{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_22175/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_22175","id":"gutenberg_22175","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22175","summary":null,"tags":["Ballads, English -- Adaptations","Ballads, Scots -- Adaptations","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's Anthologies","Children's Myths, Fairy Tales, etc.","Children's stories"],"text":"Produced by Robin Monks, Joseph Cooper, Sankar Viswanathan,\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n       [Illustration: She was off and away to the lone plain of\n          Carterhaugh]\n\n\n                             STORIES FROM\n\n                             THE BALLADS\n\n                       TOLD TO THE CHILDREN BY\n\n\n                            MARY MACGREGOR\n\n\n                           WITH PICTURES BY\n\n                          KATHARINE CAMERON\n\n\n\n\n\n                      LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK\n\n                     NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTO DORIS\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nABOUT THIS BOOK\n\n\nListen, children, for you will wish to hear where I found the\ntales which I have told you in this little book.\n\nIt is long, oh! so long ago, that they were sung up hill and down\ndale by wandering singers who soon became known all over the\ncountry as minstrels, or ofttimes, because they would carry with\nthem a harp, as harpers.\n\nIn court, in cottage, by princes and by humble folk, everywhere,\nby every one the minstrels were greeted with delight.\n\nTo such sweet music did they sing the songs or ballads which they\nmade or perchance had heard, to such sweet music, that those who\nlistened could forget nor tale nor tune.\n\nIn those far-off days of minstrelsy the country was alive with\nfairies. Over the mountains, through the glens, by babbling\nstreams and across silent moors, the patter of tiny feet might be\nheard, feet which had strayed from Elfinland.\n\nIt was of these little folk and of their visits to the homes of\nmortals that the minstrels sang. Sterner songs too were theirs,\nsongs of war and bloodshed, when clan fought with clan and lives\nwere lost and brave deeds were done. Of all indeed that made life\nglad or sad, of these the minstrels sang.\n\nFrom town to village, from court to inn they wandered, singing\nthe old songs, adding verses to them here, dropping lines from\nthem there, singing betimes a strain unheard before, until at\nlength the day came when the songs were written down.\n\nIt was in the old books that thus came to be written that I first\nfound these tales, and when you have read them perhaps you will\nwish to go yourself to the same old books, to find many another\nsong of love and hate, of joy and sorrow.\n\nMARY MACGREGOR.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF STORIES\n\n\nI.     The Young Tamlane,\n\nII.    Hynde Etin,\n\nIII.   Hynde Horn,\n\nIV.    Thomas the Rhymer,\n\nV.     Lizzie Lindsay,\n\nVI.    The Gay Goshawk,\n\nVII.   The Laird o' Logie,\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF PICTURES\n\n\nTHE YOUNG TAMLANE.--\n\nShe was off and away to the lone plain of Carterhaugh.--_Frontispiece._\n\n'In earth or air I dwell, as pleases me the best,'\n\n\nHYNDE ETIN.--\n\n'For twelve long years have I never been within the Holy Church, and I\n   fear to enter now,'\n\n\nHYNDE HORN.--\n\n'Drink,' she said gently, 'drink,'\n\n\nTHOMAS THE RHYMER.--\n\nUnder the Eildon tree Thomas met the lady,\n\n\nLIZZIE LINDSAY.--\n\n'Will ye come to the Highlands with me, Lizzie Lindsay?'\n\n\nTHE GAY GOSHAWK.--\n\n'I go but to my lattice window to listen to the birds,'\n\n\nTHE LAIRD O' LOGIE.--\n\nShe stood at the hall door gazing wistfully after the young Laird\n  of Logie,\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTHE YOUNG TAMLANE\n\n\nThe young Tamlane had lived among mortals for only nine short\nyears ere he was carried away by the Queen of the Fairies, away\nto live in Fairyland.\n\nHis father had been a knight of great renown, his mother a lady\nof high degree, and sorry indeed were they to lose their son.\n\nAnd this is how it happened.\n\nOne day, soon after Tamlane's ninth birthday, his uncle came to\nhim and said, 'Tamlane, now that ye are nine years old, ye shall,\nan ye like it, ride with me to the hunt.'\n\nAnd Tamlane jumped for joy, and clapped his hands for glee. Then\nhe mounted his horse and rode away with his uncle to hunt and\nhawk.\n\nOver the moors they rode, and the wind it blew cold from the\nnorth. Over the moors they rode, and the cold north wind blew\nupon the young Tamlane until he grew cold and stiff.\n\nThen the reins they fell from his hands and down from his horse\nslipped Tamlane, and laid himself down to rest, so weary, so cold\nwas he. But no sooner had he lain down on the bare earth than he\nclosed his eyes and fell fast asleep. And no sooner had he fallen\nfast asleep than the Queen of the Fairies came and carried\nTamlane off to Fairyland.\n\nFor long years Tamlane dwelt among the little green folk, yet\nofttimes he would come back to visit the land of his birth.\n\nNow many were the hills and dells haunted by the fairy folk. Yet\nneither hill nor dell pleased them more than the lone plain of\nCarterhaugh, where the soft-flowing rivers of Ettrick and Yarrow\nmet and mingled.\n\nMany a long day after fairies were banished from the plain of\nCarterhaugh would the peasant folk come to gaze at the circles\nwhich still marked the green grass of the lone moor. The circles\nhad been made, so they said, by the tiny feet of the fairies as\nthey danced round and round in a ring.\n\nWell, in the days before the fairies were banished from the plain\nof Carterhaugh, strange sights were to be seen there by the light\nof the moon.\n\nLittle folk, dressed all in green, would flit across the moor.\nThey would form tiny rings and dance on their tiny toes until the\nmoonlight failed.\n\nLittle horsemen dressed in green would go riding by, the bells on\nthe fairy bridles playing magic music the while. Sounds too,\nunknown to mortals, would tremble on the still night air.\n\nFull of mischief too were these little elfin folk, and wise\nmortals feared to tread where fairy feet were tripping.\n\nWise mortals would warn the merry children and the winsome\nmaidens lest they should venture too near the favourite haunts of\nfairydom.\n\nTo Carterhaugh came, as I have told you, many of the fairy folk;\nbut more often than any other came a little elfin knight, and he\nwas the young Tamlane, who had been carried away to Fairyland\nwhen he was only nine years old.\n\nBeyond all other of the little green folk was the elf knight\nfeared. And little was that to be wondered at, for well was it\nknown that over many a fair-haired child, over many a beauteous\nmaiden, he had used his magic power. Nor would he let them go\nuntil they promised to come back another moonlit eve, and as a\npledge of their promise he would seize from the children a toy,\nfrom the maidens a ring, or it might be their mantle of green.\n\nNow about two miles from the plain of Carterhaugh stood a castle,\nand in the castle there lived a fair maiden named Janet.\n\nOne day her father sent for his daughter and said, 'Janet, ye may\nleave the castle grounds, an ye please, but never may ye cross\nthe plain of Carterhaugh. For there ye may be found by young\nTamlane, and he it is who ofttimes casts a spell o'er bonny\nmaidens.'\n\nNow Janet was a wilful daughter. She answered her father never a\nword, but when she had left his presence she laughed aloud, she\ntossed her head.\n\nTo her ladies she said, 'Go to Carterhaugh will I an I list, and\ncome from Carterhaugh will I an I please, and never will I ask\nleave of any one.'\n\nThen when the moonbeams peeped in at her lattice window, the lady\nJanet tucked up her green skirt, so that she might run, and she\ncoiled her beautiful yellow hair as a crown above her brow. And\nshe was off and away to the lone plain of Carterhaugh.\n\nThe moonlight stole across the moor, and Janet laughed aloud in\nher glee. She ran across to the well, and there, standing alone,\nriderless, stood the steed of the little elfin knight.\n\nJanet put out her hand to the rose-tree that grew by the well and\nplucked a dark red rose. Sweet was its scent and Janet put out\nher hand and plucked another rose, but ere she had pulled a\nthird, close beside her stood a little wee man. He reached no\nhigher than the knee of the lady Janet.\n\n'Ye have come to Carterhaugh, Janet,' he cried, 'and yet ye have\nnot asked my leave. Ye have plucked my red roses and broken a\nbranch of my bonny rose-tree. Have ye no fear of me, Janet?'\n\nThe lady Janet tossed her head, though over her she felt creeping\nslow the spell of the little elfin knight. She tossed her head\nand she cried, 'Nay, I have no fear of you, ye little wee man.\nNor will I ever ask leave of you as I come to and fro across the\nplain of Carterhaugh. Ye shall know that the moor belongs to me,\nme!' and Janet stamped her foot. 'My father made it all my own.'\n\nBut the young Tamlane took the white hand of the lady Janet in\nhis own, and so gentle were his words, so kind his ways, that\nsoon the maiden had no wish to leave the little wee man. Hand in\nhand they wandered through the red rose-bushes that grew by the\nside of the well. And in the light of the moon the elf knight\nwove his spell and made the lady Janet his own.\n\nBack to the castle sped Janet when the moonlight failed, but all\nher smiles were gone. Lone and sad was she, all with longing for\nher little elfin knight.\n\nLittle food would Janet eat in these days, little heed would she\ntake of the gowns she wore. Her yellow hair hung down uncombed,\nunbraided around her sad, pale face.\n\nJanet had been used to join in the games her four-and-twenty\nmaidens played. She had run the quickest, tossed the ball the\nhighest, nor had any been more full of glee than she.\n\nNow the maidens might play as they listed, little did the lady\nJanet care.\n\nWhen evening fell, her four-and-twenty ladies would play their\ngames of chess. Many a game had Janet won in bygone days.\n\nNow the ladies might win or lose as they pleased, little did the\nlady Janet care. Her heart was away on the plain of Carterhaugh\nwith her little wee elfin knight, and soon she herself would be\nthere.\n\nOnce more the moonbeams peeped in at her lattice window, and\nJanet smiled, put on her fairest gown, and combed her yellow\nlocks. She was off and away to Carterhaugh.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: See Frontispiece.]\n\nShe reached the moor, she ran to the well, and there as before,\nthere, stood the steed of the little elfin man.\n\nAnd Janet put out her hand and plucked a red red rose, but ere\nshe had plucked another, close beside her stood the young\nTamlane.\n\n'Why do ye pluck my roses?' asked the little elf man. But Janet\nhad not come to talk about the roses, and she paid no heed to his\nquestion.\n\n'Tell me, Tamlane,' said the lady Janet, 'tell me, have ye always\nbeen a little elfin man? Have ye never, in days gone by, been to\nthe holy chapel, and have ye never had made over you the sign of\nthe Holy Cross?'\n\n'Indeed now, Janet, the truth will I tell!' cried the young\nTamlane.\n\nThen the lady Janet listened, and the lady Janet wept as the\nlittle wee knight told her how he had been carried away by the\nQueen of the Fairies.\n\nBut yet a stranger tale he told to the maiden.\n\n'Ere I was carried off to Fairyland, Janet,' said young Tamlane,\n'we played as boy and girl in the old castle grounds, and well we\nloved each other as we played together in those merry merry days\nof long ago. Ye do not forget, Janet?'\n\nThen back into the lady Janet's mind stole the memory of her\nchildhood's merry days, and of the little lad who had shared her\ntoys and played her games. Together they had made the walls of\nthe old castle ring with their laughter.\n\nNo, the lady Janet had not forgotten, and she knew that now, as\nin the days of long ago, she loved the young Tamlane.\n\n'Tell me,' she said, 'tell me how ye do spend your day in\nFairyland?'\n\n'Blithe and gay is the life we lead,' cried the little wee\nknight. 'There is no sickness, no pain of any kind in Fairyland,\nJanet.\n\n'In earth or air I dwell as pleases me the best. I can leave this\nlittle body of mine an it pleases me, and come back to it an I\nwill. I am small, as you see me now, but when I will, I grow so\nsmall that a nut-shell is my home, a rosebud my bed. But I can\ngrow big as well, Janet, so big that I needs must make my home in\nsome lofty hall.\n\n'Hither and thither we flit, bathe in the streams, frolic in the\nwind, play with the sunbeams.\n\n'Never would I wish to leave Fairyland, Janet, were it not that\nat the end of each seven years an evil spirit comes to carry one\nof us off to his dark abode. And I, so fair and fat am I, I fear\nthat I shall be chosen by the Evil one.\n\n[Illustration: 'In earth or air I dwell as pleases me the best,']\n\n'But weep not, Janet; an you wish to bring me back to the land of\nmortals, I will e'en show you how that may be done. Little time\nis there to lose, for to-night is Hallowe'en, and this same\nnight must the deed be done.\n\n'On Hallowe'en, at the midnight hour, the fairy court will ride a\nmile beyond Carterhaugh to the cross at Milestone. Wait for me\nthere, Janet, and ye will win your own true knight.'