the hills time enough to let one or two stars peep out before he\nappears again. The people, therefore, go to bed in the broad sunlight.\n\n\"Child,\" said the old nurse, \"look how late you are--it is nearly\nmidnight. Come, it is full time for bed. This is Midsummer day.\"\n\n\"Midsummer day!\" repeated Hulda. \"Ah, how sorry I am! Then this is a day\nwhen I might have seen the fairy. How very, very foolish I have been!\"\n\nHulda laid her beautiful bracelet upon a table in her room, where she\ncould see it, and kissed the little bird before she got into bed. She\nhad been asleep a long time when a little sobbing voice suddenly awoke\nher, and she sat up to listen. The house was perfectly still; her cat\nwas curled up at the door, fast asleep; her bird's head was under its\nwing; a long sunbeam was slanting down through an opening in the green\nwindow-curtain, and the motes danced merrily in it.\n\n\"What could that noise have been?\" said little Hulda, lying down again.\nShe had no sooner laid her head on the pillow than she heard it again;\nand, turning round quickly to look at the bracelet, she saw the little\nbird fluttering its wings, and close to it, with her hands covering her\nface, the beautiful, long lost fairy.\n\n\"Oh, fairy, fairy! what have I done!\" said Hulda. \"You will never see\nyour wand again. The gnome has got it, and he has carried it down under\nthe ground, where he will hide it from us forever.\"\n\nThe fairy could not look up, nor answer. She remained weeping, with her\nhands before her face, till the little golden bird began to chirp.\n\n\"Sing to us again, I pray you, beautiful bird!\" said Hulda; \"for you are\nnot friendly to the gnome. I am sure you are sorry for the poor fairy.\"\n\n\"Child,\" said the fairy, \"be cautious what you say--that gnome is my\nenemy; he disguised himself as a pedlar the better to deceive you, and\nnow he has got my wand he can discover where I am; he will be constantly\npursuing me, and I shall have no peace; if once I fall into his hands, I\nshall be his slave forever. The bird is not his friend, for the race of\ngnomes have no friends. Speak to it again, and see if it will sing to\nyou, for you are its mistress.\"\n\n\"Sing to me, sweet bird,\" said Hulda, in a caressing tone, and the\nlittle bird quivered its wings and bowed its head several times; then it\nopened its beak and sang:\n\n      \"Where's the ring?\n    Oh the ring, my master stole the ring,\n      And he holds it while I sing,\n    In the middle of the world.\n      Where's the ring?\n    Where the long green Lizard curled\n      All its length, and made a spring\n    Fifty leagues along.\n      There he stands,\n      With his brown hands,\n\n    And sings to the Lizard a wonderful song.\n    And he gives the white stone to that Lizard fell,\n      For he fears it--and loves it passing well.\"\n\n\"What!\" said Hulda, \"did the pedlar steal my mother's ring--that old\nopal ring which I told him I could not let him have?\"\n\n\"Child,\" replied the fairy, \"be not sorry for his treachery; this theft\nI look to for my last hope for recovering the wand.\"\n\n\"How so?\" asked Hulda.\n\n\"It is a common thing among mortals,\" replied the fairy, \"to say the\nthing which is not true, and do the thing which is not honest; but among\nthe other races of beings who inhabit this world the penalty of mocking\nand imitating the vices of you, the superior race, is, that if ever one\nof us can be convicted of it, that one, be it gnome, sprite, or fairy,\nis never permitted to appear in the likeness of humanity again, nor to\nwalk about on the face of the land which is your inheritance. Now the\ngnomes hate one another, and if it should be discovered by the brethren\nof this my enemy that he stole the opal ring, they will not fail to\nbetray him. There is, therefore, no doubt, little Hulda, that he carries\nboth the ring and the wand about with him wherever he goes, and if in\nall your walks and during your whole life you should see him again, and\ngo boldly up to him and demand the stolen stone, he will be compelled\ninstantly to burrow his way down again into the earth, and leave behind\nhim all his ill-gotten gains.\"\n\n\"There is, then, still some hope,\" said Hulda, in a happier voice; \"but\nwhere, dear fairy, have you hidden yourself so long?