{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_26755/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_26755","id":"gutenberg_26755","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26755","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Legends -- England -- Cornwall (County)"],"text":"E-text prepared by Lionel Sear\n\n\n\nCORNWALL'S WONDERLAND\n\nby\n\nMABEL QUILLER-COUCH.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n1914\nThis e-text was prepared from a version published in 1914.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nWith a vivid recollection of the keen enjoyment I myself found in the\nstrange and wonderful Romances and Legends of Old Cornwall, now so\nrapidly being forgotten; with a remembrance too of the numerous long\nand involved paragraphs--even pages--that I skipped, as being prosy\nor unintelligible, written as they were in a dialect often\nuntranslatable even by a Cornish child, I have here tried to present\na few of these tales in simpler form, to suit not only Cornish children,\nbut those of all parts.\n\nM.Q.C.\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n   HOW CORINEUS FOUGHT THE CHIEF OF THE GIANTS.\n\n   THE GIANT OF ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT.\n\n   THE LEGEND OF THE TAMAR, THE TAVY, AND THE TAW.\n\n   THE STRANGE STORY OF CHERRY HONEY.\n\n   THE FAIRIES ON THE GUMP.\n\n   THE FAIRY OINTMENT.\n\n   THE EXCITING ADVENTURE OF JOHN STURTRIDGE.\n\n   THE TRUE STORY OF ANNE AND THE FAIRIES.\n\n   BARKER AND THE BUCCAS.\n\n   LUTEY AND THE MERMAID.\n\n   THE WICKED SPECTRE.\n\n   THE STORY OF THE LOVERS' COVE.\n\n   THE SILVER TABLE.\n\n   CRUEL COPPINGER, THE DANE.\n\n   MADGE FIGGY, THE WRECKER.\n\n   HOW MADGE FIGGY GOT HER PIG.\n\n   THE STORY OF SIR TRISTRAM AND LA BELLE ISEULT.\n\n\n\n\n\nHOW CORINEUS FOUGHT THE CHIEF OF THE GIANTS\n\n\nLong, long ago, when Cornwall was almost a desert land, cold, bleak, and\npoor, and inhabited only by giants, who had destroyed and eaten all the\nsmaller people, Brutus and Corineus came with a large Trojan army\nintending to conquer England, or Albion as it was then called, and landed\nat Plymouth for that purpose.\n\nThese two valiant chiefs had heard strange tales of the enormous size of\nthe people in that part of the island, so, like wise generals, before\nventuring inland themselves, they sent parties of their men to explore,\nand find out what they could of the inhabitants.  The soldiers, who had\nnever heard anything about the giants, went off very full of glee, and\ncourage, thinking, from the miserable look of the country, that they had\nonly some poor half-starved, ignorant savages to hunt out, and subdue.\n\nThat was how they started out.  They returned nearly scared to death,\nrushing into camp like madmen, pursued by a troop of hideous monsters all\nbrandishing clubs as big as oak trees, and making the most awful noises\nyou can possibly imagine.\n\nWhen, though, Brutus and Corineus saw these great creatures they were not\nin the least frightened, for, you see, they had already heard about them.\nSo they quietly and quickly collected their army, reassured the terrified\nmen, and, before the giants knew what was happening, they marched upon\nthem, and assailed them vigorously with spears and darts.\n\nThe giants, who were really not at all brave men, were so frightened at\nthis attack, and at the pain caused by the arrows and spears,--weapons\nthey had never seen before,--that they very soon turned tail and ran for\ntheir lives.  They made direct for the Dartmoor hills, where they hoped to\nfind shelter and safe hiding-places, and indeed, all did manage to escape\nexcept one, and that was the great Gogmagog, the captain, who was so badly\ninjured that he could not run.\n\nWhen Gogmagog saw his cowardly companions all running away, and leaving\nhim to do the best he could for himself, he bellowed and bellowed with\nrage and fear until the birds nearly dropped down from the sky with\nfright.  After a while, though, he began to think he had better stop\ndrawing attention to himself, and look about for a means of escape, and\nthis was no slight task, for he could scarcely move a step, and his great\nbig body was not at all easy to conceal.  Indeed, the only means he could\nsee open to him was to lie down in one of the great ditches which lay here\nand there all over the land, and trust to the darkness concealing him\nuntil the soldiers had returned to camp.\n\nAlas, though, for poor Gogmagog's plans, the moon was at the full, and\nevery place was almost as light as by day.  The Trojan soldiers too were\nso excited and pleased with their giant-hunting, that they could not bear\nto give it up and return to camp until they had at least one giant to take\nback as a trophy.  So they prowled here, and prowled there, until at last\nthey caught sight of the great bulky body stretched out in the ditch.\n\nGogmagog, of course, had no chance of escape, he was surrounded and\ncaptured, and bound, and the Trojans, rejoicing greatly, dragged him back\na prisoner to their camp on Plymouth Hoe.  Here, although he was carefully\nguarded, he was treated with great kindness, fed bountifully, and nursed\nuntil his wounds were healed.\n\nWhen at last he was quite recovered, Brutus, who was very anxious to come\nto terms with the giants, discussed with him various ways of settling the\nquestion they had come with their army to decide, namely, who should be\nthe possessor of the country.  He proposed this plan, and that plan, and\nthe other, but none seemed to please Gogmagog, and while the general\ntalked and talked, and tried to come to terms, Gogmagog just sat stolidly\nlistening, and only opening his great mouth to disagree with the general's\nproposal.  The truth was, the giant had a great idea of his own cunning,\nand he was trying to think of some way by which he could get the better of\nthe invaders, and yet avoid further battles and discharges of arrows.\n\"For,\" as he said, \"you never knew where you were with they things.\nThey had done for you before you'd got time to turn round.  Clubs or fists\nhe was equal to, but he didn't see no fun in they sharp little things that\nstuck right into you, and wouldn't come out until they was cut out.\"\n\nThinking of clubs and fists reminded him of wrestling, which was practised\na great deal in Cornwall, even in those days, and very little anywhere\nelse.\n\n\"The very thing!\" thought the wily giant, for it wasn't likely the Trojans\nknew anything about it, and even if they did, they were only little bits\nof chaps compared with himself and the other giants.  So, after a time, he\nproposed to Brutus that they should settle matters by \"a scat to\nwrastling,\" the best man, of course, to have the country.\n\nRather to Gogmagog's surprise Brutus agreed at once, and it was quickly\nsettled that the giant himself and the best man in the Trojan army should\nbe the two to try their skill.  This man was Corineus, who accepted the\nchallenge instantly.\n\nAfter this the day was soon fixed, and Gogmagog was allowed to send and\ntell his friends, and bid them all come to Plymouth to witness the great\nevent.  The giants, being assured that no arrows or spears would be used\nagainst them, came with alacrity, and both they and the Trojans were in a\nwild state of excitement which increased and increased as the great day\ndrew near.\n\nAt last the longed-for time arrived.  A ring was formed on the Hoe, the\ngiants all sitting on one side, and the Trojans on the other, and the\nstruggle began.\n\nOh, it was a fine sight to see two such men pitted against each other,\nthe giant, the finest of his race, and the splendid, stalwart soldier,\nthe enormous strength of the one faced by the skill and coolness of the\nother, to see them grapple each other and struggle for the mastery as\nnever men had struggled before in hand-to-hand warfare.  Such a sight had\nnever been seen in Cornwall until that day, nor ever will be again.\nIt lasted long, and for long the result was doubtful.\n\n\"Th' little un can't hold out much longer, mun,\" cried one of the giants.\n\"Cap'en's only playing with un yet.\"  But just at that very moment\nCorineus, who was playing a very clever game, dashed in unexpectedly,\ncaught the giant by the girdle, and grasping it like a vice, shook the\nastonished and breathless monster with all his might and main.  The giant,\nbewildered and gasping, swayed backwards and forwards at his mercy, at\nfirst slightly, then more and more, as he failed to regain his balance,\nuntil, gathering all his strength for one last effort, Corineus gave him\none tremendous push backwards, and sent him clean over, so that he\nmeasured his great length upon the ground, and the country for miles round\nshook with the force of his fall.\n\nGogmagog gave one awful groan, which sounded like thunder all over the\nland, making the giantesses, who were left at home, exclaim nervously,\n\"Oh dear, oh dear, there must be an earthquake somewhere!  How very\nunsettled the country is!