\n\n'But many a knight will ride amid the fairy train. How shall I\nknow you, my little wee man?' cried Janet.\n\n'Neither among the first nor among the second company shall ye\nseek for me,' said young Tamlane. 'Only when ye see the third\ndraw nigh give heed, Janet, for among them ye will find me.\n\n'Not on the black horse, nor yet on the brown horse, shall I\nride. Let them pass, and keep ye quiet. But as the milk-white\nsteed goes by, seize ye the bridle, Janet, and pull me down, and\nkeep your arms ever around me. For on the milk-white steed I\nride.\n\n'On my right hand ye will see a glove, my left will be\nuncovered. Now, by these signs, ye will know your own true\nknight.\n\n'Hold me fast, Janet, hold me fast, as you pull me down from my\nmilk-white steed. For while your arms are around me, the fairy\nfolk will change me into fearful shapes.\n\n'Into an adder, and into a snake they will change me. Yet, an ye\nlove me, Janet, fear ye nought, but hold me fast.\n\n'They will change me into a lion, and into a bear. Yet, as I love\nyou, Janet, fear ye nought, but hold me fast.\n\n'A toad, an eel I shall become, yet do not let me slide from your\narms, Janet, but hold me fast.\n\n'But, an the fairy folk change me into a blazing fagot, or a bar\nof hot iron, then throw me far from you, Janet, into the cold,\nclear well, throw me with all your speed.\n\n'There will I change into your own true knight, Janet, and ye\nshall throw over me your mantle of green velvet.'\n\nDark was the night and full of gloom as the lady Janet hastened\nto the cross at Milestone, but her heart was glad and full of\nlight. She would see her own true knight in mortal form before\nthe dawn of Hallowday.\n\nIt was between the hours of twelve and one o'clock when Janet\nstood alone at the spot where the fairy train would pass.\n\nFearsome it was there alone in the gloom, but the lady Janet was\nheedful of nought. She had but to wait, to listen. Yet not a\nsound did she hear, save only the wind as it whistled through the\nlong grass.\n\nNot a sound save the wind did she hear? Ah yes, now strange\nnoises were blown to her eager ears. The bells on fairy bridles\ntinkled, the music of the tiny fairy band piped each moment more\nclear.\n\nJanet looked, and by the light of Will o' Wisp she could just\ncatch sight of their little oaten pipes. Shrill were the notes\nthey blew on these, but softer were the sounds they blew through\ntiny hemlock pipes. Then deeper came the tones of the bog-reeds\nand large hemlock, and Janet, looking, saw the little green folk\ndraw nigh.\n\nHow merry the music was, how glad and good! Never was known a\nfairy yet who sang or played of aught but joy and mirth.\n\nThe first company of the little folk passed Janet as she stood\npatient, watchful by the cross; the second passed, and then there\ncame the third.\n\n'The black steed! Let it go,' said Janet to herself.\n\n'The brown steed! It matters not to me, she whispered.\n\n'The milk-white steed!' Ah, Janet had seized the bridle of the\nmilk-white steed and pulled the little rider off into her strong\nyoung arms.\n\nA cry of little elfs, of angry little elfs, rang out on the chill\nnight air.\n\nThen as he lay in Janet's arms the angry little imps changed\ntheir stolen elfin knight into an adder, a snake, a bear, a lion,\na toad, an eel, and still, through all these changes, the lady\nJanet held him fast.\n\n'A blazing fagot! Let him change into a blazing fagot!' cried the\nangry little folk. 'Then this foolish mortal will let our\nfavorite knight alone.'\n\nAnd as young Tamlane changed into a blazing fagot the little folk\nthought they had got their will. For now the lady Janet threw him\nfrom her, far into the clear, cold well.\n\nBut the little angry imps were soon shrieking in dismay. No\nsooner was the fagot in the well than the little elfin knight was\nrestored to his own true mortal form.\n\nThen over the tall, strong knight Janet threw her green mantle,\nand the power of the fairies over the young Tamlane was for ever\ngone. Their spell was broken.\n\nNow, the Queen of the Fairies had hidden herself in a bush of\nbroom to see what would happen. And when she saw her favourite\nknight change into his own true mortal shape, she was very cross,\nvery cross indeed. The little fairy band was ordered to march\nhome in silence, their pipes thrust into their tiny green\ngirdles, and there were no more revels in the fairy court for\nmany and many a long day to come.\n\n\n\n\nHYNDE ETIN\n\n\nMay Margaret did not love to sew, yet here in the doorway of her\nbower she sat, her silk seam in her hand.\n\nMay Margaret sat with her seam in her hand, but she did not sew,\nshe dreamed, and her dream was all of Elmond wood.\n\nShe was there herself under the greenwood gay. The tall trees\nbowed, the little trees nodded to her. The flowers threw their\nsweetest scents after her as she passed along; the little birds\nsang their gladdest that she might hear. How fair and green and\ncool it was in the wood of Elmond!\n\nOn a sudden, Margaret sat upright in the doorway of her bower.\nShe dreamed no more. The sound of the hunting-horn rang in her\near. It was blown in Elmond wood.\n\nThen down on her lap slipped the silken seam, down to her feet\nthe needle. May Margaret was up and away to the greenwood.\n\nDown by the hazel bushes she hastened, nor noticed that the\nevening shadows fell; on past the birch groves she ran, nor\nnoticed that the dew fell fast.\n\nNo one did May Margaret meet until she reached a white-thorn\ntree. There, up from the grass on which he lay, sprang Hynde\nEtin.\n\n'What do ye seek in the wood, May Margaret?' said he. 'Is it\nflowers, or is it for dew ye seek this bonny night of May?'\n\nBut Margaret did not care to answer. She only shook her head.\n\nThen said Hynde Etin, 'I am forester of Elmond wood, nor should\nye enter it without my leave.'\n\n'Nay now,' cried the lady Margaret, 'leave will I ask of no man,\nfor my father is earl of all this land.'\n\n'Your father may be earl of all the land, May Margaret, yet\nshall ye die, because ye will not ask my leave to come to Elmond\nwood.' And he seized her fast and tied her to a tree by her long,\nyellow locks.\n\nYet did Hynde Etin not kill the maiden, but this is what he did.\n\nHe pulled up by the root the tallest tree he could see, and in\nthe hollow he dug a deep deep cave, and into the cave he thrust\nMay Margaret.\n\n'Now will ye wander no more in my woods!' cried Hynde Etin. 'Here\nshall ye stay, or home shall ye come with me to be my wife.'\n\n'Nay, here will I rather stay!' cried May Margaret, 'for my\nfather will seek for me and will find me here.'\n\nBut the cave was dark and cold, and the earl sought yet did not\nfind his daughter.\n\nNo bed was there in the cave for May Margaret, no bed save the\nrough earth, no pillow save a stone.\n\nPoor May Margaret! She did not like the dark or the cold. Ere\nmany days had passed away, she thought it would be better to live\nwith Hynde Etin than to stay longer alone in so dismal a cave.\n\n'Take me out, take me out!' then cried May Margaret.\n\nHynde Etin heard the maiden's call and he came and took her out\nof the cave. Deep into the greenwood he carried her, where his\nown home had been built, and there he made May Margaret, the\nearl's daughter, his wife.\n\nFor twelve long years Margaret lived in the greenwood. And Hynde\nEtin was kind to her and she grew to love him well.\n\nSeven little sons had Margaret, and happy and gay was their life\nin their woodland home. Yet oft did Margaret grieve that her\nlittle wee sons had never been taken to holy church. She wished\nthat the priest might christen them there.\n\nNow one day Hynde Etin slung his bow across his shoulder, placed\na sheath of arrows in his belt, and was up and away to the hunt.\nWith him he took his eldest wee son.\n\nUnder the gay greenwood they paced, Hynde Etin and his eldest\nson, and the thrush sang to them his morning song. Upward over\nthe hills they climbed, and they heard the chimes of church bells\nclear.\n\nThen the little wee son said to his father, 'An ye would not be\nangry with me, father, there is somewhat I would ask.'\n\n'Ask what ye will, my bonny wee boy,' said Hynde Etin, 'for never\nwill I be cross with you.'\n\n'My mother ofttimes weeps, father. Why is it that she sobs so\nbitterly?'\n\n'Your mother weeps, my little wee son, for sore she longs to see\nher own kin. Twelve long years is it and more since last she saw\nthem, or heard the church bells ring.\n\n'An earl's daughter was your mother dear, and if I had not stolen\nher away one bonny night in May she might have wedded a knight of\nhigh degree.\n\n'The forester of Elmond wood was I, yet as I saw her standing by\nthe white-thorn tree I loved her well. And ere many days had gone\nby thy mother loved me too, and I carried her away to our\ngreenwood home.\n\n'Dear to your mother are her seven little sons, dear to her, too,\nam I. Yet oft will the tears run down her cheek as she dreams of\nher old home and her father the earl.'\n\nThen upward glanced the little wee son as he cried aloud, 'I will\nshoot the linnet there on the tree and the larks as they wing\ntheir flight, and I will carry them home to my mother dear that\nshe may weep no more.'\n\nYet neither with linnet nor with lark could her little wee son\nwoo the smiles back to his dear mother's face.\n\nNow a day came when Hynde Etin in his greenwood home thought the\nhours passed but slow, and that same day he took his gun and his\ndog and off he went alone to hunt. His seven little wee sons he\nleft at home with their mother.\n\n'Mother,' said the eldest little son, 'mother, will ye be angry\nwith me an I tell you what I heard?'\n\n'Nay now, my little wee son,' said she, 'I will never be cross\nwith you.'\n\n'I heard the church bells ring as I went hunting over the hill,\nmother. Clear did they ring and sweet.'\n\n'Ah, would I had heard them too, my little dear son,' cried\nMargaret, 'for never have I been in the holy church for twelve\nlong years and more, and never have I taken my seven bonny sons\nto be christened, as indeed I would they were. In the holy church\nwill my father be, and there would I fain go too.'\n\nThen the little young Etin, for that was the name of Margaret's\neldest son, took his mother's hand and called his six little\nbrothers, and together they went through Elmond wood as fast as\never they could go. It may be that the mother led the way, it may\nbe that so it chanced, but soon they had left the greenwood far\nbehind and stood on an open heath. And there, before them, stood\na castle.\n\nMargaret looked and Margaret smiled. She knew she was standing\nonce again before her father's gate.\n\nShe took three rings from her pocket and gave them to her eldest\nwee boy.\n\n'Give one,' she said, 'to the porter. He is proud, but so he sees\nthe ring, he will open the gate and let you enter.\n\n'Give another to the butler, my little wee son, and he will show\nyou where ye are to go.\n\n'And the third ye shall hand to the minstrel. You will see him\nwith his harp, standing in the hall. It may be he will play\ngoodwill to my bonny wee son who has come from Elmond wood.'\n\nThen young Etin did as his mother had said.\n\nThe first ring he gave to the porter, and without a word the gate\nwas opened for the little wee boy.\n\nHe gave the second ring to the butler, and without a word the\nlittle wee boy was led into the hall.\n\nThe third ring he gave to the minstrel, and without a word he\ntook his harp and forthwith played goodwill to the bonny wee boy\nfrom the greenwood.\n\nNow, when the little Etin reached the earl, he fell on his knee\nbefore him.\n\nThe old earl looked upon the little lad, and his eyes they were\nfilled with tears.\n\n'My little wee boy, ye must haste away,' he cried. 'An I look\nupon you long my heart will break into three pieces, for ye have\nthe eyes, the hair of my lost May Margaret.'\n\n'My eyes are blue as my mother's eyes, and my yellow hair curls\nas does hers,' cried the little wee boy.\n\n'Where is your mother?' then cried the earl, and the tears rolled\ndown his cheek.\n\n'My mother is standing at the castle gate, and with her are my\nsix little wee brothers,' said the bonny young Etin.\n\n'Run, porter boys, run fast,' said the earl, 'and throw wide\nopen the gates that my daughter may come in to me.'\n\nInto the hall came Margaret, her six little sons by her side.\nBefore the earl she fell upon her knee, but the earl he lifted\nher up and said, 'Ye shall dine with me to-day, ye and your seven\nbonny little sons.'\n\n'No food can I eat,' said Margaret, 'until I see again my dear\nhusband. For he knows not where he may find me and his seven dear\nlittle sons.'\n\n'Now will I send my hunters, and they shall search the forest\nhigh and low and bring Hynde Etin unto me,' said the earl.\n\nThen up and spake the little wee Etin.\n\n'Search for my father shall ye not, until ye do send to him a\npardon full and free.'\n\nAnd the earl smiled at the young Etin.\n\n'In sooth a pardon shall your father have,' said he.\n\nWith his own hand the earl wrote the pardon, and he sealed it\nwith his own seal. Then the hunters were off and away to search\nfor Hynde Etin. They sought for him east and they sought for him\nwest, they sought all over the countryside. And at length they\nfound him sitting alone in his home in Elmond wood. Alone, and\ntearing his yellow locks, was Hynde Etin.