\"\n\n\"I have passed a dreary time,\" replied the fairy. \"I have been compelled\nto leave Europe and fly across to Africa, for my enemy inhabits that\ngreat hollow dome which is the centre of the earth, and he can only come\nup in Europe; but my poor little brown wings were often so weary in my\nflight across the sea that I wished, like the birds, I could drop into\nthe waves and die; for what was to me the use of immortality when I\ncould no longer soothe the sorrow of mortals? But I cannot die; and\nafter I had fluttered across into Egypt, where the glaring light of the\nsun almost blinded me, I was thankful to find a ruined tomb or temple\nunderground, where great marble sarcophagi were ranged around the walls,\nand where in the dusky light I could rest from my travels, in a place\nwhere I only knew the difference between night and day by the redness of\nthe one sunbeam which stole in through a crevice, and the silvery blue\nof the moonbeam that succeeded it.\n\n\"In that temple there was no sound but the rustling of the bats' wings\nas they flew in before dawn, or sometimes the chirping of a swallow\nwhich had lost its way, and was frightened to see all the grim marble\nfaces gazing at it. But the quietness did me good, and I waited, hoping\nthat the young King of Sweden would marry, and that an heir would be\nborn to him (for I am a Swedish fairy), and then I should recover my\nliberty according to an ancient statute of the fairy realm, and my wand\nwould also come again into my possession; but alas! he is dead, and the\nreason you see me to-day is, that, like the rest of my race, I am come\nto strew leaves on his grave and recount his virtues. I must now return,\nfor the birds are stirring; I hear the cows lowing to be milked, and the\nmaids singing as they go out with their pails. Farewell, little Hulda;\nguard well the bracelet; I must to my ruined temple again. Happy for me\nwill be the day when you see my enemy (if that day ever comes); the bird\nwill warn you of his neighborhood by pecking your hand.\n\n\"One moment stay, dear fairy,\" said Hulda. \"Where am I most likely to\nsee the gnome?\"\n\n\"In the south,\" replied the fairy, \"for they love hot sunshine. I can\nstay no longer. Farewell.\"\n\nSo saying, the fairy again became a moth and fluttered to the window.\nLittle Hulda opened it, the brown moth settled for a moment upon her\nlips as if it wished to kiss her, and then it flew out into the\nsunshine, away and away.\n\nLittle Hulda watched her till her pretty wings were lost in the blue\ndistance; then she turned and took her bracelet, and put it on her\nwrist, where, from that day forward, she always wore it night and day.\n\nHulda now grew tall, and became a fair young maiden, and she often\nwished for the day when she might go down to the south, that she might\nhave a better chance of seeing the cruel gnome, and as she sat at work\nin her room alone she often asked the bird to sing to her, but he never\nsang any other songs than the two she had heard at first.\n\nAnd now two full years had passed away, and it was again the height of\nthe Norway summer, but the fairy had not made her appearance.\n\nAs the days began to shorten, Hulda's cheeks lost their bright color,\nand her steps their merry lightness; she became pale and wan. Her\nparents were grieved to see her change so fast, but they hoped, as the\nweary winter came on, that the cheerful fire and gay company would\nrevive her; but she grew worse and worse, till she could scarcely walk\nalone through the rooms where she had played so happily, and all the\nphysicians shook their heads and said, \"Alas! alas! the lord and lady of\nthe castle may well look sad: nothing can save their fair daughter, and\nbefore the spring comes she will sink into an early grave.\"\n\nThe first yellow leaves now began to drop, and showed that winter was\nnear at hand.\n\n\"My sweet Hulda,\" said her mother to her one day, as she was lying upon\na couch looking out into the sunshine, \"is there anything you can think\nof that would do you good, or any place we can go to that you think\nmight revive you?\"\n\n\"I had only one wish,\" replied Hulda, \"but that, dear mother, I cannot\nhave.\"\n\n\"Why not, dear child?\" said her father. \"Let us hear what your wish\nwas.\"\n\n\"I wished that before I died I might be able to go into the south and\nsee that wicked pedlar, that if possible I might repair the mischief I\nhad done to the fairy by restoring her the wand.\"\n\n\"Does she wish to go into the south?\" said the physicians. \"Then it will\nbe as well to indulge her, but nothing can save her life; and if she\nleaves her native country she will return to it no more.\"\n\n\"I am willing to go,\" said Hulda, \"for the fairy's sake.\"\n\nSo they put her on a pillion, and took her slowly on to the south by\nshort distances, as she could bear it. And as she left the old castle,\nthe wind tossed some yellow leaves against her, and then whirled them\naway across the heath to the forest. Hulda said:\n\n    \"Yellow leaves, yellow leaves,\n      Whither away?\n    Through the long wood paths\n      How fast do ye stray!