\"\n\nGogmagog was so stunned and breathless with his fall, that for some time\nhe could not collect his wits, or get up again, so he lay there moaning\nand puffing until his hard breathing had lashed the sea into fury.\nThe other giants were too frightened to speak or move, for they were quite\ncertain there was magic being used against them, for strength alone could\nnever have overthrown their 'Cap'en' like that, certainly not the strength\nof 'a little whipper-snapper like that there Corinoos.'\n\nWhile, though, they were staring open-mouthed, and the giant, never\nexpecting another attack, lay there still puffing and blowing, and trying\nto think how he could get off facing his opponent again, Corineus had been\ngathering up all his power to finish his task, and now, dashing in\nsuddenly on his foe, he seized him by the legs, and dragging him to the\nedge of the cliff, he sent him, with one mighty push, rolling over and\nover down the sides of the steep cliff into the sea below.\n\nThe fearful roar which broke from the giant's throat as he disappeared,\nthe crashing and thudding of his body as it dashed from point to point of\nthe jagged rocks, made even those hardened savages sicken and turn pale,\nbut worst of all was the crash with which he came to the bottom, where his\nbody struck a rock with such violence that it was dashed into a thousand\npieces, and his spouting blood dyed the sea crimson for miles and miles\naround.\n\nAfter that all turned away pale and sobered, the soldiers to their camp,\nthe giants to their homes, their cowardly hearts full of terror of these\nnew-comers, and the feasting they had promised themselves by way of\nkeeping up their victory was postponed indefinitely.\n\nSo ended the fight between the giant and the Trojan.  It was not playing\nthe game, but the giants were too cowardly to demand revenge, or to\nattempt to punish Corineus, and so the land and all in it fell to the\nTrojans.\n\nLater, when Brutus had conquered all Albion, and was dividing some of it\namongst his chiefs, Corineus begged that he might have the giant country,\nfor he loved hunting the great lumbering fellows, and turning them out of\ntheir caves and hiding-places.  So it was given to him, and he called it\nCornwall, because that was something like his own name, and in time he\ncleared out all the giants, and in their stead there settled there an\nhonest, manly people, who worked and tilled the land, and dug up tin, and\ndid everything that was good, and honourable and industrious, and this is\nthe kind of people who live there still.\n\n\n\nTHE GIANT OF ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT.\n\n\nI am sure most of you have heard of St. Michael's Mount, the strange,\nbeautiful, mountain island, which rises up out of the sea down by\nPenzance; a mountain island with a grand old castle crowning its summit,\nand a picturesque group of cottages nestling at its base.\n\nIf you have not, you must coax your parents to take you down there for\nyour next summer holiday, then you will be able to see the Mount, and\nvisit it too.  And when you are on it you must think to yourself, \"Now I\nam standing where the Giant Cormoran once stood.\"\n\nYou must look out over the sea, too, which surrounds the giant's Mount,\nand try to picture to yourself a large forest in the place of it, and the\nsea six long miles away, for that was how it was in Cormoran's time, until\none day the sea rose quite suddenly, a huge mountain of water, and rushing\nover the six miles of land, covered it and the forests too, even above the\ntops of the tallest trees.  Everything for miles around was swallowed up,\nexcept the Mount, which was saved by reason of its great height.\n\nFrom that day to this the sea has never receded, and St. Michael's Mount\nhas remained an island, completely cut off from the mainland, except at\nlow tide, when you can, if you are quick, just manage to walk across.\n\nYears before this, Cormoran had built up the Mount for a home for himself.\nWhen first he came to the spot it was all forest, with one large white\nrock in the midst of it.  As he lay on this rock resting, he made up his\nmind to build himself a hill here, all of white rocks, like the one on\nwhich he reclined, where he could live in safety, and keep an eye on the\nsurrounding country.\n\nIt was a big task he had set himself, for all the blocks of granite of\nwhich it was to be made, had to be brought from a neighbouring hill, those\nclose by being of the pink, or green, or grey kinds, and he would have\nnone of these.  Perhaps he would have changed his mind about it had he had\nto carry all the stone himself, but he, the great lazy fellow, made his\nwife Cornelian fetch all the heaviest blocks, while he lay idly by and\nwatched her.\n\nCornelian, who thought the work was very hard indeed, did not see why the\ngreen rocks would not do as well as the white, they would be even\nprettier, in her opinion, so one day when her husband was asleep she\nknocked off a great green rock, and picking it up in her apron, hurried\nback as fast as she could to get it fixed in its place before he should\nwake.  She could not manage it though, poor soul, for just as she was\nreaching her destination the giant opened his eyes, and as soon as he had\nopened them he caught sight of the green rock she was carrying.\nThen, oh, what a temper he was in at being disobeyed!  He did not say\nanything, but he got quietly up from his resting-place as soon as she had\npassed, and followed her, but so softly that she did not notice anything\nuntil he was close to her, when he gave her such a blow that she fell\nstaggering under it.  Her apron-strings broke, down fell the green stone\nto the ground, and there it has stayed from that day to this, for no human\npower has been able to move it.\n\nCormoran was an old giant, and a very ugly one.  He had only one eye, and\nthat was in the middle of his forehead; he had lost nearly all his teeth,\ntoo.  It would have been better for his appearance had he lost them quite\nall, for those that were left were broken, jagged, and discoloured, and\nwere anything but ornamental.  He was a perfect monster to look at, and,\noh, he was such a dreadful thief!  All the people who lived anywhere near\nhim went in terror of him, for when he was hungry he would just cross to\nthe mainland, steal the very best cow or sheep in the neighbourhood,\nsling it across his shoulders and go home with it.  And as he was very\noften hungry, the poor farmer folks were nearly eaten out of house and\nhome by the bad old giant.\n\nOn the Pengerswick estate near by, there were some particularly good\ncattle, which Master Cormoran had taken a great fancy to, and to which he\nhelped himself pretty freely without ever being caught, or punished.\nOf course, the more he stole the bolder he got, for having so often got\noff scot-free, he grew to think he was always going to get off scot-free,\nand that was where he made his mistake.\n\nOne day he took it into his head that he would very much like another\nof these fine, choice animals, so picking up a rope he started off,\nand wading across to Pengerswick Cove, landed there as usual, thinking he\nwas going to help himself without any trouble and be home again by\ndinner-time.\n\nIt happened, though, that the Lord of Pengerswick had just returned from\nthe East, where he had been learning all sorts of magic and spells.\nCormoran, however, knew nothing of this, and if he had he would probably\nonly have laughed and sneered, and turned up his great nose in scorn,\nfor he believed in nothing but giants, and only in two of them,--himself,\nand the Trecrobben Hill giant.\n\nAs Master Cormoran approached, the Lord of Pengerswick, who knew by means\nof magic all about his coming, and knowing his thieving ways, determined\nto punish the old thief for all the mischief he had done during his\nabsence.  So he began at once to work his spells, meaning to give the\ngiant a very unpleasant time.\n\nCormoran, never dreaming of any trouble in store for him, landed as usual;\nbut, somehow, when he reached the Cove he did not feel very well, his head\nfelt muzzy and confused: he thought perhaps the sun had been too much for\nhim as he came along.  Instead, too, of catching one of the cattle at\nonce, as usual, he had the works of the world to get one, the beasts\nseemed as slippery as eels, and he was so dull in the head, he hardly knew\nwhat he was about.  However, after a great deal of trouble, and losing his\ntemper more than once, he managed to catch a fine calf, and tying its four\nfeet together, he slung it round his neck, and prepared to hurry back to\nthe Mount to have a good feast.\n\nHe walked, and he walked, and he walked as fast as his feet could carry\nhim, but though he went very quickly, and it was really no distance back\nto the Cove, he somehow could not get any nearer to the end of his\njourney; the path seemed all strange to him, too, and for the life of him\nhe could not tell where he was.\n\nAt last, when he was so tired that he was ready to drop, he came in sight\nof a great black rock in Pengerswick Cove.  It was a rock he did not\nremember seeing before, and thinking he was once again on the wrong path\nhe turned to go back.  