\n\n'Get up, Hynde Etin, get up and come with us, for the earl has\nsent for you,' cried the merry hunters.\n\n'The earl may do as he lists with me,' said Etin. 'He may cut off\nmy head, or he may hang me on a greenwood tree. Little do I care\nto live,' moaned Etin, 'now that I have lost my lady Margaret.'\n\n'The lady Margaret is in her father's hall, Hynde Etin,' said the\nhunters, 'nor food will she eat until ye do come to her. There is\na pardon for you here sealed by the earl's own hand.'\n\nThen Hynde Etin smoothed his yellow locks, and gay was he as he\nwent with the hunters to the castle.\n\nDown on his knee before the earl fell Hynde Etin. 'Rise, Etin,\nrise!' cried the earl. 'This day shall ye dine with me.'\n\nAround the earl's table sat the lady Margaret, her husband dear,\nand her seven little wee sons. And the little Etin looked and\nlooked and never a tear did he see on his mother's face.\n\n'A boon I have to ask,' cried then the little wee boy; 'I would\nwe were all in the holy church that the good priest might\nchristen me and my six little brothers. For in the greenwood gay\nnever a church did we see, nor the sound of church bells did we\nhear.'\n\n'Soon shall your boon be granted,' cried the earl, 'for this very\nday to the church shall ye go, and your mother and your six\nlittle wee brothers shall be with you.'\n\nTo the door of the holy church they came, but there did the lady\nMargaret stay.\n\n'For twelve long years and more,' she cried, and bowed her head,\n'for twelve long years have I never been within the holy church,\nand I fear to enter now.'\n\nThen out to her came the good priest, and his smile was sweet to\nsee. Come hither, come hither, my lily-white flower,' said he,\n'and bring your babes with you that I may lay my hands upon their\nheads.'\n\nThen did he christen the lady Margaret's seven little wee sons.\nAnd their names, beginning with the tiniest, were these--Charles,\nVincent, Sam, Dick, James, John. And the eldest little wee son\nwas, as you already know, named after his father, Etin.\n\nAnd back to the earl's gay castle went the lady Margaret with\nHynde Etin and her seven little new-christened sons. And there\nthey lived happy for ever after.\n\n[Illustration: 'For twelve long years have I never been within\nthe Holy Church, and I fear to enter now']\n\n\n\n\nHYNDE HORN\n\n\nHynde Horn was a little prince. It was because he was so\ncourteous, so kind a little lad that Prince Horn was always\ncalled Hynde Horn. For hend or hynde in the days of long ago\nmeant just all the beautiful things which these words, courteous,\nkind, mean in these days.\n\nHynde Horn lived a happy life in his home in the distant East.\nFor it was in the bright glowing land of the sun that his father,\nKing Allof, reigned.\n\nThe Queen Godylt loved her little son too well to spoil him. She\nwished him to learn to share his toys, to play his games with\nother boys.\n\nThus, much to the delight of little Prince Horn, two boys, almost\nas old as he was, came to live with him in the palace. Athulph\nand Fykenyld were their names.\n\nThey were merry playmates for the little prince, and, as the\nyears rolled by, Athulph and Fykenyld thought there was no one to\nequal their prince Hynde Horn. They would serve him loyally when\nhe was king and they were men.\n\nAll went well in the palace of this far-off eastern land until\nHynde Horn was fifteen years of age. Then war came, without\nwarning, into this country of blue sky and blazing sun.\n\nMury, King of the Turks, landed in the kingdom of King Allof, who\nwas all unprepared for fight. And King Mury, with his fierce\nsoldiers, pillaged the land, killed the good King Allof, seized\nhis crown, and placed it on his own head.\n\nThen poor Queen Godylt fled from the palace, taking with her\nHynde Horn and his two playmates Prince Athulph and Prince\nFykenyld.\n\nI cannot tell you what became of the beautiful queen, but Mury,\nthe cruel king, captured Hynde Horn and made him and his two\nplayfellows prisoners.\n\nWhat should he do with Prince Horn, who was heir to the kingdom\nhe had seized?\n\nShould he kill the lad, he wondered. Yet cruel as King Mury was,\nhe could not do so dastardly a deed.\n\nBut Hynde Horn was tall and strong, and Hynde Horn was loved by\nthe people. He must certainly be sent out of the country.\n\nSo King Mury planned, and King Mury plotted, and at length he\nthought of a way, by which he hoped to be for ever rid of the\ngallant prince and his two companions.\n\nHe ordered the prisoners to be brought down to the seashore, and\nthere the lads were thrust into an open boat, and pushed out to\nsea. It seemed as though they must perish, for King Mury had\ngiven orders that no provisions were to be placed in the boat.\n\nThere was neither helm nor oar for the little craft. The lads\ncould do nothing to guide her on her dangerous course. Now they\nwould drift gently on the swell of the quiet sea, now they would\nwhirl giddily on the crest of a storm-tossed wave. Faint and\nweary grew Hynde Horn and his two companions. It seemed to them\nthat they would perish from hunger or be devoured by the storm.\n\nYet every day the little boat was drifted by soft breezes or\ndriven by wild storm-clouds westward and always westward. At\nlength one day a great wave came and lifted it high up on to the\ncoast. The boys had reached Scotland, the country over which King\nAlymer ruled.\n\nNow it chanced that King Alymer was passing along the sea-coast,\nand seeing the lads lying there, pale and bruised, he ordered\nthat they should be carried to the palace, that they might be fed\nand that their wounds might be bathed.\n\nSo carefully were they tended in the palace of King Alymer that\nsoon roses bloomed again on the cheeks of Hynde Horn and his two\ncompanions, strength crept back to their bruised bodies.\n\nEre many weeks had passed all in the palace loved Hynde Horn and\nknew that he was a prince worthy of his name.\n\nWhen the prince was well, King Alymer listened to the story the\nlad had to tell, the story of his ruined home, his lost kingdom,\nhis suffering at the hands of the cruel King Mury.\n\nAnd King Alymer, for he was gentle at heart, shed a tear as he\nheard.\n\n'Thou shalt stay at our court, Hynde Horn,' he said, 'and learn\nall that a prince should learn. Then, when thou art older, thou\nshalt go to war with Mury, the cruel king of the Turks. Thou\nshalt win back thine own kingdom and rule over it.'\n\nThen the king called for Athelbras, his steward, and bade him\ncare for Prince Horn and his two companions.\n\nA suite of rooms was given to the prince in the palace, and here\nhe and his playfellows were trained in all courtly ways.\n\nWhen his studies were over, Hynde Horn would go out to hawk and\nhunt. Often, too, he would wrestle and tilt with his companions,\nso that in days to come he would be able to take his place in\nbattle and in tournament.\n\nBut one day King Alymer heard the young prince's voice as he\nsang. So pure, so sweet rang the voice that the king said to\nhimself, 'Hynde Horn shall be trained by the best harpist in our\nland.'\n\nThen happy days began for the young prince. Rather would he sing,\nas he touched softly the cords of the harp, than would he fight\nor tilt; rather would he sing and play, than go to hunt and hawk.\nYet well had he loved these sports in former days.\n\nNow, King Alymer had one daughter, the Princess Jean. Dearly did\nthe king love his daughter, and ofttimes he stroked her hair and\nwished that she had a playfellow to cheer her in his absence. For\nwhen the king would journey from city to city to see that justice\nand right ruled throughout the land, his child was left alone.\n\nBut now that Hynde Horn and his companions had come, the king\nknew that the Princess Jean would no longer be dull while he was\naway.\n\nShe, too, in the early days after the prince came to the palace,\nwould ride to hunt and hawk, Hynde Horn by her side. And later\nshe would listen as he talked to her of his beautiful home under\nthe eastern sky, of his dear lost mother, Godylt, and his father,\nKing Allof, who was slain by the cruel Mury.\n\nShe would listen, her eyes dim with tears, for she knew how well\nhe had loved his home in the far-off East.\n\nBut her eyes would flash as he told of the cruel King Mury, and\nof how one day he would go back to his kingdom and win it from\nthe hand of the evil king.\n\nHer eyes would flash and her heart would beat, yet when she was\nalone she would weep. For what would she do if Hynde Horn went\naway to the far East and she was left alone? To the Princess Jean\nit seemed that the palace would be empty were Prince Horn no\nlonger dwelling there.\n\nWell, the years rolled on and Hynde Horn was no longer a boy,\nPrincess Jean no longer a girl. They both had changed in many\nways, but in one way both were still as they had been when they\nwere boy and girl together. They had loved each other then, they\nloved each other now. So well did they love one another that they\nwent to King Alymer and told him that they wished to marry, and\nthat without delay.\n\nNow the king was well pleased that Hynde Horn should marry his\nbeautiful daughter the Princess Jean, but he was not willing that\nthe wedding should be at once.\n\n'Thou must wait, my daughter,' said the king; 'thou must wait to\nwed Hynde Horn until he has journeyed to the far East and won\nback the kingdom Mury so unjustly wrested from him. Then, when he\nhas shown himself as brave as he is courteous, then shall the\nwedding be without delay.'\n\nThus it was that a few days later Hynde Horn and Princess Jean\nstood together to say farewell one to another. Hynde Horn was\ngoing away to win his spurs, to show himself worthy of the lady\nwhom he loved.\n\nBefore he left her, he gave her a beautiful silver wand, and on\nthe wand were perched seven living larks. They would warble to\nthe Princess Jean when Hynde Horn was no longer near to sing to\nher, as had been his wont, in his soft sweet voice.\n\nAnd the Princess Jean drew from her own finger a ring, and seven\ndiamonds shone therein. She placed it on the finger of her dear\nHynde Horn, and said, 'As long as the diamonds in this ring flash\nbright, thou wilt know I love thee as I do now. Should the gleam\nof the diamonds fade and grow dim, thou wilt know, not that my\nlove grows less, for that may never be, but thou wilt know that\nevil hath befallen me.'\n\nThen sadly they parted and Hynde Horn, the ring on his finger,\nhastened down to the shore. Swiftly he embarked in the ship that\nawaited him, and sailed away. On and on for many a long day he\nsailed, until he reached the kingdom which Mury the king had\nseized when he killed King Allof.\n\nHere Hynde Horn warred against King Mury until he overcame him\nand won again the kingdom of the East for himself, the rightful\nheir. And the people over whom he ruled rejoiced, for Hynde Horn,\nthough he no longer was prince but king, did not forget his kind\nand courteous ways.\n\nFor seven years King Horn ruled in this distant land, doing many\na deed of daring meanwhile, and winning both gold and glory for\nhimself.\n\nOfttimes during these long years he would glance at the diamond\nring which the Princess Jean had given to him, and always the\ndiamonds flashed back bright. Then one day, when his work was\nover and he knew he was free to go again to the princess, his\nheart wellnigh stopped for fear. He had looked downward at his\nring, and lo! the diamonds were dull and dim. Their lustre had\nvanished.\n\nThe Princess Jean must be in trouble, or already evil had\nbefallen her.\n\nHynde Horn hastened down to the seashore, and there he hired a\nship to sail speedily to Scotland, where King Alymer ruled.\n\nThe ship sailed swiftly, yet the days seemed long to King Horn.\nOft he would gaze at his ring, but only to find the diamonds\ngrowing always more dull, more dim. Hynde Horn longed as he had\nnever longed before to be once more beside the Princess Jean that\nhe might guard her from all harm.\n\nFair blew the wind, onward sailed the ship, and at length Hynde\nHorn saw land, and knew that he was drawing near to Scotland.\n\nA little later he had reached the coast and had begun his journey\ntowards the palace.\n\nAs he hastened on, King Horn met a beggar man.\n\n'Old man,' cried Hynde Horn, 'I have come from far across the\nsea. Tell me what news there is in this country, for it is many a\nlong day since I have been in Scotland.'\n\n'There is little news,' said the beggar, 'little news, for we\ndwell secure under our gracious King Alymer. To be sure, in the\npalace there is rejoicing. The feast has already been spread for\nforty days and more. To-day is the wedding-day of the king's\ndaughter, the Princess Jean.'\n\nAh, now Hynde Horn understood why his diamonds had grown dull and\ndim. His beautiful princess had not forgotten him. Of that he was\nquite sure. But King Alymer and his people had grown weary of\nwaiting for his return. Seven years had seemed a long, long time,\nand now the king was anxious that his daughter should marry and\nwait no longer for the return of Hynde Horn.\n\nAnd, but this King Horn did not know, Fykenyld, his old\ncompanion, loved the princess, and had wooed her long and was\nwaiting to marry her. False to Hynde Horn was Fykenyld, for ever\ndid he say, 'Hynde Horn is dead,' or 'Hynde Horn hath forgotten\nthe Princess Jean,' or 'Hynde Horn hath married one of the\ndark-haired princesses in the far-off East.' And never did he\nleave the palace to go in search of his old playfellow, whom he\nhad once longed to serve.