\"\n\nThe yellow leaves answered:\n\n    \"We go to lie down\n      Where the spring snowdrops grow,\n    Their young roots to cherish\n      Through frost and through snow.\"\n\nThen Hulda said again to the leaves:\n\n    \"Yellow leaves, yellow leaves,\n      Faded and few,\n    What will the spring flowers\n      Matter to you?\"\n\nAnd the leaves said:\n\n    \"We shall not see them,\n      When gaily they bloom,\n    But sure they will love us\n      For guarding their tomb.\"\n\nThen Hulda said:\n\n\"The yellow leaves are like me: I am going away from my place for the\nsake of the poor fairy, who now lies hidden in the dark Egyptian ruin;\nbut if I am so happy as to recover her wand by my care, she will come\nback glad and white, like the snowdrops when winter is over, and she\nwill love my memory when I am laid asleep in my tomb.\"\n\nSo they set out on their journey, and every day went a little distance\ntoward the south, till at last, on Christmas Eve, they came to an\nancient city at the foot of a range of mountains.\n\n\"What a strange Christmas this is!\" said Hulda, when she looked out the\nnext morning. \"Let us stay here, mother, for we are far enough to the\nsouth. Look how the red berries hang on yonder tree, and these myrtles\non the porch are fresh and green, and a few roses bloom still on the\nsunny side of the window.\"\n\nIt was so fine and warm that the next day they carried Hulda to a green\nbank where she could sit down. It was close by some public gardens, and\nthe people were coming and going. She fell into a doze as she sat with\nher mother watching her, and in her half-dream she heard the voices of\nthe passers-by, and what they said about her, till suddenly a voice\nwhich she remembered made her wake with a start, and as she opened her\nfrightened eyes, there, with his pack on his back, and his cunning eyes\nfixed upon her, stood the pedlar.\n\n\"Stop him!\" cried Hulda, starting up. \"Mother, help me to run after\nhim!\"\n\n\"After whom, my child?\" asked her mother.\n\n\"After the pedlar,\" said Hulda. \"He was here but now, but before I had\ntime to speak to him, he stepped behind that thorn-bush and\ndisappeared.\"\n\n\"So that is Hulda,\" said the pedlar to himself, as he went down the\nsteep path into the middle of the world. \"She looks as if a few days\nmore would be all she has to live. I will not come here any more till\nthe spring, and then she will be dead, and I shall have nothing to\nfear.\"\n\nBut Hulda did not die. See what a good thing it is to be kind. The soft,\nwarm air of the south revived her by degrees--so much, that by the end\nof the year she could walk in the public garden and delight in the warm\nsunshine; in another month she could ride with her father to see all the\nstrange old castles in that neighborhood, and by the end of February she\nwas as well as ever she had been in her life; and all this came from her\ndesire to do good to the fairy by going to the south.\n\n\"And now,\" thought the pedlar, \"there is no doubt that the daisies are\ngrowing on Hulda's grave by this time, so I will go up again to the\noutside of the world, and sell my wares to the people who resort to\nthose public places.\"\n\nSo one day when in that warm climate the spring flowers were already\nblooming on the hillsides, up he came close to the ruined walls of a\ncastle, and set his pack down beside him to rest after the fatigues of\nhis journey.\n\n\"This is a cool, shady place,\" he said, looking round, \"and these dark\nyew-trees conceal it very well from the road. I shall come here always\nin the middle of the day, when the sun is too hot, and count over my\ngains. How hard my mistress, the Lizard, makes me work! Who would have\nthought she would have wished to deck her green head with opals down\nthere, where there are only a tribe of brown gnomes to see her? But I\nhave not given her that one out of the ring which I stole, nor three\nothers that I conjured out of the crozier of the priest as I knelt at\nthe altar, and they thought I was rehearsing a prayer to the Virgin.\"\n\nAfter resting some time, the pedlar took up his pack and went boldly on\nto the gardens, never doubting but that Hulda was dead; but it so\nhappened that at that moment Hulda and her mother sat at work in a shady\npart of the garden under some elder-trees.\n\n\"What is the matter, my sweet bird?\" said Hulda, for the bird pecked her\nwrist, and fluttered its wings, and opened its beak as if it were very\nmuch frightened.\n\n\"Let us go, mother, and look about us,\" said Hulda.\n\nSo they both got up and wandered all over the gardens; but the pedlar,\nin the meantime, had walked on toward the town, and they saw nothing of\nhim.