But this, he found to his surprise, was what he\ncould not do.  The rock, as if by magic, was drawing him nearer and\nnearer.  It was like a magnet, and struggle as he would, he could not keep\naway from it.  He tried to turn round, he tried to draw back, he even lay\ndown on the ground and dug his heels with all his strength into the sand.\nBut still he felt himself being drawn on and on until he actually touched\nthe rock, and the moment he touched it he found to his horror that he was\nfastened to it as though by iron bands.\n\nOh, how he struggled to get free, how he twisted and turned, and kicked!\nAll in vain, though.  He might as well have lain still and gone to sleep\nfor all the good he did.  By degrees, too, he felt himself growing more\nand more helpless, he could not move hand or foot, he grew colder and\nstiffer, and stiffer and colder, until at last he was as if turned to\nstone, except that his senses were more acute than ever they had been\nbefore.  To add to his torments, too, the calf which he had slung across\nhis shoulders, struggled and kicked and bellowed until the old thief was\nblack and blue, and nearly deafened.  He was nearly scared to death, too,\nfor fear someone would hear the creature's noise, and come in search of\nit, to find out what was the matter.\n\nHe tried and tried to throw off his burden, but nothing would loosen it,\nand all the night long he had to bear the bleating and the bellowing in\nhis ear, and the incessant kicking and butting, for, for the whole of the\nnight the giant had to remain there; and probably he would have been there\nfor the rest of his life, had not the Lord of Pengerswick thought he would\nlike to have some more fun with him.\n\nEarly in the morning the Enchanter mounted his horse and rode down to the\nCove to have a look at Master Cormoran, and to give him a piece of his\nmind before he removed the spell and let him go, and a piece of something\nelse as well!  Cormoran quaked when he saw the old lord coming, for he\nlooked every bit as angry as he really was, and first he lashed the giant\nwith his tongue, and then he lashed him with his whip, and he flogged him\nand flogged him until in his agony Cormoran kicked and struggled so hard\nthat he broke away from the rock and leaped right into the sea.\n\nThis was the way the Enchanter removed the spell!\n\nOnce free from that terrible rock, Cormoran soon reached home, but the\nlesson he had had was one that he never forgot, and he never troubled that\npart of the country again, so the people all around had good cause to\nthank the Lord of Pengerswick.  Poor Cornelian, his wife, had a sad time\nof it, though, for so sore was the giant from his beating, and so angry\nand mortified, that his temper became something worse than ever.\nIndeed, I cannot find words to describe it.\n\nPoor Cornelian herself was very kind and good-tempered, and a very\nhard-working giantess, and she was very much to be pitied for having such\na disagreeable, grumpy old husband.  Cornelian, though, had one great\nfault, and that was that she was very, very inquisitive.  I do not know\nthat she ever did any harm to anyone but herself by it.  It brought about\nher own death, though, in a very dreadful manner.  And this was how it\nwas.\n\nCormoran and the Trecrobben Hill giant were very friendly and neighbourly\none with the other, and they used to borrow and lend to each other any\nlittle thing they happened to want, just as ordinary people do who are on\nvery good terms with one another.\n\nOne day Cormoran was wanting the cobbling-hammer to mend his boots,\nbut the hammer was up at Trecrobben's,--they only had one between them.\nSo he went out and shouted, \"Halloa, up there!  Hi!  Trecrobben, throw us\ndown the cobblen hammer, wust-a?\"  They always threw across to each other\nwhat they wanted.\n\n\"To be sure,\" called back Trecrobben; \"here, look out and catch un!\"\n\nHearing a lot of noise and shouting, Cornelian must needs bustle out to\nfind out what it was all about, and running from the dark house to the\nbright sunshine, her eyes were so dazzled, she did not see the great\nhammer coming hurtling through the air, as it did at that very moment, and\nwhack! crack! it caught her a terrible blow right between the eyes, even\ncrashing in the mighty bone of her forehead.\n\nDown she fell with a groan right at her husband's feet, and when he turned\nher over she was as dead as the fatal hammer itself!  Then what a to-do\nthere was!  The two giants wept and roared over the corpse, they wrung\ntheir hands and tore their hair, but it was all of no use, they could not\nbring poor Cornelian back to life again.  Their sighs and groans only\nwrecked a ship or two out at sea, and blew the roofs off some houses at\nMarket Jew.  So they stopped, and set to work to bury poor Cornelian.\nThey thought it best to get her out of sight as quickly as possible,\nit made them weep so to see her lying there dead.\n\nWhere they laid her, though, no one knows.  Some say it was in the court\nof the castle, others that they lifted Chapel Rock and put her under; but\nthere are others who say that they only rolled her over the edge of the\ncliffs and into the sea!  You will always, though, find some people ready\nto say unkind things about everyone.\n\nCormoran himself met his death some years later at the hands of Jack the\nGiant-Killer, but as you probably know that story, I will not repeat it\nhere.\n\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF THE TAMAR, THE TAVY, AND THE TAW.\n\n\nIn the days when fairies, giants, and witches, gnomes and piskies, and\ndwarfs, and all the other Big People and Little People dwelt on the land\nor under it, there lived in a huge cavern, deep, deep down in the heart of\nthe earth, two gnomes, husband and wife, busy, practical little people,\nwho spent their lives digging and delving in the very bowels of the earth.\n\nThey had no cravings for a more beautiful life, no desire to see the\nsunshine, the flowers, the green grass, or the wide blue sea.  They wanted\nnothing better, or beyond the life which had always been theirs.\n\nTo them, though, there was sent a little daughter, whom they called\nTamara.  She was a lovely, golden-haired sprite, as unlike her parents as\nthe sun the night, and they were filled with happiness and pride, and\nwonder of her beauty.\n\nWhen Tamara was old enough, they would have set her to work with them, but\nTamara did not like the cold, dark cavern, or the silence and bareness of\nher underground home.  She was an earth-loving child, and had a passion\nfor the upper world, whither she would escape as often as she possibly\ncould, for the sun, the flowers, the birds, the happy life which\nsurrounded her up there, were a never-failing joy to her.\n\nHer parents scolded and scolded; they warned her that the earth was full\nof giants, and if she were captured by one of them, nothing could save\nher; but she paid no heed to them at all, for she did not know what fear\nwas, she could not believe that anyone could harm her.  And they had\npetted and humoured her, and allowed her her own way in so many things,\nshe did not see why she should not do as she liked in this.\n\nShe hated the cold, gloomy underground, so why should she stay there,\nshe argued, and she ran away more and more to the upper world, and spent\nher days in roaming over the moors chasing the birds and butterflies, or,\nwhen she was tired, lying on a bank of moss and ferns, gazing up at the\nglorious sun, and basking in its kindly warmth.\n\nAt length one day, Tawridge and Tavy, sons of two Dartmoor giants, met\nsweet Tamara as she was wandering amongst the furze and bracken, and\nstraightway fell in love with her.  They had only seen giantesses up to\nthat time, who, though very fine and striking in appearance, are never\npretty, and these two young giants had never in their lives seen anything\nso delicate and so lovely as Tamara, or dreamed that it was possible that\nsuch beautiful maidens could exist.\n\nStraightway each of them lost his great big heart to the dainty maiden,\nand could not bear to lose sight of her.  So afraid were they that she\nwould vanish, and they would never see her again, that they followed her\nfar and wide over the moor, trying to coax her to come and talk with them.\nBut Tamara, like a laughing, mischievous sprite, ran from them laughing,\nled them over moor and river, always evading them, never letting them\nreach her.  The more though that she tantalized and teased them, the more\nthe poor fellows loved her, and they sighed for her until their great\nhearts were like to break.\n\nOne morning, Tamara got away earlier than usual from her cavern home.\nShe awoke long before her parents, and after gazing for some time at the\ndarkness which filled the cave, and shivering in the chill, damp air,\nshe thought of the upper world where the morning sun would be shining on\nthe dewy grass, and the birds be singing their first glad song; and as she\npictured it all the longing to be up there grew stronger than she could\nbear.  