\n\nNow King Alymer had listened to Fykenyld's words, and though he\ndid not believe Hynde Horn would forget his daughter, he did\nbelieve that Hynde Horn might be dead. Thus it was that he\ncommanded Princess Jean to look no longer for the return of Hynde\nHorn, but without more delay to marry Prince Fykenyld.\n\nAnd the princess, pale and sad, worn out by long waiting,\npromised to look no more for Hynde Horn. To please her father and\nhis people, she even promised to marry Hynde Horn's old\nplayfellow, Prince Fykenyld.\n\nAh, but had they only known, King Horn was already hastening\ntowards the palace. Already he had learned that the wedding had\nnot yet taken place.\n\nNow he was speaking to the beggar again, quickly, impatiently.\n\n'Old man, lend me your torn and tattered coat. Thou shalt have my\nscarlet cloak in its place. Thy staff, too, I must have. Instead\nof it thou shalt have my horse.'\n\nYou see the young king had made up his mind to go to the palace\ndressed as a beggar.\n\nBut the old man was puzzled. Could the young prince from across\nthe sea really wish to dress in his torn rags? Well, it was a\nstrange wish, but right glad would he be to have the scarlet\ncloak, the gallant steed.\n\nWhen King Horn had donned his disguise, he cried, 'Tell me now,\nhow dost thou behave thyself when thou comest to the palace to\nbeg?'\n\n'Ah, sir,' said the old man, 'thou must not walk thus upright.\nThou must not look all men boldly in the face. As thou goest up\nthe hill, thou must lean heavily on thy staff, thou must cast\nthine eyes low to the ground. When thou comest to the gate of the\npalace, thou must tarry there until the hour for the king to\ndine. Then mayest thou go to the great gate and ask an alms for\nthe sake of St. Peter and St. Paul, but none shalt thou take from\nany hand, save from the hand of the young bride herself.'\n\nHynde Horn thanked the old beggar man, and, bidding him farewell,\nset off up the hill toward the palace gate. And no one looking at\nhim in the tattered coat, bending half double over his staff, no\none could have guessed that this beggar man was the brave and\ncourteous Hynde Horn.\n\nNow when at length King Horn reached the palace gate, the wedding\nfeast was spread.\n\nPrincess Jean was sitting on the throne beside her father, Prince\nFykenyld on her other side, smiling to himself.\n\nHe would soon be wedded to the princess, he thought, and in days\nto come he would reign with her over King Alymer's wide domains.\nFykenyld had no thought to spare for his old playmate, save to be\nglad that he had never returned from the far East to claim his\nbride.\n\nBut though seven long years had rolled away, Princess Jean had\nnot forgotten Hynde Horn. Forgotten! Nay, day and night he was in\nher thought, in her heart. Yet was she sure that he would never\nnow return.\n\nIt is true that in her despair she had yielded to her father's\nwishes; she had promised to wed Prince Fykenyld that very day. It\nwas no wonder then that she sat on the throne sad at heart, pale\nof face.\n\nHynde Horn had knocked at the palace gate. It was no humble\nbeggar's rap he gave, but a bold, impatient knock. King Horn had\nforgotten for the moment that he was only a beggar man.\n\nThe palace gate was flung wide. One of the noble guests had\narrived, thought the porter. But when he saw a beggar standing\nbefore him, he wellnigh slammed the gate in the poor man's face.\n\nBefore he could do this Hynde Horn spoke, and his voice made the\nporter pause to listen, so sweet, so soft it was. It brought back\nto the rough old man the thought of Hynde Horn, for he had been\nused to speak in just such a tone.\n\nThe porter cleared his voice, wiped his eyes, for he, as all\nothers who dwelt in the palace, had loved Hynde Horn, and grieved\nsorely for his absence.\n\nFor the sake of Hynde Horn it was that the porter listened to the\nbeggar man's request.\n\n'I have come to ask for alms, yet will I take them from none save\nfrom the hand of the Princess Jean herself, and from across the\nsea,' said the beggar man.\n\nStill hearing the sound of the lost prince's voice, the porter\nbade the beggar wait, and stealing up into the hall unnoticed, he\npassed through the crowd of gay lords and ladies until he reached\nthe princess.\n\n'A beggar from across the sea begs alms, yet none will he have\nsave from the hand of the Princess Jean herself,' said the porter\nboldly. Then--for he had known the princess from the time that\nshe was only a tiny little girl--then he added in a whisper: 'The\nman hath a voice soft and sweet as that of our lost Prince Horn.'\n\nPrincess Jean heard, and not a moment did she pause.\n\nShe stepped down from the throne, took a cup of red wine in her\nhand, and heeding not the astonished stare of lord and lady, she\nhastened out to the palace gate.\n\nVery beautiful she looked in her long white robe, her gold combs\nglinting in her hair.\n\n'Drink,' she said gently, as she stood before the beggar, 'drink,\nand then haste to tell me what tidings thou dost bring from\nacross the sea.'\n\n[Illustration: 'Drink,' she said gently, 'drink']\n\nThe beggar took the cup of wine and drank. As he handed back the\ncup to the princess he dropped into it the diamond ring, which\nhad been dull and dim for many a long day now.\n\nPrincess Jean saw the ring. She knew it was the very one she had\ngiven to Hynde Horn. Her heart bounded. Now at least she would\nhear tidings of her long-lost love.\n\n'Oh tell me, tell me quick,' she cried, 'where didst thou find\nthis ring? Was it on the sea or in a far-off country that thou\ndidst find it, or was it on the finger of a dead man? Tell me, oh\ntell me quick!' cried the Princess Jean.\n\n'Neither by sea nor by land did I find the ring,' answered the\nbeggar, 'nor on a dead man's hand. It was given to me by one who\nloved me well, and I, I give it back to her on this her\nwedding-day.' As Hynde Horn spoke he stood up, straight and tall,\nand looked straight into the eyes of the Princess Jean.\n\nThen, in a flash, she understood. In spite of the tattered coat,\nshe knew her own Hynde Horn.\n\nHer pale cheeks glowed, her dim eyes shone.\n\n'Hynde Horn!' she cried, 'my own Hynde Horn, I will never let\nthee leave me again. I will throw away my golden combs, I will\nput on my oldest gown, and I will come with thee, and together we\nwill beg for bread.'\n\nKing Horn smiled, and his voice was soft as he answered, 'No need\nis there to take the gold combs from thy hair or to change thy\nwhite robe for one less fair. This is thy wedding-day, and I have\ncome to claim my bride.' And King Horn flung aside the old torn\ncoat, and the Princess Jean saw that beneath the rags Hynde Horn\nwas clothed as one of kingly rank.\n\nThen throughout the palace the tidings spread, 'Hynde Horn hath\ncome back, Hynde Horn hath come back, and now is he king of his\nown country.'\n\nAnd that very day King Horn was wedded to the beautiful Princess\nJean, with her father's blessing, and amid the rejoicings of the\npeople.\n\nAnd Prince Fykenyld slunk away, ashamed to look his old playmate\nin the face.\n\nNot many months passed ere King Horn and Queen Jean sailed away\nto reign together in the far East. And never again in the years\nto come did the diamonds on King Horn's ring grow dull or dim.\n\n\n\n\nTHOMAS THE RHYMER\n\n\nIt is six hundred years ago since Thomas the Rhymer lived and\nrhymed, and in those far-off days little need was there to tell\nhis tale. It was known far and wide throughout the countryside.\n\nThomas was known as Thomas the Rhymer because of the wonderful\nsongs he sang. Never another harper in all the land had so great\na gift as he. But at that no one marvelled, no one, that is to\nsay, who knew that he had gained his gift in Elfland.\n\nWhen Thomas took his harp in his hand and touched the strings, a\nhush would fall upon those who heard, were they princes or were\nthey peasants. For the magic of his music reached the hearts of\nall who stood around him. Were the strains merry, gleeful? The\nfaces of those who heard were wreathed in smiles. Were they sad,\nmelancholy? The faces of those who looked upon the harpist were\nbathed in tears. Truly Thomas the Rhymer held the hearts of the\npeople in his hand.\n\nBut the minstrel had another name, wonderful as the one I have\nalready told to you.\n\nThomas the Rhymer was named True Thomas, and that was because,\neven had he wished it, Thomas could not say or sing what was not\ntrue.\n\nThis gift too, as you will hear, was given to him by the Queen of\nElfland.\n\nAnd yet another name had this wonderful singer.\n\nHe was born, so the folk said, in a little village called\nErcildoune. He lived there, so the folk knew, in a castle\nstrongly built on the banks of a little river. Thus to those who\ndwelt in the countryside the Rhymer was known as Thomas of\nErcildoune. The river which flowed past the castle was the\nLeader. It flowed broader and deeper until two miles beyond the\nvillage it ran into the beautiful river Tweed. And to-day the\nruins of an old tower are visited by many folk who have heard\nthat it was once the home of the ancient harpist.\n\nThomas of Ercildoune, Thomas the Rhymer, and True Thomas were\nthus only different names for one marvellous man who sang and\nplayed, never told an untruth, and who, moreover, was able to\ntell beforehand events that were going to take place.\n\nListen, and I will tell you how Thomas of Ercildoune came to\nvisit Elfland.\n\nIt was one beautiful May morning that Thomas felt something\nstirring in his heart. Spring had come, spring was calling to\nhim. He could stay no longer in the grim tower on the banks of\nthe Leader. He would away, away to the woods where the thrush and\nthe jay were singing, where the violets were peeping forth with\ntimid eyes, where the green buds were bursting their bonds for\nvery joy.\n\nThomas hastened to the woods and threw himself down by the bank\nof a little brook.\n\nAh yes! spring has come. How the little birds sing, how the\ngentle breezes whisper! Yet listen! what is it Thomas hears\nbeyond the song of the birds, the whisper of the breeze?\n\nOn the air floats the sound of silver bells. Thomas raises his\nhead. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle! The sound draws nearer, clearer. It\nis music such as one might hear in Elfland.\n\nBeyond the wood, over the lonely moors, rode a lady. So fair a\nlady had Thomas never seen.\n\nHer palfrey was dapple-grey and she herself shone as the summer\nsun. Her saddle was of pure ivory, bright with many precious\nstones and hung with cloth of richest crimson.\n\nThe girths of her saddle were of silk and the buckles were each\none a beryl. Her stirrups of clear crystal and adorned with\npearls hung ready for her fairy feet. The trappings of her\npalfrey were of finest embroidery, her bridle was a chain of\ngold.\n\nFrom the palfrey's mane hung little silver bells, nine-and-fifty\nlittle silver bells. It was the fairy music of the bells that had\nreached the ears of Thomas as he lay dreaming on the bank of the\nlittle brook.\n\nThe lady's skirt was green, green as the leaves of spring, her\ncloak was of fine velvet. Her long black hair hung round her as a\nveil, and her brow was adorned with gems.\n\nBy her side were seven greyhounds, other seven she led by a\nleash. From her neck hung a horn and in her belt was thrust a\nsheath of arrows.\n\nIt seemed as though the lady gay were on her way to the\nhunting-field.\n\nNow she would blow her horn until the echoes answered merrily,\nmerrily; now she would trill her songs, until the wild birds\nanswered gaily, gaily.\n\nThomas of Ercildoune gazed, and Thomas of Ercildoune listened,\nand his heart gave a great bound as he said to himself, 'Now, by\nmy troth, the lady is none of mortal birth. She is none other\nthan Mary, the Queen of Heaven.'\n\nThen up sprang Thomas from the little woodland brook and away\nsped he over the mountain-side, that he might, so it were\npossible, reach her as she rode by the Eildon tree, which tree\ngrew on the side of the Eildon hills.\n\n'For certainly,' said Thomas, 'if I do not speak with that lady\nbright, my heart will break in three.'\n\nAnd in sooth, as she dismounted under the Eildon tree, Thomas met\nthe lady, and kneeling low beneath the greenwood, he spoke, thus\neager was he to win a benison from the Queen of Heaven.\n\n'Lovely lady, have pity upon me, even as thou art mother of the\nChild who died for me.'\n\n'Nay now, nay now,' said the lady gay, 'no Queen of Heaven am I.\nI come but from the country thou dost call Elfland, though queen\nof that country in truth I am. I do but ride to the hunt with my\nhounds as thou mayest hear.' And she blew on her horn merrily,\nmerrily.\n\nNow Thomas did not wish to lose sight of so fair a lady.\n\n'Go not back to Elfland; stay by my side under the Eildon tree,'\nhe pleaded.\n\n'Nay,' said the Queen of Elfland, 'should I stay with thee, a\nmortal, my fairness would fade as fades a leaf.'\n\nBut Thomas did not believe her, and, for he was a bold man, he\ndrew near and kissed the rosy lips of the Elfland Queen.\n\nAlas, alas! no sooner had he kissed her than the lady fair\nchanged into a tired old woman.\n\nShe no longer wore a skirt of beautiful green, but a long robe of\nhodden grey covered her from head to foot. The light, bright as\nthe summer sun that had shone around her, faded, and her face\ngrew pale and thin. Her eyes no longer danced for joy, they gazed\ndull and dim before her. And on one side of her head the long\nblack hair had changed to grey.