\n\n\"Sing to me, my sweet bird,\" said Hulda that night as she lay down to\nsleep. \"Tell me _why_ you pecked my wrist.\"\n\nThen the bird sang to her:\n\n    \"Who came from the ruin, the ivy-clad ruin,\n    With old shaking arches, all moss overgrown,\n              Where the flitter-bat hideth,\n              The limber snake glideth,\n    And chill water drips from the slimy green stone?\"\n\n\"Who did?\" asked Hulda. \"Not the pedlar, surely? Tell me, my pretty\nbird.\" But the bird only chirped a little and fluttered its golden\nwings, so Hulda ceased to ask it, and presently fell asleep, but the\nbird woke her by pecking her wrist very early, almost before sunrise,\nand sang:\n\n    \"Who dips a brown hand in the chill shaded water,\n    The water that drips from a slimy green stone?\n              Who flings his red cap\n              At the owlets that flap\n    Their white wings in his face as he sits there alone?\"\n\nHulda, upon hearing this, arose in great haste and dressed herself; then\nshe went to her father and mother, and entreated that they would come\nwith her to the old ruin. It was now broad day, so they all three set\nout together. It was a very hot morning, the dust lay thick upon the\nroad, and there was not air enough to stir the thick leaves of the trees\nwhich hung overhead.\n\nThey had not gone far before they found themselves in a crowd of people,\nall going toward the castle ruin, for there, they told Hulda, the\npedlar, the famous pedlar from the north, who sold such fine wares, was\ngoing to perform some feats of jugglery of most surprising cleverness.\n\n\"Child,\" whispered Hulda's mother, \"nothing could be more fortunate for\nus; let us mingle with the crowd and get close to the pedlar.\"\n\nHulda assented to her mother's wish, but the heat and dust, together\nwith her own intense desire to rescue the lost wand, made her tremble so\nthat she had great difficulty in walking. They went among gypsies,\nfruit-women, peasant girls, children, travelling musicians, common\nsoldiers, and laborers; the heat increased, and the dust and the noise,\nand at last Hulda and her parents were borne forward into the old ruin\namong a rush of people running and huzzaing, and heard the pedlar shout\nto them:\n\n\"Keep back, good people; leave a space before me; leave a large space\nbetween me and you.\"\n\nSo they pressed back again, jostling and crowding each other, and left\nan open space before him from which he looked at them with his cunning\nblack eyes, and with one hand dabbling in the cold water of the spring.\n\nThe place was open to the sky, and the broken arches and walls were\ncovered with thick ivy and wall flowers. The pedlar sat on a large gray\nstone, with his red cap on and his brown fingers adorned with splendid\nrings, and he spread them out and waved his hands to the people with\nostentatious ceremony.\n\n\"Now, good people,\" he said, without rising from his seat, \"you are\nabout to see the finest, rarest, and most wonderful exhibition of the\nconjuring art ever known!\"\n\n\"Stop!\" cried a woman's voice from the crowd, and a young girl rushed\nwildly forward from the people, who had been trying to hold her back.\n\n\"I impeach you before all these witnesses!\" she cried, seizing him by\nthe hand. \"See justice done, good people. I impeach you, pedlar. Where's\nthe ring--my mother's ring--which you stole on Midsummer's day in the\ncastle?\"\n\n\"Good people,\" said the pedlar, pulling his red cap over his face, and\nspeaking in a mild, fawning voice, \"I hope you'll protect me. I hope you\nwon't see me insulted.\"\n\n\"My ring, my ring!\" cried Hulda; \"he wore it on his finger but now!\"\n\n\"Show your hand like a man!\" said the people. \"If the lady says falsely,\ncan't you face her and tell her so? Never hold it down so cowardly!\"\n\nThe pedlar had tucked his feet under him, and when the people cried out\nto him to let the rings on his hand be seen, he had already burrowed\nwith them up to his knees in the earth.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE PEDLAR HAD NOW SUNK UP TO HIS WAIST.\"]\n\n\"Oh, he will go down into the earth!\" cried Hulda. \"But I will not let\ngo! Pedlar, pedlar, it is useless! If I follow you before the Lizard,\nyour mistress, I will not let go!\"\n\nThe pedlar turned his terrified, cowardly eyes upon Hulda, and sank\nlower and lower. The people were too frightened to move.\n\n\"Stop, child,\" cried her mother. \"Oh, he will go down and drag thee with\nhim.