She rose quietly, and without disturbing her parents, left her home\nfor the last time.\n\nIn the upper world all was as she had pictured it, and lost in the joy and\nbeauty of it, Tamara wandered on and on until she came to a place called\nMorwenstow, and a dainty little pool in the hollow of a rock.  The sun was\nso warm, and the pool so lovely, Tamara felt she must step into it; so,\nlaying aside her robe, she played and swam about in the fresh clear water\nuntil she was quite tired out, when she dressed herself in her robe again,\nand shaking her long golden locks to dry them, she lay down under the\nshelter of a hawthorn-bush, and soon fell fast asleep.\n\nAh me! how sweet she looked, with her delicate cheeks so rosy after her\nbathe, her lovely lashes resting on them, her cloud of golden hair spread\nall about her! and so thought Tavy and Tawridge when they came along and\nfound her! At the sight of her they stood speechless with admiration, but\nthe great stupid fellows were as quiet and careful not to waken her as\nfairies would have been.  They just sat down near her and gazed and gazed\nat her with great faithful dog-like eyes.\n\nPresently a thrush began to sing hard by, and with a little stretch and a\nsleepy sigh Tamara opened her big blue eyes.  When she caught sight of her\nguardians and captors, she broke into a little rippling laugh and sprang\nto her feet, but this time she could not escape.\n\n\"Do not leave us,\" they pleaded.  \"We will not hurt you, Tamara.  We may\nbe big and ugly, but we have good hearts.  Have pity on us, lovely one,\nfor you know how we worship you, and how our lives are spent in seeking\nyou.  Such a love for you fills our hearts we know no rest away from you.\"\n\nThey pleaded long and earnestly, those two love-stricken giants, they\ncalled her by every sweet and endearing name that they could think of,\nand Tamara listened, and made no further attempt to run away.\nTheir devotion pleased her, it was so new and strange, and she loved to\nfeel her power.  So the morning sped away.\n\nDeep down in the dark earth, the industrious little gnomes paused in their\nlabours and wondered where Tamara was.  \"She does not often stay so long,\"\nsaid the mother; \"I trust no harm has befallen her.\"\n\n\"What a trouble she is to us!\" said the father, growing angry because he\nwas alarmed.  \"We should be glad we have no more children, or we should\nhave to spend all our time looking after them, to see they came to no\nharm.  We should never have time for our work, and never know peace of\nmind.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said the mother impatiently, \"but Tamara!  Where can she be?\nThe earth is full of giants, and I am full of fears.  I cannot rest,\nI must go and seek her, and you must come too.  She is so beautiful, and\nso thoughtless and full of life.\"\n\nSo they mounted to the upper world, and began their weary search for their\nnaughty little daughter; and by and by they found her seated on a couch of\nsweet, soft heather, between the two giants.  They were still telling her\nof their love for her,--there was so much, it took long to tell,--and\nbeseeching her to choose one of them for her own faithful lover.\n\nThe father gnome was very much alarmed at this sight, for what could he,\nno taller than a tulip, do against two such monstrous creatures?\nTheir thumbs alone were as big as his whole body.  All that was left to be\ndone was to appeal to Tamara, and each in turn, and both together, the\nfather and mother begged and commanded their runaway child to return to\nher home.\n\nBut Tamara was as obstinate as could be.  \"No, I want to stay here,\"\nshe said, \"these good boys love me, and they will break their hearts when\nI leave them.  You would not have me make them so unhappy, would you?\nI want, too, to hear all about their country and their people, for I love\nit, and I love them, and I hate the cold, dark cavern, with its eternal\nwork, work, work!\"  Then she turned entreatingly to the giants, \"You will\nnot let me be taken back, will you?\" she cried, her beautiful eyes full of\nappealing.\n\n\"No, no!\" they cried joyfully, \"we will take care of you, little Tamara.\"\n\nEven, though, as they spoke, a deep sleep fell upon them.  The gnome,\nthoroughly angry, had cast a spell upon them, and poor Tamara saw herself\nin an instant deprived of both her protectors.  She was deeply mortified,\nbut more determined than ever not to go back to her dark, gloomy home.\nNo pleadings, or coaxings, or commands had any power to move her.\nHer mother appealed to her, her father scolded, all in vain.  Anger was\nroused on both sides, until at length in ungovernable rage the father\ncursed his daughter, and as his curse fell on her, the weeping girl was\nchanged into a crystal stream, which soon became a river; a beautiful,\nrapid river, for ever winding its way with a low, sad murmur, in storm or\nsunshine, through the land she loved so well, on and on to the great salt\nocean.\n\nThe angry parents, heartbroken and desolate, had returned to their lonely\nhome, and Tamara, with low, sad sighs, was fleeing further and further\nfrom her sleeping lovers, when Tavy at last awoke.  He sat up and glared\naround him, too dazed to realize at first all that had happened.\nHe looked at Tawridge, lying fast asleep, and recollection began to\nreturn,--he looked for Tamara,--she was gone!\n\nIn a frenzy of fear lest he should have lost his new-found love for ever,\nhe rushed hither and thither, wildly searching for her,--but, of course,\nin vain.\n\n\"Tamara! Tamara!\" he called despairingly; no answer came.  No sound\nreached him but the sweet, sad voice of a stream hard by, a stream he did\nnot remember to have heard before.  He was too full of his troubles,\nthough, to pay heed to such trifles now.\n\nFlying as fast as the wind to his father amongst the hills, he told him\nhis pitiful tale, but the giant already knew all that had happened, for he\nhad powers his son had not.\n\n\"My boy,\" he said sadly, \"your Tamara is gone.  Cruelly taken from you.\nI cannot bring her back to you, but I can send you to her.  Grieved I\nshall be to lose my son, but I cannot keep you here and see your life\nfilled with endless pain.\"  Then the old giant kissed his son, and as he\nkissed him he turned him into a stream, which, noisy and turbulent as poor\nTavy himself had been of old, rushed madly on over rock and moor, seeking\nhis lost love.  Wildly he dashed ahead, seeking to overtake her, until at\nlast in a gentle valley where she loitered slowly, he came upon her, and,\nhappy that they had met at last, hand in hand they glided softly onwards\nto the eternal sea.\n\nDuring all this time poor Tawridge slept on, dreaming of Tamara, that she\nwas his, and nothing could part them; but alas, alas for his waking!\nHe opened his eyes and found it was but a dream!  Tamara was gone,\nTavy was gone, and he was left alone.\n\n\"They have gone together!\" was his first thought, but then he remembered\nthe arrival of the father and mother, and his second thought was that\nTamara had been taken back to her home by her parents, and that Tavy had\nkilled himself in despair.  And Tawridge was filled with a double grief,\nfor he had really loved poor Tavy.\n\nIn the hills there lived an Enchanter, and to him Tawridge ran for help,\nand of him he learnt the truth,--that both were lost to him, and were\ntogether.  The knowledge drove him to frenzy.  Without a thought for his\nfather or mother, or anyone else who loved him, he begged and implored the\nEnchanter to turn him into a stream too, that he might follow the others\nand overtake them, and once again be with his lost love, or near her.\n\nAt last the old Enchanter consented, and Tawridge was turned into a\nswiftly flowing river; and there his troubles might have ended, and the\nthree friends have been reunited, but, as he was going back, Tawridge\nmistook the way, and, instead of flowing towards the sea with Tamara and\nTavy, he rushed on wildly seeking them in the wrong direction.  Calling to\nthem with heartbroken cries and moans, he hurried faster and faster in his\nlonging to overtake them, but always in the wrong direction, ever and ever\nflowing farther from them, never to meet his lost love again.\n\nTo this day the Tamar and the Tavy run always side by side, and the Taw,\nstill sighing and moaning sadly, rushes in the opposite direction, and\nnever can the enchantment be removed from Tamara and her lovers, until we,\nhaving grown better and wiser, become friends again with the Big People\nand the Little People we have driven from us by our ignorance and narrow\nminds.\n\n\n\nTHE STRANGE STORY OF CHERRY HONEY.\n\n\nCherry Honey, with her father and mother, and a half-score of brothers and\nsisters, lived in a little hut at Trereen, in the parish of Zennor.\nThey were very poor people, terribly poor, for all they had to live on was\nwhat they could get out of a few acres of ground that they owned,--ground\nas barren as any you could find thereabouts, and that is saying a good\ndeal.  