\n\n[Illustration: Under the Eildon tree Thomas met the lady]\n\nIt was a sight to make one sad, and Thomas, as he gazed, cried,\nas well he might, 'Alas, alas!'\n\n'Thyself hast sealed thy doom, Thomas,' cried the lady. 'Thou\nmust come with me to Elfland. Haste thou therefore to bid\nfarewell to sun and moon, to trees and flowers, for, come weal,\ncome woe, thou must e'en serve me for a twelvemonth.'\n\nThen Thomas fell upon his knees and prayed to Mary mild that she\nwould have pity upon him.\n\nBut when he arose the Queen of Elfland bade him mount behind her,\nand Thomas could do nought save obey her command.\n\nHer steed flew forward, the Eildon hills opened, and horse and\nriders were in the caverns of the earth.\n\nThomas felt darkness close around him. On they rode, on and yet\non; swift as the wind they rode. Water reached to his knee, above\nand around him was darkness, and ever and anon the booming of the\nwaves.\n\nFor three days they rode. Then Thomas grew faint with hunger and\ncried, 'Woe is me, I shall die for lack of food.'\n\nAs he cried, the darkness grew less thick, and they were riding\nforward into light. Bright sunlight lay around them as they rode\ntoward a garden. It was a garden such as Thomas had never seen on\nearth.\n\nAll manner of fruit was there, apples and pears, dates and\ndamsons, figs and currants, all ripe, ready to be plucked. In\nthis beautiful garden, too, there were birds, nightingales\nbuilding their nests, gay popinjays flitting hither and thither\namong the trees, thrushes singing their sweetest songs.\n\nBut these Thomas neither saw nor heard. Thomas had eyes only for\nthe fruit, and he thrust forth his hand to pluck it, so hungry,\nso faint was he.\n\n'Let be the fruit, Thomas,' cried the lady, 'let be the fruit.\nFor dost thou pluck it, thy soul will go to an evil place, nor\nshall it escape until the day of doom. Leave the fruit, Thomas,\nand come lay thy head upon my knee, and I will show thee a sight\nfairer than ever mortal hath seen. And Thomas, being fain to\nrest, lay down as he was bid, and closed his eyes.\n\n'Now open thine eyes, Thomas,' said the lady, 'and thou shalt see\nthree roads before thee. Narrow and straight is the first, and\nhard is it to walk there, for thorns and briars grow thick, and\nspread themselves across the pathway. Straight up over the\nmountain-tops on into the city of God runs this straight and\nnarrow road. It is named the path of Goodness. And ever will the\nthorns prick and the briars spread, for few there be who tread\nfar on this rough and prickly road.\n\n'Look yet again, Thomas,' said the lady. And Thomas saw\nstretching before him a long white road. It ran smooth and broad\nacross a grassy plain, and roses blossomed, and lilies bloomed by\nthe wayside. 'That,' said the lady, 'is named the path of Evil,\nand many there be who saunter along its broad and easy surface.'\n\nThomas said no word, but lay looking at the third pathway as it\ntwisted and twined in and out amid the cool, green nooks of the\nwoodland. Tiny rills caught the sunlight and tossed it back to\nthe cold, grey rock down which they trickled; tiny ferns waved a\nwelcome from their sheltered crevices. 'This,' said the lady,\n'this is the fair road to Elfland, and along its beauteous way\nmust thou and I ride this very night. But speak thou to none,\nThomas, when thou comest to Elfland. Though strange the sights\nyou see, the sounds you hear, speak thou to none, for never\nmortal returns to his own country does he speak one word in the\nland of Elfs.'\n\nThen once again Thomas mounted behind the lady, and hard and fast\ndid they ride until they saw before them a castle. It stood on a\nhigh hill, fair and strong, and as it came in sight the lady\nreined in her white steed.\n\n'See, Thomas, see!' she cried, 'here is the castle that is mine\nand his who is king of this country. None like it is there, for\nbeauty or for strength, in the land from which thou comest. My\nlord is waited on by knights, of whom there are thirty in this\ncastle. A noble lord is mine, nor would he wish to hear how thou\nwert bold and kissed me under the Eildon tree. Bear thou in mind,\nThomas, that thou speak no word, nay, not though thou art\ncommanded to tell thy tale. I will say to my courtiers that I\ntook from thee the power of speech ere ever we crossed the sea.'\n\nThomas listened, and dared not speak. Thomas stood still, still\nas a stone, and gazed upon the lady, and lo! a great wonder came\nto pass.\n\nOnce more the lady shone bright as the sun upon a summer's morn,\nonce more she wore her skirt of green, green as the leaves of\nspring, and her velvet cloak hung around her shoulders. Her eyes\nflashed and her long hair waved once more black in the breeze.\n\nAnd Thomas, looking at his own garments, started to see that they\ntoo were changed. For he was now clothed in a suit of beautiful\nsoft cloth, and on his feet were a pair of green velvet shoes.\n\nClear and loud the lady fair blew her horn, clear and loud, and\nforward she rode toward the castle gate.\n\nThen down to welcome their queen trooped all the fairy court, and\nkneeling low before her, they did her reverence.\n\nInto the hall she stepped, Thomas following close at her side,\nsilent as one who had no power to speak.\n\nThey crowded around him, the knights and squires; they asked him\nquestions about his own country, yet no word dared Thomas answer.\n\nThen arose great revelry and feasting in the castle of the Elfin\nQueen.\n\nHarps and fiddles played their wildest and most gladsome tunes,\nknights and ladies danced, and all went merry as a marriage bell.\n\nAcross the hall Thomas looked, and there a strange sight met his\nglance. Thirty harts and as many deer lay on the oaken floor, and\nbending over them, their knives in their hands, were elfin cooks,\nmaking ready for the feast. Thomas wondered if it were but a\ndream, so strange seemed the sights he saw.\n\nGaily passed the days, and Thomas had no wish to leave the\nstrange Elfland. But a day came when the queen said to Thomas,\n'Now must thou begone from Elfland, Thomas, and I, myself, will\nride with you back to your own country.'\n\n'Nay now, but three days have I dwelt in thy realm,' said Thomas,\n'with but little cheer. Give me leave to linger yet a little\nwhile.'\n\n'Indeed, indeed, Thomas,' cried the Queen of Elfland, 'thou hast\nbeen with me for seven long years and more, but now thou must\naway ere the dawn of another day. To-morrow there comes an evil\nspirit from the land of darkness to our fair realm. He comes each\nyear to claim our most favoured and most courteous guest, and it\nwill be thou, Thomas, thou, whom he will wish to carry to his\ndark abode. But we tarry not his coming. By the light of the moon\nwe ride to-night to the land of thy birth.'\n\nOnce again the lady fair mounted her white palfrey, and Thomas\nrode behind until she brought him safe back to the Eildon tree.\n\nThere, under the leaves of the greenwood, while the little birds\nsang their lays, the Queen of Elfland said farewell to Thomas.\n\n'Farewell, Thomas, farewell, I may no longer stay with thee.'\n\n'Give me a token,' pleaded Thomas, 'a token ere thou leavest me,\nthat mortals may know that I have in truth been with thee in\nElfland.'\n\n'Take with thee, then,' said the lady, 'take with thee the gift\nof harp and song, and likewise the power to tell that which will\ncome to pass in future days. Nor ever shall thy tales be false,\nThomas, for I have taken from thee the power to speak aught save\nonly what is true.'\n\nShe turned to ride away, away to Elfland. Then Thomas was sad,\nand tears streamed from his grey eyes, and he cried, 'Tell me,\nlady fair, shall I never meet thee more?'\n\n'Yea,' said the Elf Queen, 'we shall meet again, Thomas. When\nthou art in thy castle of Ercildoune and hearest of a hart and\nhind that come out of the forest and pace unafraid through the\nvillage, then come thou down to seek for me here, under the\nEildon tree.'\n\nThen loud and clear blew she her horn and rode away. Thus Thomas\nparted from the Elfin Queen.\n\nOn earth seven slow long years had passed away since Thomas had\nbeen seen in the little village of Ercildoune, and the villagers\nrubbed their eyes and stared with open mouth as they saw him once\nagain in their midst.\n\nOfttimes now Thomas was to be seen wandering down from his grim\nold castle down to the bonny greenwood. Ofttimes was he to be\nfound lying on the bank of the little brook that babbled to\nitself as it ran through the forest, or under the Eildon tree,\nwhere he had met the Elf Queen so long before.\n\nHe would be dreaming as he lay there of the songs he would sing\nto the country folk. So beautiful were these songs that people\nhearing them knew that Thomas the Rhymer had a gift that had\nbeen given to him by no mortal hand.\n\nHe would be thinking, too, as he lay by the babbling brook, of\nthe wars and dangers that in years to come would fall upon his\ncountry. And those who hearkened to the woes he uttered found\nthat the words of True Thomas never failed to come to pass.\n\nSeven long years passed away since Thomas had parted from the\nElfland Queen, and yet another seven.\n\nWar had raged here and there throughout the land, when on a time\nit chanced that the Scottish army encamped close to the castle of\nErcildoune where Thomas the Rhymer dwelt.\n\nIt was a time of truce, and Thomas wished to give a feast to the\ngallant soldiers who had been fighting for their country.\n\nThus it was that the doors of the old castle were flung wide, and\nnoise and laughter filled the banquet-hall. Merry were the tales,\nloud the jests, bright the minstrel strains that night in the\ncastle of Ercildoune.\n\nBut when the feast was over Thomas himself arose, the harp he had\nbrought from Elfland in his hand, and a hush fell upon the\nthrong, upon lords and ladies, and upon rough armed men.\n\nThe cheeks of rugged warriors that day were wet ere ever Thomas\nceased to sing. Nor ever in the years to come did those who heard\nforget the magic of his song.\n\nNight fell, those who had feasted had gone to rest, when in the\nbright moonlight a strange sight was seen by the village folk.\n\nAlong the banks of the Leader there paced side by side a hart and\na hind, each white, white as newly fallen snow.\n\nSlowly and with stately steps they moved, nor were they\naffrighted by the crowd which gathered to gaze at them.\n\nThen, for True Thomas would know the meaning of so strange a\nsight, then a messenger was sent in haste to the castle of\nErcildoune.\n\nAs he listened to the tale the messenger brought, Thomas started\nup out of bed and in haste he put on his clothes. Pale and red\ndid he grow in turn as he listened to the tale, yet all he said\nwas this: 'My sand is run, my thread is spun, this token is for\nme.'\n\nThomas hung his elfin harp around his neck, his minstrel cloak\nacross his shoulders, and out into the pale moonlight he walked.\nAnd as he walked the wind touched the strings of the elfin harp\nand drew forth a wail so full of dole that those who heard it\nwhispered: 'It is a note of death.'\n\nOn walked Thomas, slow and sad, and oft he turned to look again\nat the grim walls of the castle, which he knew he would never see\nagain.\n\nAnd the moonbeams fell upon the grey tower, and in the soft light\nthe walls grew less grim, less stern, so thought Thomas.\n\n'Farewell,' he cried, 'farewell. Nor song nor dance shall\nevermore find place within thy walls. On thy hearthstone shall\nthe wild hare seek a refuge for her young. Farewell to Leader,\nthe stream I love, farewell to Ercildoune, my home.'\n\nAs Thomas tarried for a last look, the hart and the hind drew\nnear. Onward then he went with them toward the banks of the\nLeader, and there, before the astonished folk, he crossed the\nstream with his strange companions, and nevermore was Thomas the\nRhymer seen again.\n\nFor many a day among the hills and through the glens was Thomas\nsought, but never was he found. There be some who say that he is\nliving yet in Elfland, and that one day he will come again to\nearth.\n\nMeanwhile he is not forgotten. The Eildon tree no longer waves\nits branches in the breeze, but a large stone named the\nEildon-tree stone marks the spot where once it grew. And near to\nthe stone flows a little river which has been named the Goblin\nBrook, for by its banks it was believed that Thomas the Rhymer\nused to talk with little men from the land of Elf.\n\n\n\n\nLIZZIE LINDSAY\n\n\nIn the fair city of Edinburgh there lived many many years ago a\nbeautiful maiden named Lizzie Lindsay. Her home was in the\nCanongate, which is now one of the poorest parts of the city.\n\nBut in the days when Lizzie danced and sang, and made her\nfather's and mother's heart rejoice, the Canongate was the home\nof all the richest lords and ladies.\n\nFor close to the Canongate was Holyrood, the palace where the\nking held his court. And it was well, thought the lords and\nladies of long ago, to live near the palace where there were many\ngay sights to be seen.\n\nLizzie had been a bonny wee girl, and as she grew up she grew\nbonnier still, until, not only in Edinburgh, but far and wide\nthroughout the country, people would speak of her beauty. Even\nthe folk who dwelt away over the hills in the Highlands heard of\nthe beauty of Lizzie Lindsay.