\"\n\nBut Hulda would not and could not let go. The pedlar had now sunk up to\nhis waist. Her mother wrung her hands, and in an instant the earth\nclosed upon them both, and, after falling in the dark down a steep\nabyss, they found themselves, not at all the worse, standing in a dimly\nlighted cave with a large table in it piled with mouldy books. Behind\nthe table was a smooth and perfectly round hole in the wall about the\nsize of a cartwheel.\n\nHulda looked that way, and saw how intensely dark it was through this\nhole, and she was wondering where it led to when an enormous green\nLizard put its head through into the cave, and gazed at her with its\ngreat brown eyes.\n\n\"What is thy demand, fine child of the daylight?\" said the Lizard.\n\n\"Princess,\" replied Hulda, \"I demand that this thy servant should give\nup to me a ring which he stole in my father's castle when I was a\nchild.\"\n\nThe pedlar no sooner heard Hulda boldly demand her rights than he fell\non his knees and began to cry for mercy.\n\n\"Mercy rests with this maiden,\" said the Lizard. At the same time she\ndarted out her tongue, which was several yards in length and like a\nscarlet thread, and with it stripped the ring from the gnome's finger\nand gave it to Hulda.\n\n\"Speak, maiden, what reparation do you demand of this culprit, and what\nshall be his punishment?\"\n\n\"Great princess,\" replied Hilda, \"let him restore to me a golden wand\nwhich I sold to him, for it belongs to a fairy whom he has long\npersecuted.\"\n\n\"Here it is, here it is!\" cried the cowardly gnome, putting his hand\ninto his bosom and pulling it out, shaking all the time, and crying out\nmost piteously, \"Oh, don't let me be banished from the sunshine!\"\n\n\"After this double crime no mercy can be shown you,\" said the Lizard,\nand she twined her scarlet tongue round him, and drew him through the\nhole to herself. At the same instant it closed, and a crack came in the\nroof of the cave, through which the sunshine stole, and as Hulda looked\nup in flew a brown moth and settled on the magic bracelet. She touched\nthe moth with the wand, and instantly it stood upon her wrist--a\nbeautiful and joyous fairy. She took her wand from Hulda's hand, and\nstood for a moment looking gratefully in her face without speaking. Then\nshe said to the wand:\n\n\"Art thou my own again, and wilt thou serve me?\"\n\n\"Try me,\" said the wand.\n\nSo she struck the wall with it, and said, \"Cleave, wall!\" and a hole\ncame in the wall large enough for Hulda to creep through, and she found\nherself at the foot of a staircase hewn in the rock, and, after walking\nup it for three hours, she came out in the old ruined castle, and was\nastonished to see that the sun had set. The moment she appeared her\nfather and mother, who had given her over for lost, clasped her in their\narms and wept for joy as they embraced her.\n\n\"My child,\" said her father, \"how happy thou lookest, not as if thou\nhadst been down in the dark earth!\"\n\nHulda kissed her parents and smiled upon them; then she turned to look\nfor the fairy, but she was gone. So they all three walked home in the\ntwilight, and the next day Hulda set out again with her parents to\nreturn to the old castle in Norway. As for the fairy, she was happy from\nthat day in the possession of her wand; but the little golden bird\nfolded its wings and never sang any songs again.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nThe Editha Series\n\nNEW EDITION, 1906\n\n\n     1 Editha's Burglar, By Burnett\n\n     2 Pinocchio's Adventures\n\n     3 Burglar's Daughter, By Penrose\n\n     4 J. Cole, By Gellibrand\n\n     5 Laddie\n\n     6 Miss Toosey\n\n     7 A Child's Garden of Verses, By Stevenson\n\n     8 Little Rosebud, By Harraden\n\n     9 Wonder Book Stories, By Hawthorne\n\n    10 The Golden Apple, By Hawthorne\n\n    11 Little Lame Prince, By Mulock\n\n    12 Sleeping Beauty, By Mulock\n\n    13 Adventures of a Brownie, By Mulock\n\n    14 The Pygmies, By Hawthorne\n\n    15 The Brownies, By Ewing\n\n    16 Cuckoo Clock, By Molesworth\n\n    17 Christmas Carol, By Dickens\n\n    18 Jackanapes, By Ewing\n\n    19 Alice in Wonderland, By Carroll\n\n    20 Rab and His Friends, By Dr. John Brown\n\n    21 Through a Looking-Glass, By Lewis Carroll\n\n    22 The Prince of the Pin Elves, By Charles Lee Sleight\n\n    23 Snap-Dragons and Other Stories, By J. H. Ewing\n\n    24 Madam Liberality, By J. H. Ewing\n\n    25 Millicent in Dreamland, By Edna S. Brainerd\n\n    26 Flower Fables, By Louisa M. Alcott\n\n    27 The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, By Washington Irving\n\n    28 Lives of Two Cats, By Pierre Loti\n\n    29 Wonder-Box Tales, By Jean Ingelow\n\n    30 Boss and Other Dogs, By Maria L. Pool\n\n\n    H. M. CALDWELL COMPANY\n    Publishers\n    NEW YORK AND BOSTON","title":"Wonder-Box Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":22697}