For food they lived mostly on fish and potatoes, except on Sundays,\nwhen they had pork, and the broth it was boiled in; and twice a year, at\nChristmas and Feast-day, they had, as a great luxury, white bread.\n\nWhether fish and potatoes make people strong, or whether the air at\nTrereen was specially good, I can't tell, but sure enough it is that all\nTom Honey's children grew up into fine, handsome men and women, and not\none weakly one amongst them.\n\nThey were a lively crew too, as merry as grigs in spite of the cold and\nthe hunger that they felt pretty often, and the liveliest and merriest of\nthe lot was Cherry.  She was full of pranks and mischief, and led the\nothers a pretty life.  When the miller's boy came to know if they wanted\nto send any corn to be ground, Cherry would slip out, mount his horse,\nwhich he left fastened up close by, and off she would go, racing as hard\nas she could go all along the very edge of the cliff, and away to the\nDowns, the miller's boy racing and yelling after her, but he might as well\nhave tried to catch a will-o'-the-wisp.\n\nSo Cherry went on very happily, working very hard and playing too, until\nshe reached the age of sixteen or so, when she began to feel a wish to see\nmore life than that lonely moor provided, and have a change from the tiny\nhut which could not hold a half of them comfortably.  She wanted a new\ngown too, her mother had promised it to her ever since she was thirteen,\nand she had looked forward to it even more than she did to Feasten-Sunday,\nfor she had never had a new frock in her life.  She could not enjoy\nFeasten-Sunday either, unless she was dressed as nicely as other girls.\n\nYear after year, though, she was disappointed, there was no money and no\nnew dress, and poor Cherry had to content herself with a clean apron over\nher shabby old frock, which had been patched and mended until there was\nonly one piece of the original left, and no one but Cherry herself could\nhave told which that was.\n\nShe was not fit to go to church or to fair, and she felt it very hard that\nshe could never enjoy herself.  And then, to make matters worse, her great\nfriend Tamsin Bray, who was a year younger than Cherry, had a beautiful\nfrock all trimmed with ribbons, and she wore it to Nancledry to the\npreaching there, and had a fine time there, full of adventures and new\nexperiences, as she took care to tell poor Cherry when she came back,\nmaking Cherry feel more dissatisfied than ever.  She knew she was a\nprettier girl than Tamsin, and would get more admiration if she only had\nthe chance.\n\nAfter that Cherry could no longer go on bearing things as they were.\nIf her mother couldn't buy her a new frock, she would go to work, and earn\none for herself, she determined.  So she told her parents she was going to\nlook for a situation, and nothing they could say could make her change her\nmind, so they gave up trying to.\n\n\"Why don't 'ee try and get a place down to Towednack?\" asked her mother,\nwho wanted her not to go far from home.\n\n\"Iss, fay, mother,\" answered Cherry sharply, \"a likely tale I'm going to\nlive in a place where the cow ate the bell-rope, and where they've nothing\nbut fish and taties all the year round, except Sundays, when they have\nconger-pie!  Dear no, I'm going where I can get butcher's meat sometimes,\nand a bit of saffern cake when I wants it!\"\n\nSo Cherry packed up her few garments, which made but a very small bundle,\nand started off, after promising her father not to go too far, and to come\nhome soon.  She had been so restless and uneasy, that the poor man thought\nshe was bewitched, or something.  He feared, too, that she might get\ncarried off by pirates, for there were many of them about Cornwall in\nthose days, and Cherry was an attractive-looking girl, and rather flighty,\nas her mother often said.\n\nWhen Cherry had said 'good-bye' and kissed them all, and got outside, she\nhad not the slightest notion which way to go, so she took the road to\nLudgvan and Gulval, and walked on briskly enough for a time; but when she\nturned round for a last look at the old home, and found that it was no\nlonger in sight, she felt so miserable that she had a very good mind to\nturn round and go back.  It was the first time she had ever been away,\nand she felt very home-sick and lonesome.  Indeed, the outlook was enough\nto damp her spirits and even frighten her, for she had no friends to go\nto, nor a situation.  She did not even know where she should find shelter\nthat night, and she had only one penny in her pocket.  However, she\nstarted on again, and trudged along the lonely road until she came to the\nfour cross-roads on the Lady Downs.\n\nHere she paused again, and rested while she tried to make up her mind\nwhich of the four roads she should take.  All around her the Downs\nstretched, looking bleak and wild; and all the stories she had ever heard\nof highwaymen and pirates, witches and fairies, came rushing\nhelter-skelter through her poor brain until she felt too terrified to walk\non or to turn back; and at last she sat down on a big stone by the side of\nthe road and burst out crying.\n\nShe did cry too, most bitterly, and never stopped until she had made up\nher mind to retrace her steps, and go home as fast as she could go.\nHaving settled that, she felt much happier, and drying her eyes she\nstarted up, only too anxious to get out of that great wilderness.\nShe wondered if her brothers and sisters would laugh at her.  Yes, she\nfelt sure that they would, but she did not care, she told herself.\nShe would soon play them some trick that would make them laugh the other\nside of their faces.  Her father and mother would welcome her back gladly,\nshe knew.\n\nSo she turned her face towards home, and was trying not to feel ashamed of\nher want of pluck,--when she saw a gentleman on the road just ahead of\nher, and walking towards her.  She was astonished, and just a little\nalarmed, for a moment before there was not a soul to be seen.  She was so\nastonished that she quite forgot her manners, and stood staring and\nstaring at the gentleman until he had come quite close to her.  Then he\nstared hard at Cherry, but it was not a rude stare, and he took off his\nhat so politely, and smiled so pleasantly, that Cherry was quite\nimpressed.\n\n\"Can you tell me the way to Towednack?\" he asked in a voice as pleasant as\nhis smile.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" answered Cherry, curtseying.  \"If you'll please to walk a\nlittle way with me, sir, I'll put you in the right road.\"\n\nThe gentleman thanked her, and as he walked along beside her, he asked\nwhich way she was going, and where she lived, and he was so kind and had\nsuch a pleasant way with him, that Cherry had soon told him her history,\nand how she had left home to go to look for a 'place,' and how she had\nfelt so lonesome on the Downs, and so home-sick, that she had changed her\nmind and was going straight back again.\n\n\"Well, this is strange!\" exclaimed the gentleman.  \"Of all the good luck\nthis is the greatest!  I have come out to-day to see if I can find a good\nactive girl in one of the villages, for I want a servant; and here I find\njust what I am looking for, a handsome, sharp young woman, cleanly and\nhonest.\"\n\nHe could judge for himself what sort of a girl Cherry was, by her\nappearance, and her clean, well-mended frock.\n\nHe went on to tell her that he was a widower with one little boy, for whom\nhe wanted a nurse, and would Cherry come and take the post?\n\nHe talked for a long time very earnestly and winningly.  Cherry did not\nunderstand a half that he said, but she understood enough to make her feel\nthat this would be a better situation for her than she had ever dreamed of\ngetting, and before very long she consented to go.\n\nThe gentleman seemed very pleased, and away they started together at once,\nthe stranger talking very fast all the time, and making himself so\nentertaining that Cherry never noticed how far they were going, nor in\nwhat direction.\n\nThey walked through such beautiful lanes that it was quite a pleasure to\nbe in them, hung as they were with honeysuckles and roses, and many other\nbeautiful flowers, such as Cherry rarely saw anywhere near her bleak home.\n\nBy and by the light began to fail, which rather surprised Cherry, who had\nno idea the day was so far gone.  She had no watch or means of telling the\ntime, so she supposed it was all right, and that she had sat crying longer\nthan she thought.  Presently they came to a river, and Cherry wondered how\nshe should cross it, for it had grown so dark by that time she could not\nsee stepping-stones, or bridge, or anything.\n\nHowever, while she was wondering, the gentleman just picked her up in his\narms and carried her across, and then on they walked again.  They went\ndown, down and down a very steep lane now, a lane which got narrower and\nnarrower, and was so steep and long, Cherry thought it would never end.\nNot that she minded much, for she did not feel tired, and the gentleman\nhad given her his arm, that she might not stumble, and she felt so excited\nand happy she could have walked on through the sweet-scented darkness for\never.