\n\nDame Lindsay loved her daughter well, and gave her beautiful\ngowns of silk and velvet. Her father, too, would bring her home\nmany a sparkling jewel, many a brilliant gem. It seemed as though\nLizzie Lindsay had all that her heart could wish.\n\nCertainly she did not wish to leave her home in the Canongate,\nfor though lord after lord, noble after noble begged for her\nhand, Lizzie but tossed her beautiful head high in the air as she\nsaid them nay.\n\nBut though it was well known that the lovely maiden had kind\nlooks and gentle words to spare for none save only her dear\nfather and her doting mother, yet still the lords and nobles\nwould dance more gladly with Lizzie than with any other maiden.\nAnd a ball, even a ball given by the court at the palace of\nHolyrood, seemed to be less gladsome were it known that the fair\nmaiden would not be there.\n\nNow, as I have told you, the fame of Lizzie Lindsay's beauty had\nspread even to the Highlands. And Donald, the young laird of\nKingcaussie, heard that she was fairer than any other maiden in\nthe land, and that she was haughtier and more wilful as well. For\nshe would have nought to say, to any of the rich suitors who\nsurrounded her.\n\nThen Donald, who was tall and handsome, and who was used to have\nhis own way, smiled as he heard of Lizzie's wilful spirit and her\ngreat beauty. He made up his mind that he would go to Edinburgh\nand try to win as his bride the bonnie lassie who would have\nnought to do with noble or with lord.\n\nThe young laird lived with his father and mother in a castle\nbuilt high amid the heather-covered hills, and little until now\nhad Donald cared for city ways or city walls. To hunt the deer,\nto chase the roe, to spend the long hours from early morn until\neven among the heathery moors which were all his own, had been\nhappiness enough for him.\n\nBut now, now the glory faded from the heather, and the hunt and\nchase lost their delight. Sir Donald's heart was in the fair city\nof Edinburgh with beautiful Lizzie Lindsay, whom, though he had\nnot seen, he loved.\n\nAt length one day the young laird went to his lady mother and,\nkissing her hand right courteously, he begged her to grant him a\nboon. For Donald had been well trained, and, though he was no\nlonger a boy, he did not dream of leaving his home among the\nhills until he had gained his mother's consent.\n\n'Grant me a boon, lady mother,' said the young laird. 'Send me\naway to the fair city of Edinburgh, for it is there that my true\nlove dwells. And if ye will do this I will bring you home a\ndaughter more beautiful than any other maiden in the land.'\n\nNow the young laird's mother had heard of Lizzie Lindsay, and it\nmay be that she was glad that her son should wish to bring to the\ncastle so beautiful a bride. Yet she had no wish for the maiden\nto be won by aught save by love for her dear son alone.\n\nLizzie had refused to wed with lord or noble, it was true, yet\nthe broad lands, the ancient castle of the MacDonalds, might\nplease her fancy. But the Lady of Kingcaussie determined that\nneither for land nor for castle should bonnie Lizzie Lindsay come\nto the Highlands.\n\nWhen she saw young Donald at her side, and heard him begging\nleave to go to the fair city of Edinburgh, she smiled as she\nlooked into his eager face, and answered slowly, 'My son, ye\nshall go to Edinburgh an it please you, and so ye are able ye\nshall bring back with you Lizzie Lindsay as your bride. A fairer\nmaiden, I can well believe, has never graced these walls. Yet, if\nye go, it shall not be as Sir Donald MacDonald, the heir to broad\nlands and ancient castles, but as a simple stranger, without\nriches and without rank. Then, if ye do win your bride, it will\nbe through love alone,' said his mother gravely. But her eyes\nshone bright and glad, for she thought that there was not a\nmaiden in all the land who would not be proud to wed her son,\nthough he had neither riches nor lands.\n\nAs for the old laird, he laughed when he heard why his son had\ngrown weary at the hunt and listless at the chase. He laughed and\ncried, 'Let the lad go to the city; before a year has passed away\nhe will be home again and the beautiful Lizzie Lindsay with him.'\nFor his old father, too, thought that no maiden could refuse to\nlove his bonny self-willed son.\n\nWell, young Donald was too anxious to be off and away to\nEdinburgh to be grieved to go as a simple Highlander. Before the\nday was over he had said farewell to his light-hearted old father\nand to his gentle lady mother, and clad in a rough tartan kilt\nand without a servant to follow him, the young laird was off to\nthe fair city of Edinburgh.\n\nWhen Donald reached Edinburgh he wondered how he would see the\nmaiden of whose beauty and of whose cleverness he had so often\nheard.\n\nHe had not long to wait, for he had scarce been a day in the city\nwhen he heard that a great ball was to be given and to be graced\nby the presence of the fair maiden whom he hoped to win as his\nbride.\n\nDonald made up his mind that he too would go to the ball, and it\nwas easy for him to do this, as there were many in the city who\nknew the young laird.\n\nWhen he entered the ballroom he saw that the lords and nobles\nwere dressed in suits of velvet or silk and satins, while he wore\nonly his kilt of rough tartan.\n\nThe lords and ladies too stared at the tall handsome young\nHighlander in his strange garments, and some, who did not know\nhim, forgot their good manners and smiled and nudged each other\nas he passed down the room.\n\nBut the young laird had no thought to spare for the crowd. He was\nmaking his way to the circle, in the midst of which stood Lizzie\nLindsay. He had heard too often of the beautiful maiden not to be\nsure it was she as soon as his eyes fell upon her face.\n\nYoung Donald, in his homespun tartan, stood on the outskirt of\nthe little crowd that surrounded her, listening. The lords in\ntheir gay suits were doing their utmost to win the goodwill of\nthe maiden, but their flattery and foolish words seemed to give\nher little pleasure. Indeed she was too used to them to find them\naught but a weariness.\n\nSoon Donald was bowing before the maiden he had left his home to\nwin, and begging her to dance with him. And something in the\nbright eyes and gallant bearing of young Donald pleased the\npetted maiden, and, despite his rough suit, she had nought but\nsmiles for the young stranger from the Highlands.\n\nThe lords, in their silks and velvets, opened their eyes wide in\nastonishment as Lizzie glided past them with young Donald; the\nladies smiled and flouted her, but the maiden paid no heed to\ntheir words or looks.\n\nDonald was not flattering her as she was used to be flattered, he\nwas telling her of the country in which he dwelt. And Lizzie as\nshe listened heard the hum of the bees, smelt the fragrance of\nthe heather. Nay, she even forgot the ballroom, and she was out\non the silent moorland or climbing the steep mountains side by\nside with the young stranger whose face was so eager, whose eyes\nwere so bright. She was stooping to pluck the wildflowers that\ngrew in the nooks of some sheltered glen, or she was kilting her\ndainty gown and crossing the mountain streamlets, and ever the\ntall, young stranger was by her side.\n\nBefore the ball was over Donald knew that Lizzie Lindsay's home\nwas in the Canongate, and he had begged to be allowed to see her\nthere.\n\nLizzie had no wish to lose sight of the bright young Highlander,\nand she told him gaily that if he came to the Canongate to see\nher he should be welcome, both to her and her dear father and\nmother.\n\nWhen the dance ended the young laird went to his lodgings, and\nhis heart was light and his dreams glad. His old father had\nthought he might be in Edinburgh a year ere he won his bride. But\nyoung Donald murmured to himself that it would scarce be twelve\nlong months before he was back again to the Highlands with his\nbonny Lizzie Lindsay.\n\nThe next day Donald was at the Canongate betimes, and Lizzie\nwelcomed him merrily, and her father and mother looked in kindly\nfashion at the young stranger, for indeed Donald had the gift of\nwinning hearts.\n\nBut neither father nor mother dreamed that the country clad\nyouth would win their beautiful daughter's hand, for had she not\nrefused it to many a lordly earl and noble knight.\n\nYet the more Lizzie heard about the Highlands, the more she\nlonged to be there with young Donald by her side.\n\nAt length a day came when Donald, with little fear and much hope\nin his heart, asked the maiden if she would go with him to the\nHighlands.\n\n'We will feed on curds and whey,' cried the daring young Donald;\n'your cheeks will grow more pink, and your brow more white with\nour simple fare. Your bed shall be made on the fresh green\nbracken and my plaid shall wrap you round. Will ye come to the\nHighlands with me, Lizzie Lindsay?'\n\nNow Lizzie had listened to young Donald's words with joy, but\nalso with some fear. Her food had been of the daintiest, her bed\nof the softest down, and the young stranger, who was indeed\nscarce a stranger now, had, it seemed, but little to offer her\nsave his love. Yet Lizzie still wished to go to the Highlands.\n\n[Illustration: 'Will ye come to the Highlands with me, Lizzie\nLindsay?']\n\nBut when Dame Lindsay heard what young Donald had said she\nhardened her heart against the bonny young Highlander.\n\n'Ye shall speak no more to my daughter,' she cried, 'until ye\nhave told me where your home is, and how many broad lands are\nyour own?' For it seemed to the old dame that a penniless lad\nwould never dare to win her daughter, when lords and nobles had\nwooed her in vain.\n\nBut Donald's head was high, and he seemed to feel no shame as he\nanswered the old dame bravely--\n\n'My name is Donald MacDonald, and I hold it high in honour. My\nfather is an old shepherd and my mother a dairymaid. Yet kind and\ngentle will they be to your beautiful daughter if she will come\nwith me to the Highlands.'\n\nDame Lindsay could scarce believe she had heard aright. Her\ndaughter marry a shepherd lad! Nay, that should never be, though\nindeed the lad was a bonny one and brave.\n\nThen in her anger she bade young Donald begone. 'If ye do steal\naway my daughter, then, without doubt ye shall hang for it!' she\ncried.\n\nThe young laird turned haughtily on his heel. He had little\npatience, nor could his spirit easily brook such scorn as the old\nDame flung at him.\n\nHe turned on his heel and he said, 'There is no law in Edinburgh\ncity this day which can hang me.'\n\nBut before he could say more Lizzie was by his side. 'Come to my\nroom, Donald,' she pleaded; and as he looked at the beautiful\ngirl the young laird's wrath vanished as quickly as it had come.\n'Come to my room for an hour until I draw a fair picture of you\nto hang in my bower. Ye shall have ten guineas if you will but\ncome.'\n\n'Your golden guineas I will not have!' cried Donald quickly. 'I\nhave plenty of cows in the Highlands, and they are all my own.\nCome with me, Lizzie, and we will feed on curds and whey, and\nthou shalt have a bonnie blue plaid with red and green strips.\nCome with me, Lizzie Lindsay; we will herd the wee lambs\ntogether.'\n\nYet, though Lizzie loved young Donald MacDonald, she still\nhesitated to leave her kind parents and her beautiful home.\n\nShe sat in her bower and she said to her maid, 'Helen, what shall\nI do, for my heart is in the Highlands with Donald?'\n\nThen the maid, who was wellnigh as beautiful as her mistress,\ncried, 'Though I were a princess and sat upon a throne, yet would\nI leave all to go with young Donald MacDonald.'\n\n'O Helen!' cried Lizzie, 'would ye leave your chests full of\njewels and silk gowns, and would ye leave your father and mother,\nand all your friends to go away with a Highland laddie who wears\nnought but a homespun kilt?'\n\nBut before her maid could answer her, Lizzie had sprung from her\nchair, saying, 'Yet I think he must be a wizard, and have\nenchanted me, for, come good or come ill, I must e'en go to the\nHighlands.'\n\nThen early one morning Lizzie tied up her silk robes in a bundle\nand clad herself in one of Helen's plain gowns. With her bundle\nover her arm, Lizzie Lindsay was off to the Highlands with Donald\nMacDonald.\n\nDonald's heart was glad as he left the fair city of Edinburgh\nbehind him, Lizzie by his side. He had so much to tell his\nbeautiful bride, so much, too, to show her, that at first the\nroad seemed neither rough nor long.\n\nBut as the hours passed the way grew rougher, the hills steeper,\nand Lizzie's strength began to fail. Her shoes, too, which were\nnot made for such rough journeys, were soon so worn that her feet\ngrew hot and blistered.\n\n'Alas!' sighed Lizzie Lindsay, 'I would I were back in Edinburgh,\nsitting alone in my bower.'\n\n'We are but a few miles away from the city,' said Donald; 'will\nyou even now go back?'\n\nBut the tears trickled slowly down the maiden's cheeks, and she\nsobbed, 'Now would I receive no welcome from my father, no kiss\nfrom my mother, for sore displeased will they be that I have left\nthem for you, Donald MacDonald.'\n\nOn and on they trudged in silence, and as evening crept on Donald\ncried aloud, 'Dry your tears now, Lizzie, for there before us is\nour home,' and he pointed to a tiny cottage on the side of the\nhill.\n\nAn old woman stood at the door, gazing down the hill, and as they\ndrew near she came forward with outstretched hands. 'Welcome, Sir\nDonald,' she said, 'welcome home to your own.'\n\n'She spoke in Gaelic, as Highlanders do, so Lizzie did not know\nwhat she said.\n\nSir Donald whispered quickly in the same language, 'Hush, call me\nonly Donald, and pretend that I am your son.' The old woman,\nthough sore dismayed at having to treat the young laird in so\nhomely a way, promised to do his bidding.\n\nThen Donald turned to Lizzie. 'Here mother,' he said, 'is my\nlady-love, whom I have won in the fair city of Edinburgh.'\n\nThe old woman drew Lizzie into the cottage, and spoke kindly to\nher, but the maiden's heart sank. For a peat fire smouldered on\nthe hearth and the room was filled with smoke. There was no easy\nchair, no couch on which to rest her weary body, so Lizzie\ndropped down on to a heap of green turf.\n\nHer sadness did not seem to trouble Donald. He seemed gayer,\nhappier, every moment.\n\n'We are hungry, mother,' he said; 'make us a good supper of curds\nand whey, and then make us a bed of green rushes and cover us\nwith yonder grey plaids.'\n\nThe old woman moved about eagerly as though overjoyed to do all\nthat she could for her son and his young bride.\n\nCurds and whey was a supper dainty enough for a queen, as Lizzie\nwhispered to her shepherd lad with a little sigh. Even the bed of\ngreen rushes could not keep her awake. No sooner had she lain\ndown than, worn out with her long journey, she fell fast asleep,\nnor did she awake until the sun was high in the sky.\n\nAs she awoke she heard Donald's voice. He was reproaching her,\nand she had not been used to reproach.\n\n'It would have been well,' said Donald, 'that you had risen an\nhour ago to milk the cows, to tend the flock.'\n\nThe tears gathered in Lizzie's eyes and trickled down her cheeks.\n\n'Alas, alas!' she sighed, 'I would I had never left my home, for\nhere I am of little use. I have never milked a cow, nor do I know\nhow to begin, and flocks have I never tended. Alas that I ever\ncame to the Highlands! Yet well do I love Donald MacDonald, and\nlong and dull would the days have been had he left me behind him\nin Edinburgh.'\n\n'Shed no more tears, Lizzie,' said Donald gently. 'Get up and\ndress yourself in your silk gown, for to-day I will take you over\nthe hills of Kingcaussie and show you the glens and dales where\nI used to play when I was but a little lad.'\n\nThen Lizzie dried her tears and soon she was up and dressed in\nher finest gown, and leaning on Donald's arm she wandered with\nhim over the heathery hills until they reached a noble castle.\n\nJoyously then laughed the young laird, as he bade Lizzie gaze all\naround her and be glad.\n\n'I am the lord of all you see, Lizzie,' cried he, 'for this\ncastle is my home and the mountains are my own broad lands.'\n\nThen joyously too laughed Lizzie Lindsay, for she knew that her\nshepherd lad was none other than the far-famed Sir Donald\nMacDonald.\n\nAt that moment the castle gates were flung wide, and the old\nLaird of Kingcaussie came out to greet the bride.\n\n'Ye are welcome, Lizzie Lindsay, welcome to our castle,' he said\nright courteously. 'Many were the lords and nobles who begged for\nyour hand, but it is young Donald, my son, who has won it, with\nno gift save the glance of his bonny blue eyes.' And the old\nlaird laughed merrily as he looked up at his son.\n\nThe laird's gracious mother too came down to greet her, and well\nwas she pleased that her boy had won the beautiful maiden he\nloved.\n\nAs for Lizzie Lindsay, she sent to Edinburgh to fetch her father\nand mother, that they might see for themselves how wise their\ndaughter had been to follow Donald MacDonald to the Highlands.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GAY GOSHAWK\n\n\nLord William sat alone in his grey northern castle. He had come\nbut lately from the sunny South, and the room in which he sat\nstruck chill after the sun-warmed rooms to which he had grown\nused. Little joy had Lord William in his old grey castle, for his\nheart was far away in the sunny South.\n\nAll alone he sat save for his favourite bird, the gay goshawk.\nAnd it, for it loved its master well, blinked a tear from its eye\nas it peered into Lord William's gloomy face, blinked and peered\nagain, so pale and lean had his master grown.\n\n'Now what ill has befallen,' thought the bird, and it ruffled its\nfeathers in its distress.\n\nLord William looked up and stroked the glossy plumage of his gay\ngoshawk.\n\n'Be still, my bonny bird, be still,' said Lord William, 'and I\nwill smooth your ruffled wings.'\n\nThe goshawk blinked and peered more close into the tired face of\nhis master. Then he began to speak.\n\n'Have you lost your sword or spear in the tournament, have you\nlost them in sunny England?' asked the bird, 'or are you pale\nwith grief because your true love is far away?'\n\n'By my troth!' cried Lord William, 'I have lost nor sword nor\nspear, yet do I mourn, for my true love whom I fain would see.\n\n'You shall carry a message to her, my gay goshawk, for you can\nfly over hill and dale. You shall carry a letter to my love, and\nyou shall e'en bring me an answer,' said Lord William, 'for you\ncan speak as well as fly, my bonny bird.'\n\n'But how shall I know your true love?' said the bird. 'Never have\nI seen her face or heard her voice.'\n\n'O well will you know my true love,' cried Lord William, 'for in\nall England lives there none so fair as she. The cheeks of my\nlove are red as the red red rose, and her neck, it is whiter than\nnew-fallen snow.\n\n'Near to her lattice window grows a birch, whose leaves tremble\nin the breeze. There shall you sit, my gay goshawk, and you shall\nsing to her as she goes to holy church.\n\n'With four-and-twenty maidens will she go, yet well will you know\nmy own true love, for she is the fairest of them all. You shall\nknow her, too, by the gold that bedecks her skirt, by the light\nthat glimmers in her hair.'\n\nThen Lord William sat down and wrote a letter to his love, and\nfastened it firm under the pinion of his gay goshawk. Away flew\nthe bird, swift did it fly to do its master's will. O'er hill and\ndale it winged its flight until at length it saw the birch-tree\nthat grew near the lady's bower.\n\nThere, on the birch-tree, did the goshawk perch, and there did he\nsing his song as the lady with her four-and-twenty maidens passed\nbeneath its branches towards the church.\n\nThe sharp eyes of the goshawk glanced at each beautiful maiden,\nand quick was he to see Lord William's love, for sweet was she as\nthe flowers that spring in May. Gold was embroidered on her\nskirt, sunlight glistened in her beautiful yellow hair.\n\nWhen another day dawned the gay goshawk left the birch-tree and\nalighted on the gate, a little nearer to the lattice window where\nsat the beautiful lady to whom he had been sent. Here again he\nsang his song. Loud and clear he sang it first, loud and clear\nthat all might hear. Soft and sweet he sang it after, soft and\nsweet that only Lord William's lady might catch the note of love.\nAnd ever, loud or soft, the last words of his song were these,\n'Your true love cannot come to you here.'\n\nThen said the lady to her four-and-twenty maidens, 'Eat, my merry\nmaidens, eat and drink, for the feast is spread. I go but to my\nlattice window to listen to the birds, for hark! they are singing\ntheir evensong.'\n\nBut in her heart the lady knew there was only one song she\nlonged to hear. Wide she opened her lattice window and, leaning\nout, she hearkened to the song of the gay goshawk.\n\n'Sing on, ye bonny bird,' she cried, 'sing on, for I know no song\ncould be so sweet that came not from my own true love.'\n\nA little nearer flew the gay goshawk, and first his song was\nmerry as a summer morn, and then it was sad as an autumn eve.\n\nAs she listened, tears dropped from the eyes of the beautiful\nlady. She put out her hand and stroked the pinions of the gay\ngoshawk, and lo! there dropped from beneath his wing Lord\nWilliam's letter.\n\n'Five letters has my master sent to you,' said the bird, 'and\nlong has he looked for one from you, yet never has it come, and\nhe is weary with long waiting.'\n\nThen the lady sighed, for no letter had she ever had from her\ntrue love. 'My stepmother has hidden the letters, for never one\nhave I seen,' she cried.\n\n[Illustration: 'I go but to my lattice window to listen to the\nbirds']\n\nHer fingers tore open the letter which had dropped from\nbeneath the bird's wing, and she read, and as she read she\nlaughed aloud.\n\nLord William had written a letter that was full of grief, because\nhe could not come to the lady he loved, yet did the lady laugh.\nAnd this is why she laughed both long and glad. Because she had\nmade up her mind that as he could not come to her she herself\nwould go to Lord William.\n\n'Carry this message to my own true love,' said she then to the\ngay goshawk.\n\n'Since you cannot come to me, I myself will come to you in your\ncold northern country. And as a token of my love I send you by\nyour gay goshawk a ring from off my finger, a wreath from off my\nyellow hair. And lest these should not please you I send my\nheart, and more than that can you not wish.\n\n'Prepare the wedding feast, invite the guests, and then haste you\nto meet me at St. Mary's Church, for there, ere long, will you\nfind me.\n\n'Fly, gay goshawk, fly and carry with you my message to Lord\nWilliam.'\n\nAnd the bird flew o'er hill and dale until once again he reached\nthe grey northern castle in which his master dwelt. And he saw\nhis master's eye grow glad, his pale cheek glow as he listened to\nthe message, as he held the tokens of his own true love.\n\nThen the lady, left alone, closed her lattice window and went up\nto her own room followed by her maidens. Here she began to moan\nand cry as though she were in great pain, or seized by sudden\nillness. So ill she seemed that those who watched her feared that\nshe would die.\n\n'My father!' moaned the lady, 'tell my father that I am ill; bid\nhim come to me without delay.'\n\nUp to her room hastened her father, and sorely did he grieve when\nhe saw that his daughter was so ill.\n\n'Father, dear father,' she cried, holding his strong hand in her\npale white one, 'grant me a boon ere I die.'\n\n'An you ask not for the lord who lives in the cold north country,\nmy daughter, you may ask for what you will, and it shall be\ngranted.'\n\n'Promise me, then,' said his daughter, 'that though I die here in\nthe sunny South, you will carry me when I am dead to the cold\ngrey North.\n\n'And at the first church to which we come, tarry, that a mass may\nbe said for my soul. At the second let me rest until the bells be\ntolled slow and solemn. When you come to the third church, which\nis named St. Mary's, grant that from thence you will not bear me\nuntil the night shades fall.'\n\nThen her father pledged his word that all should be done as she\nwished.\n\nNow as her father left her room, the lady sent her\nfour-and-twenty maidens down to her bower that they might eat and\ndrink. And when she was left alone she hastened to drink a\nsleeping draught which she had already prepared in secret.\n\nThis draught would make her seem as one who was dead. And indeed\nno sooner had she drunk it than she grew pale and still.\n\nHer cruel stepmother came up into the room. She did not love the\nbeautiful maiden, and when she saw her lying thus, so white, so\ncold, she laughed, and said, 'We shall soon see if she be really\ndead.'\n\nThen she lit a fire in the silent room, and placing some lead in\na little goblet, she stirred it over the flames with an iron\nspoon until it melted. When the lead was melted the stepmother\ncarried a spoonful carefully to the side of the bed, and stood\nthere looking down upon the still white form. It neither moved\nnor moaned.\n\n'She is not dead,' murmured the cruel woman to herself; 'she\ndeceives us, that she may be carried away to the land of her own\ntrue love. She will not lie there silent long.' And she let some\ndrops of the burning lead fall on to the heart of the quiet\nmaiden. Yet still the maiden never moved nor cried.\n\n'Send for her father,' shouted the cruel stepmother, going to the\ndoor of the little room, for now she believed the maiden was\nreally dead.\n\n'Alas, alas!' cried her father when he came and saw his daughter\nlying on her white bed, so pale, so cold. 'Alas, alas, my child\nis dead indeed!'\n\nThen her seven brothers wept for their beautiful sister; but when\nthey had dried their tears, they arose and went into the forest.\nThere they cut down a tall oak-tree and made a bier for the\nmaiden, and they covered the oak with silver.\n\nHer seven sisters wept for their beautiful sister when they saw\nthat she neither stirred nor moaned. They wept, but when they had\ndried their tears they arose and sewed a shroud for the maiden,\nand at each stitch they took they fastened into it a little\nsilver bell.\n\nNow the duke, her father, had pledged his word that his daughter\nshould be carried, ere she was buried, to St. Mary's Church. Her\nseven brothers therefore set out on the long sad journey toward the\ngloomy north country, carrying their sister in the silver-mounted\nbier. She was clad in the shroud her seven sisters had sewed, and\nthe silver bells tinkled softly at each step her seven strong\nbrothers took along the road.\n\nThe stepmother had no tears to shed. Indeed she had no time to\nweep, for she must keep strict watch over the dead maiden's seven\nsisters, lest they too grew ill and thus escaped her power.