\n\nShe had not much further to go, though, for presently they came to a gate\nwhich the gentleman opened.  \"This is your new home, Cherry,\" he said\nkindly, and Cherry found herself suddenly in the most beautiful garden you\ncan imagine.  It was full of lovely flowers and luscious fruits, while\nflitting about everywhere, or perching on the trees, were birds of all\nsizes and colours, tiny blue birds, large scarlet birds, some that flashed\nlike silver, and gold, and beaten copper, in the sunlight.  For oddly\nenough the sun was shining brightly in the garden, though it had long been\ndark outside.\n\nCherry stood and stared about her in open-eyed amazement.  \"Dear, dear,\"\nshe thought to herself, \"'tis just like the fairy-tales Gammer tells us\nwinter evenings!\" and she began to wonder if she could have got into an\nenchanted place, and if she should presently see fairies, or enchanted\npeople there.  But no, it could not be any fairy-tale, for there was her\nnew master standing by her as big as Farmer Chenoweth, and down the path\ncame running a little boy, calling \"Papa! papa!\" just as any ordinary\nmortal child would.\n\nThough, as Cherry said afterwards, there was something uncanny about the\nchild, for he had such an odd, old face and expression, and eyes as\ncunning as might be, and so bright and piercing they seemed to look you\nthrough and through; yet he appeared to be no more than four years old.\n\nBefore the child could reach them, an old woman came running out after\nhim, and seizing him by the arm dragged him roughly back to the house.\nShe was a bony, ill-tempered looking old woman, and before she retired,\ngrumbling at the child and shaking him, she favoured Cherry with such an\nevil glance that the poor girl felt more than half inclined to turn and\nrun right away.\n\n\"That's my late wife's grandmother,\" explained the widower; \"she is a\ncross-grained old catamaran, and the reason she eyed you so unpleasantly\nis that she knows I have brought you here to take her place.  Make haste\nand learn your work, Cherry, for I want to send the cross old dame about\nher business,\" which was hardly a respectful way in which to speak of his\ngrandmother-in-law.\n\nHe took Cherry into the house, which was even more beautiful than the\ngarden; brilliant light, like sunshine, lighted up every room, flowers\ngrew everywhere, mirrors and pictures lined the walls, and as for the\nornaments, the carpets, curtains and other beautiful things, you could\nnever believe what their beauty was unless you could see them.\n\n\"It is all so grand,\" said Cherry to herself, \"'tis too much to take in\nall at once.  It makes my head swim, and I'd like something to eat for a\nchange.\" She was really very, very hungry, for she had had nothing to eat\nall day but a slice of bread and treacle.\n\nHardly had the thought come into her head, when Aunt Prudence,--as the old\ngrandmother was called,--began to lay a table with all kinds of delicious\nfood, to which she bade Cherry sit down and eat.\n\nCherry did not require a second bidding, you may be quite sure, nor did\nshe stop until she had made a very good meal indeed.  After that she was\ntold her duties.  She was to sleep in the room with the child, and in the\nmorning to take him and bathe him in a spring in the garden.  After she\nhad bathed him she was to anoint his eyes with some ointment she would\nfind in a little box in a cleft in the rock.  She was to be very careful\nindeed to put the little box back where she took it from, and on no\naccount to touch her own eyes with it.  After that was all done she was to\nmilk the cow, and give the child a basin of the last milk she drew.\n\nYou can imagine how all this raised Cherry's curiosity, and how she longed\nto get the little boy to tell her about everything, but, as he always\nthreatened to tell Aunt Prudence, directly she asked him a question,\nshe thought it better to hold her tongue, and try to find out things for\nherself.\n\nWhen she had been told all her duties, she was conducted to her room by\nthe old lady, who bade her keep her eyes shut, whether she was asleep or\nnot, or she might wish too late that she had.  She forbade her, too, to\ntalk to the child about anything.  So Cherry was rather frightened by the\ntime she got to bed, and until she fell asleep she kept her eyes and her\nmouth fast closed, but fortunately, thanks to her tiring day and her good\nsupper, she did not stay awake long.\n\nThe next morning as soon as she was awake she got up and began her work,\nbut when she had bathed the boy in the stream to which he led her, and had\nput the ointment on his eyes, she did not know how to set about her next\ntask, for there was not a cow to be seen anywhere.\n\n\"Call her,\" said the boy, when she told him her trouble.  So Cherry\ncalled, \"Coo-o, coo-o, coo-o-o,\" just as she did at home, and at once a\npretty sleek cow came from somewhere,--it might have been out of the\nground, as far as Cherry could tell.  Anyhow, there she was, and Cherry\nsat down and milked her, and gave the boy his breakfast, and when she had\ndone the cow walked away again and disappeared.\n\nAfter that Cherry went indoors, where the Grandmother provided her with a\nbig breakfast all to herself, after which she told her of some more of her\nduties.  Cherry was to keep in the kitchen, and clean the pots and pans\nwith water and sand, scald the milk, make the butter, and do anything else\nshe was told.  Above all she was to avoid curiosity, to keep to the\nkitchen, and never try to enter or look into a room that was locked.\n\nCherry felt that this was very hard, for, as I said before, she was full\nof curiosity, and wanted to find out all she could about these strange\npeople she had got amongst.  She could scarcely endure old Aunt Prudence\nwith her scoldings and growlings, for the old woman never ceased grumbling\nat both the girl and her grandson-in-law for bringing her there.\n\n\"I knew Robin would bring some stupid thing from Zennor,\" she would say,\nand she would scowl at Cherry until the girl grew quite nervous.\nShe tried to get as far away from the old woman as she could, but, as\nCherry said, the old soul seemed to have eyes all over her head, for she\nalways had one on Cherry, no matter where she was or what she was doing.\n\nThe happiest time of Cherry's life here was when her housework was done,\nand her master called to her to come and help him in the garden; for he\nwas always kind and gentle to her, and always rewarded her with a word of\npraise.\n\nAunt Prudence, though, was not always a cross old tyrant; she had her\nkinder moods, and in one of them she told Cherry that if she was a good\ngirl, and did her work quickly, she would take her into those parts of the\nhouse where she had been forbidden to go, and show her some of the\nwonderful sights of the place!\n\nOh, how delighted Cherry was, and how she did hurry through her work!\nShe felt that now she was going to be made happy for the rest of her life,\nand would have nothing left to wish for.  She got through her work so\nquickly, that it was still quite early when they started off together on\ntheir sight-seeing.\n\nFirst of all they came to a door opening out of a passage, and here Aunt\nPrudence told Cherry to take off her shoes.  This done, they opened the\ndoor and entered, letting it fall silently behind them.  The passage was\nvery low and very dark, and Cherry, who had to feel her way by the wall,\nfelt rather nervous, for she could not see where her next step would take\nher.   Before very long, though, they came to a room where the light was\nbright, it was a beautiful room, with a floor like glass, but, oh, how\nfrightened Cherry was when she stepped into it! for ranged all round the\nwalls, on shelves or on the floor, were a lot of people turned to stone.\nSome had no arms, others no legs, while of others there were only the head\nand shoulders.  Some heads had no ears, others had no noses, and some few\nwere without either.\n\nOh, it was a horrid sight, and Cherry was terribly frightened lest they\nshould all come to life suddenly, and set on her and tear off her limbs\ntoo.  She told Aunt Prudence, \"she was mortal fear't of 'em, for she'd\nheard tell on 'em up to Zennor, and everybody said there was never no\nknowing what they wouldn't be up to.  She'd thought all along that she'd\ngot in with the Little People, only her master was such a fine upstanding\nman, she'd never have took him for a fairy.\"\n\nAunt Prudence only laughed at her, and seeing that she really was afraid,\ntook a greater pleasure in making her go further.  There was a\ncurious-looking thing standing in the room, like a coffin on six legs, and\nthis Aunt Prudence insisted on Cherry's giving a good polishing to.\nSo Cherry had to set to and rub it with all her might and main, for she\ndared not disobey the old lady; but the more she rubbed the more the old\nlady scolded her to rub harder, and Cherry rubbed harder and harder and\nharder, until at last she nearly upset the thing.  She threw out her arms\nand seized, but as it tottered it gave out the most soul-piercing,\nunearthly yell it was possible for anyone ever to hear.\n\n\"They'm coming to life!  They'm coming to life!\" shrieked out Cherry, and\nfrom sheer fright she fell on the floor in a fit.\n\nAll this noise and uproar reached the master's ears, and up he came,\nto know what it was all about.  And oh, he was angry when he found out.\nFirst of all he ordered old Aunt Prudence out of the house then and there,\nand then he picked up Cherry and carried her to the kitchen, where he soon\nbrought her to her senses again, but, strangely enough, she could not\nremember what had happened, or why she was there.  Her memory of what she\nhad seen had quite gone, and though she was always afraid, after that, to\ngo into that part of the house again, she could not remember in the least\nwhy it was, or anything that had happened there.\n\nCherry felt much happier now, and did not worry herself about it, for Aunt\nPrudence and her terrifying eye were gone, and she was left sole mistress.\nSo time passed on, and Cherry's master was so kind to her that the days\nflew by like hours, and very soon a whole year was gone.\n\nDuring all this time she had never once thought of her home, or her\nparents, or her old life.  She had everything she could wish, and you\nwould have thought she was bound to be happy; but no, nothing of the sort!\nShe soon grew accustomed to her happiness, and then she began to want the\nthings she had not got.  Her curiosity increased every day.  She longed to\nknow more about the mysterious part of the house, and a hundred other\nthings that she should never have troubled her head about.\n\nShe was particularly anxious to find out all about her master, for his\nmovements were certainly very strange, and puzzled Cherry.  He went off\nevery morning soon after his early breakfast, and when he came back he\nshut himself into the room where the stone figures were, and Cherry was\ncertain, for she had crept up and listened at the door, that she could\nhear him talking to them!\n\nWhat _could_ she do to get to know more, she wondered.  She thought and\nthought, and then one day her thoughts flew to the ointment.  She had\noften noticed how very bright and peculiar the little boy's eyes became\nafter she had anointed them, and that he often seemed able to see things\nthat were hidden from her.\n\nCherry grew very excited, she felt sure she had discovered the secret.\nSo the next morning, after she had bathed him and given him his breakfast,\nshe sent him away to play for a few minutes, and whisking out the ointment\npot again, she brushed the least bit of it over one of her eyes with the\ntip of her finger.\n\nOh, how it burned and smarted! and oh, how she did rub her eye and try to\nget the nasty stuff out!  But it would not come.  She ran to the stream\nand knelt down to bathe it,--and as she knelt and looked in the water she\nsaw, at the very bottom, dozens and dozens of little people, playing and\ndancing, and enjoying themselves as though they were on dry land.\nAnd there, too, as gay as any, and as small as any, was her master\nhimself.  Bewildered and frightened, Cherry sprang to her feet, but as she\nturned to run she saw everything was changed.  There were Little People\neverywhere, hanging on the trees overhead, swarming over the ground at her\nfeet, swinging on the flowers, some astride the stalks, others curled up\nin the cups, all exquisitely dressed, and flashing with gold and jewels;\nand all as merry as crickets.\n\nCherry thought she was bewitched sure enough, and she was so frightened\nshe did not know what to do.\n\nAt night back rode her master, as big and handsome as ever, and very\nunlike the little piskyman she had seen at the bottom of the water.\nHe went straight up to the locked-up room where the stone figures were,\nand very soon Cherry heard sounds of most lovely music issuing thence.\nSo things went on day after day, the widower rode off every morning\ndressed as any ordinary gentleman would be to follow the hounds, and never\ncame back again until night, when he retired at once to his own rooms.\n\nAll this was almost too much for poor Cherry's brain.  She felt that if\nshe did not find out more, she should die of curiosity.  Knowing so much\nonly made her long to know more.\n\nAt last, one night after her master had gone to the enchanted room, Cherry\ncrept up to the door, and instead of only listening at it as usual, she\nknelt down and peeped through the keyhole, which, for once, was not\ncovered.\n\nInside the room she saw her master in the midst of a number of ladies,\nsome of whom were singing, and their voices sounded like silver bells;\nothers were walking about, but one, the most beautiful of all, was sitting\nat the coffin on six legs, performing on it as though it were a piano.\nShe had long dark hair streaming right down to the floor, and a blue gown\nall trimmed with sparkling silver, her shoes were blue with diamond stars\non the toes, and round her neck she had a string of turquoises set in\ndiamonds.\n\nPoor Cherry was very much hurt and mortified when she saw her beloved\nmaster with all those lovely ladies, but oh, how miserable she felt when\nshe saw him kiss the lovely lady in blue and silver!  She did not say\nanything, though,--indeed, she had no one to speak to,--and she went about\nher work as usual, but the next morning when her master came into the\ngarden and began to talk to her as usual she answered him quite shortly\nand rudely, and when he asked her what was the matter with her, she told\nhim to leave her to herself.  If he wanted to talk he could go and talk to\nthe Little People he was so fond of.\n\nHer master was very much surprised and annoyed when he heard this, for he\nknew that she had been disobedient, and had used the Fairy Ointment.\nHe did not scold her, though, but he told her simply and mournfully, and\nin a tone which gave her no hope, that they must part.\n\n\"You will have to go home, Cherry; you have disobeyed my orders.  I can\nhave no one spying and watching me.  I must send you away, my child.\"\nHe spoke so sadly that Cherry's heart felt as though it must break.\n\"And I must have Aunt Prudence back,\" he added, with a sigh.\n\nVery, very unhappy was poor Cherry when she went to bed that night, and\nshe had only just cried herself to sleep when her master came and woke\nher, telling her to get up and dress.  Without a word, but choked with\nsobs, she obeyed him, and when she was ready she found him waiting for\nher, with a lantern and a large bundle of beautiful clothes that he had\ntied up for her.\n\nAs soon as they had had some food they started, and miles and miles and\nmiles they walked, for the way seemed ten times as long as when they came.\nFor one thing it was all uphill now, and for another, Cherry's heart was\nheavy, and a heavy heart makes heavy feet.\n\nIt was nearly daybreak when at last they reached the Lady Downs, and came\nto a standstill.  The sun was just rising over the great lonely moor.\n\n\"We must part now, my poor child,\" said her master. \"You are severely\npunished for your curiosity, but it cannot be otherwise.  Good-bye,\nCherry; do your duty, and try to get the better of your failing, and if\nyou are a good girl I will come to these Downs sometimes to see you.\"\n\nThen kissing her, he turned away and disappeared as suddenly as he had\nfirst appeared.\n\nDazed and stupefied, scarcely able to realize all the trouble that had\nbefallen her, Cherry sat for a long time where he had left her.  In her\nthoughts she went over and over her happy life for the past year, all that\nshe had had, and lost.  By and by the sun came out in its full strength\nand warmed her, and roused her sufficiently to look about her, and wonder\nwhat she should do next, for, of course, she could not stay where she was.\n\nPresently she noticed that she was sitting on the very same stone at the\ncross-roads where, on the day she left home, she had sat and cried, and\nthe strange gentleman had first appeared to her.  The recollection brought\nback to her more painfully than ever her own foolishness and wickedness,\nand all that she had lost, and oh, how miserable she did feel, and how she\ncried and cried, and how she longed and longed for her dear, good master\nto come again and forgive her.\n\nHe did not come, though, and by and by, as the day had worn far on, Cherry\nfelt that she had better seek her home before nightfall.  Listlessly\nenough she rose and trudged along the old familiar roads to her father's\nhouse, with miserable eyes she recognized the old landmarks, but without\nany pleasure, until at last she came to the poor little hut she called\n'home.' It looked poorer, and meaner, and more comfortless than ever,\nafter the luxuries she had grown accustomed to.  Her mother and all the\nrest of them were sitting at dinner when Cherry opened the door.\nAt the sound of the latch Mrs. Honey looked up, and gave one big screech.\n\n\"Why, 'tis Cherry!\" she cried, \"or her ghost!  Cross her, father.  Cross\nher!