\n\nAs for the poor old father, he shut himself up alone to grieve\nfor his dear lost child.\n\nWhen the seven brothers reached the first church, they remembered\ntheir father's promise to their sister. They set down the bier\nand waited, that a mass might be sung for the lady's soul.\n\nThen on again they journeyed until before them they saw another\nchurch.\n\n'Here will we rest until the bell has been tolled,' they said,\nand again the bier was placed in the holy church.\n\n'We will come to St. Mary's ere we tarry again,' said the seven\nbrothers, and there they knew that their journey would be over.\nYet little did they know in how strange a way it would end.\n\nSlow and careful were the brothers' steps as they drew near to\nthe church of St. Mary, slow and sad, for there they must part\nfrom their beautiful pale sister.\n\nThe chime of the silver bells floated on the still air, dulling\nthe sound of the seven strong brothers' footsteps.\n\nThey were close to St. Mary's now, and as they laid the bier down\nthe brothers started, for out of the shadows crept tall armed\nmen, and in their midst stood Lord William. He had come as he had\nbeen bidden to meet his bride. The brothers knew him well, the\nlord from the cold grey country, who had stolen the heart of\ntheir beautiful sister.\n\n'Stand back,' commanded Lord William, and his voice was stern,\nfor not thus had he thought to meet the lady he loved. 'Stand\nback and let me look once more upon the face of my own true\nlove.'\n\nThen the seven brothers, though they had but little goodwill for\nthe northern lord, lifted the bier and laid it at his feet, that\nonce again he might look upon the face of their pale cold sister.\n\nAnd lo! as Lord William took the hand, the cold white hand, of\nhis true love in his own, it grew warm, as his lips touched hers\nthey grew rosy, and the colour crept into her cheeks. Ere long\nshe lay smiling back at her own true love with cheeks that\nbloomed and eyes that shone. The power of the sleeping draught\nwas over.\n\n'Give me bread, dear lord,' cried the lady, 'for no food have I\ntasted for three long days and nights, and this have I done that\nI might come to you, my own true love.'\n\nWhen the lady had eaten she turned to her seven strong brothers.\n'Begone, my seven bold brothers,' she cried, 'begone to your home\nin the sunny South, and tell how your sister has reached her\nlord.'\n\n'Now woe betide you,' answered her bold brothers, 'for you have\nleft your seven sisters and your old father at home to weep for\nyou.'\n\n'Carry my love to my old father,' cried the lady, 'and to my\nsisters seven. Bid them that they dry their tears nor weep for\nme, for I am come to my own true love.'\n\nThen the seven brothers turned away in anger and went back to\ntheir home in the South. But Lord William carried his own true\nlove off to the old grey castle where they were married. And the\ngay goshawk sang their wedding song.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAIRD O' LOGIE\n\n\nIt was when James the Sixth was king in Scotland that the young\nWemyss of Logie got into sore trouble.\n\nWemyss of Logie was one of the king's courtiers; a tall, handsome\nlad he was, and a favourite with both king and queen.\n\nNow King James had brought his wife, Queen Anne, across the sea\nto Scotland. Her home was in Denmark, and when she came, a royal\nbride, to Scotland, she brought with her a few fair Danish maids.\nShe thought it would be dull in her new home unless she had some\nof her own country-folk around her.\n\nAmong these maids was a tall, beautiful girl named Margaret\nTwynlace. Her the queen loved well, and oft would she speak with\nMargaret of their old free life in the country over the sea.\n\nIt chanced on a day that the young Laird of Logie was in\nattendance upon the king, and the Danish maid, Margaret Twynlace,\nin waiting upon the queen; and that day they two looked at each\nother, and yet another day they two talked to each other, indeed\nmany were the times they met. And before long it was well known\nat court that the young Laird of Logie loved the Danish maid\nMargaret, and would marry her an he could.\n\nBut now trouble befell the young laird. He had been seen talking\nwith the Earl of Bothwell, and he a traitor to the king. Nor was\nit alone that Wemyss of Logie had been seen to speak with\nBothwell. It was even said that he had letters written by the\ntraitor in his room at Holyrood.\n\nNo sooner had this rumour reached the king than orders were given\nto search both young Logie himself and the room in which he was\nused to sleep.\n\nOn his person no letters were found, but in his room, flung\ncarelessly into his trunk, lay a packet of letters tied and\nsealed. And the seal was that of the traitor, the Earl of\nBothwell.\n\nThe young laird was taken at once before the king. He spoke in\nhis usual fearless tones.\n\n'It is true,' said he, 'that I have ofttimes spoken to the Earl\nof Bothwell, and it is true that I received from him the sealed\npacket which was found in my trunk. But of that which is written\nin the packet know I nought. The seal is, as you see, unbroken.\nNor knew I that the earl was still acting as traitor,' added the\nlad, as he saw displeasure written on the face of the king.\n\nBut despite all he could say, the young laird was arrested as a\ntraitor and thrown into prison. Margaret Twynlace with her own\neyes saw Sir John Carmichael, keeper of the prison, turn the key\nin the lock.\n\nMargaret went quickly to the queen's house, but there did she\nneither sew nor sing. She sat twining her fingers in and out,\nwhile she cried, 'Woe is me that ever I was born, or that ever I\nleft my home in Denmark. I would I had never seen the young Laird\nof Logie.' And then Margaret wept bitterly, for having seen the\nyoung laird, she loved him well.\n\nWhen the queen came to her bower, she was grieved to see her\nfavourite maid in tears. Yet had she no comfort to offer her, for\nwell she knew that, even should he wish it, little power had the\nking to save the young Laird of Logie.\n\nBut the queen spoke kindly to the maid, and told her that she,\nMargaret, might e'en go herself to King James to beg for the life\nof the young Laird of Logie. For it was well known that the\nsentence passed on him would be death.\n\nThen Margaret Twynlace wiped from her face all traces of her\ntears. She put on her soft green silk gown, and she combed out\nher bonny yellow hair. Thus she went into the presence of the\nking and fell on her knee before him.\n\n'Why, May Margaret,' said the king, 'is it thou? What dost thou\nat my feet, my bonny maid?'\n\n'Ah, sire,' cried she, 'I have come to beg of thee a boon. Nor\never since I came over the sea have I begged of thee until now.\nGive me, I beseech of thee, the life of the young Laird of\nLogie.'\n\n'Alas, May Margaret,' cried the king, 'that cannot I do! An thou\ngavest to me all the gold that is in Scotland yet could I not\nsave the lad.'\n\nThen Margaret Twynlace turned away and crept back to the queen's\nbower. Yet now no tears fell from her blue eyes, for if neither\nking nor queen could help the young Laird of Logie, she herself\nwould save him from death.\n\nShe would wait until night, when the king and queen slumbered,\nand then she would carry out her plan. A brave plan it was, for\nMargaret Twynlace was no coward maid.\n\nQuiet and patient she waited in the little ante-room, close to\nthe queen's bedchamber, waited until she felt sure the royal pair\nwere fast asleep. Then tripping lightly on tiptoe, she stole\ninto the bedroom, where, as she had guessed, both king and queen\nwere slumbering sound.\n\nShe crossed the room, quiet as any mouse, and reached the toilet\ntable. There lay the king's gold comb, and close to it the little\npearl knife, the king's wedding gift to his queen.\n\nBack tripped Margaret, still on tiptoe, to the ante-room, and\nstood, her breath coming quick.\n\nHad she roused the king or queen? Was that the bed creaking?\n\nNo, there was not a sound. The royal pair slept sound as before.\n\nThen downstairs in the dark fled Margaret, down to the room where\nSir John Carmichael lay slumbering, without a thought of his\nprisoner, the young Laird of Logie.\n\nLoud did the maiden knock at his door, loud and long, until at\nlast Sir John was roused.\n\n'Sir John,' cried the maid, 'haste thee and wake thy prisoner,\nthe young Laird of Logie, for the king would speak to him this\nvery moment. Open the door, for here be the tokens he sends to\nthee,' and Margaret held out to Carmichael the gold comb and the\npearl knife.\n\nNow, when Sir John had opened the door, he saw the tokens that\nthe maid held out to him. He knew them well and hastened to do\nthe king's will, rubbing his sleepy eyes the while, and muttering\nunder his breath, 'The king holds audience at strange hours; yet\nmust his orders be obeyed.'\n\nHe took the great key in his hand and went to the prison door.\nMargaret followed close, her heart bounding, not wholly in fear,\nnor yet wholly in hope.\n\nSir John turned the prison lock and roused the young Laird of\nLogie from his dreams, saying only, 'The king would speak with\nthee, without delay.'\n\nThus in the dead of night Margaret led the captain and his\nprisoner to the door of the ante-room.\n\n'Wait thou here, Sir John,' said the maid, until thy prisoner\nreturns.'\n\nThe young laird started as Margaret spoke. He had not guessed\nthat the maid wrapped in the rough cloak was his own dear\nMargaret Twynlace.\n\nBut Sir John noticed nothing. He was wondering how long it would\nbe ere he would be again in his comfortable bed.\n\nMargaret drew the prisoner into her own little room. He tried to\nspeak, but not a word would she let him utter. She led him to the\nwindow, and shewed him a rope which she herself had fastened\nthere.\n\nShe pushed a purse of gold into his hand, a pistol into his belt,\nand bade him shoot when he was free, that she might know that he\nwas safe. 'Then haste,' said Margaret, 'haste with all thy might\nto the pier at Leith. Ships wilt thou find there in plenty to\ncarry thee into a safe haven.'\n\nThe young Laird of Logie would fain have tarried with the brave\nDanish maid, but not a moment was there to lose. The king might\nwake, Sir John might grow impatient and come in search of his\nprisoner; thus whispered the maid as she urged young Wemyss of\nLogie to flee.\n\nHe knew she spoke the truth, and he slipped down the rope, and in\na moment was standing on the ground. He hastened to the palace\ngates, and getting safely through, he stayed only to fire his\npistol that Margaret Twynlace might know that no evil had\nbefallen.\n\nWhen Margaret heard the shot she stole softly downstairs and\nstood at the hall door gazing wistfully after the young Laird of\nLogie. Yet not long dare she tarry there, lest the queen should\nneed her services. Noiselessly she crept back into the ante-room.\nHark! what was that? The king was moving! Indeed, the pistol-shot\nhad roused King James, and he jumped out of bed crying, 'That\npistol was fired by none other than the young Laird of Logie.'\n\n[Illustration: She stood at the hall door gazing wistfully after\nthe young Lard of Logie]\n\nHe shouted for his guards and bade them go send their captain,\nSir John Carmichael, to his presence.\n\nSir John, fearing nothing, came before the king, and falling on\nhis knee before him he said, 'Sire, what is thy will?'\n\n'Where is thy prisoner, where is the young Laird of Logie?'\ndemanded the king.\n\nSir John stared. Had not the king himself sent for his prisoner?\n\n'The young Laird of Logie!' he said. 'Sire, thou didst send thy\ntokens to me, a golden comb, a pearl knife. See, they are here,'\nand Sir John drew them from his pocket and held them up before\nthe bewildered king.\n\n'And with the tokens came an order to send my prisoner at once to\nthy presence. I brought him to the door of the ante-room, where I\nwas bidden to wait thy will.'\n\n'If thou hast played me false, Carmichael, if thou hast played me\nfalse,' said the king, 'thou shalt thyself be tried to-morrow in\nthe court of justice in place of the prisoner, the young Laird of\nLogie.'\n\nThen Carmichael hastened to the door of the ante-room as fast as\never he could go. And he called out, 'O young Wemyss of Logie, an\nthou art within, come out, for I must speak to thee.'\n\nMargaret Twynlace smiled to herself as she opened the door of the\nante-room. Carmichael stepped into the room, stopped short, and\nstared. The open window, the rope that hung there, told him all\nhe had come to ask. He stared, but never a word did he find to\nsay.\n\nThen maid Margaret laughed aloud and clapped her hands for glee.\n\n'Dost wish thy prisoner, the Laird of Logie?' she cried. 'Thou\nshalt not see him again for many a long day. Long ere the morning\ndawned he was on board one of the ships at Leith, and now he is\nsailing on the sea. He is free, he is free!'\n\nKing James did not punish the brave Danish maid. Nor when he\nheard from Queen Anne all that the maid had done did he blame Sir\nJohn Carmichael.\n\nIndeed ere many months had passed away the king sent a pardon to\nthe young laird. Then was he not long in coming back to bonny\nScotland to marry brave Margaret Twynlace, who had saved his\nlife.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *","title":"Stories from the Ballads, Told to the Children","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":20027}