\"  And when Cherry, taking no notice of her screams, advanced into the\nkitchen, they all backed away from her, one on top of another, each trying\nto get behind someone else, for they had long since made up their minds\nthat Cherry was dead, and never for a moment dreamed that this apparition\nwas Cherry herself, living flesh and blood.\n\nNot until she flopped into a chair, saying wearily, \"Give me a dish of\ntay, mother, for goodness sake, I'm so wisht I don't know how to bear with\nmyself.\"\n\n\"Tisn't no ghost, mother,\" cried Tom Honey, his courage reviving; \"no\nghost would want such poor trade as tay.\"\n\nThen the others plucked up their spirits, too, and crowded round her,\nasking a dozen questions, and all at the same time; and for the sake of\npeace and quiet Cherry told them her wonderful adventures from the day she\nleft them, and, as was to be expected, not one believed a word of it.\n\n\"The maid's mazed,\" said her father, and the others agreed.  But as time\nwent on Cherry repeated the tale so often, and always the same; and she\ncried so bitterly for her master and his little boy, that they were\nobliged to believe her, in spite of themselves.  \"There must be some truth\nin it,\" they said, \"it couldn't all be fancy.\"\n\nPoor Cherry!  She was never happy again after her experience.  Many people\nsaid she was bewitched, others declared she was wrong in her mind, but\nthat was only because whenever there was a moonlight night, she wandered\non the Lady Downs hour after hour, longing and hoping to see her master.\nFor hours together, too, she would sit on the stone at the four\ncross-roads, in sunshine or snow, wind or rain, with the tears coursing\ndown her cheeks, and such a pain at her heart, that she hardly knew how to\nendure it.\n\nHe never came, though.  To all appearances he had entirely forgotten poor,\nfaulty Cherry, and by and by she died, unable to bear the loneliness any\nlonger.\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRIES ON THE GUMP.\n\n\nDown by St. Just, not far from Cape Cornwall and the sea, is a small\nhill,--or a very large mound would, perhaps, be the truer description,--\ncalled 'The Gump,' where the Small People used to hold their revels, and\nwhere our grandfathers and grandmothers used to be allowed to stand and\nlook on and listen.\n\nIn those good old times fairies and ordinary people were all good friends\ntogether, and it is because they were all such friends and trusted one\nanother so, that our grandfathers and grandmothers were able to tell their\ngrandchildren so many tales about fairies, and piskies, and buccas, and\nall the rest of the Little People.\n\nPeople believed in the Fairies in those days, so the Fairies in return\noften helped the people, and did them all sorts of kindnesses.  Indeed,\nthey would do so now if folks had not grown so learned and disbelieving.\nIt seems strange that because they have got more knowledge of some\nmatters, they should have grown more ignorant of others, and declare that\nthere never were such things as Fairies, just because they have neither\nthe eyes nor the minds to see them!\n\nOf course, no one could expect the sensitive little creatures to appear\nwhen they are sneered at and scoffed at.  All the same, though, they are\nas much about us as ever they were, and if you or I, who do believe in the\nLittle People, were to go to the Gump on the right nights at the right\nhour, we should see them feasting and dancing and holding their revels\njust as of old.  If, though, you do go, you must be very careful to keep\nat a distance, and not to trespass on their fairy ground, for that is a\ngreat offence, and woe be to you if you offend them!\n\nThere was, once upon a time, a grasping, mean old fellow who did so, and\npretty well he was punished for his daring.  It is his story I am going to\ntell you, but I will not tell you his name, for that would be unpleasant\nfor his descendants, but I will tell you this much,--he was a St. Just\nman, and no credit to the place either, I am sure.\n\nWell, this old man used to listen to the tales the people told of the\nFairies and their riches, and their wonderful treasures, until he could\nscarcely bear to hear any more, he longed so to have some of those riches\nfor himself; and at last his covetousness grew so great, he said to\nhimself he must and would have some, or he should die of vexation.\n\nSo one night, when the Harvest Moon was at the full, he started off alone,\nand very stealthily, to walk to the Gump, for he did not want his\nneighbours to know anything at all about his plans.  He was very nervous,\nfor it is a very desolate spot, but his greed was greater than his fear,\nand he made himself go forward, though he longed all the time to turn tail\nand hurry home to the safe shelter of his house and his bed.\n\nWhen he was still at some distance from the enchanted spot, strains of the\nmost exquisite music anyone could possibly imagine reached his ear, and as\nhe stood listening it seemed to come nearer and nearer until, at last,\nit was close about him.  The most wonderful part, though, of it all was\nthat there was nothing to be seen, no person, no bird, not an animal even.\nThe empty moor stretched away on every side, the Gump lay bare and\ndesolate before him.  The only living being on it that night was himself.\n\nThe music, indeed, seemed to come from under the ground, and such strange\nmusic it was, too, so gentle, so touching, it made the old miser weep, in\nspite of himself, and then, even while the tears were still running down\nhis cheeks, he was forced to laugh quite merrily, and even to dance,\nthough he certainly did not want to do either.  After that it was not\nsurprising that he found himself marching along, step and step, keeping\ntime with the music as it played, first slowly and with stately tread,\nthen fast and lively.\n\nAll the time, though, that he was laughing and weeping, marching or\ndancing, his wicked mind was full of thoughts as to how he should get at\nthe fairy treasure.\n\nAt last, when he got close to the Gump, the music ceased, and suddenly,\nwith a loud crashing noise which nearly scared the old man out of his\nsenses, the whole hill seemed to open as if by magic, and in one instant\nevery spot was lighted up.  Thousands of little lights of all colours\ngleamed everywhere, silver stars twinkled and sparkled on every\nfurze-bush, tiny lamps hung from every blade of grass.  It was a more\nlovely sight than one ever sees nowadays, more lovely than any pantomime\none has ever seen or ever will see.  Then, out from the open hill marched\ntroops of little Spriggans.\n\nSpriggans, you must know, are the Small People who live in rocks and\nstones, and cromlechs, the most mischievous, thievish little creatures\nthat ever lived, and woe betide anyone who meddles with their\ndwelling-places.\n\nWell, first came all those Spriggans, then a large band of musicians\nfollowed by troops of soldiers, each troop carrying a beautiful banner,\nwhich waved and streamed out as though a brisk breeze were blowing,\nwhereas in reality there was not a breath of wind stirring.\n\nThese hosts of Little People quickly took up their places in perfect order\nall about the Gump, and, though they appeared quite unconscious of his\npresence, a great number formed a ring all round the old man.  He was\ngreatly amazed, but, \"Never mind,\" he thought, \"they are such little\nwhipper-snappers I can easily squash them with my foot if they try on any\nMay-games with me.\"\n\nAs soon as the musicians, the Spriggans, and the soldiers had arranged\nthemselves, out came a lot of servants carrying most lovely gold and\nsilver vessels, goblets, too, cut out of single rubies, and diamonds, and\nemeralds, and every kind of precious stone.  Then came others bearing rich\nmeats and pastry, luscious fruits and preserves, everything, in fact, that\none could think of that was dainty and appetizing.  Each servant placed\nhis burden on the tables in its proper place, then silently retired.\n\nCan you not imagine how the glorious scene dazzled the old man, and how\nhis eyes glistened, and his fingers itched to grab at some of the\nwonderful things and carry them off?  He knew that even one only of those\nflashing goblets would make him rich for ever.\n\nHe was just thinking that nowhere in the world could there be a more\nbeautiful sight, when, lo and behold! the illumination became twenty times\nas brilliant, and out of the hill came thousands and thousands of\nexquisitely dressed ladies and gentlemen, all in rows, each gentleman\nleading a lady, and all marching in perfect time and order.\n\nThey came in companies of a thousand each, and each company was\ndifferently attired.  In the first the gentlemen were all dressed in\nyellow satin covered with copper-coloured spangles, on their heads they\nwore copper-coloured helmets with waving, yellow plumes, and on their feet\nyellow shoes with copper heels.  The flashing of the copper in the\nmoonlight was almost blinding.  Their companions all were dressed alike in\nwhite satin gowns edged with large turquoises, and on their tiny feet pale\nblue shoes with buckles formed of one large turquoise set in pearls.\n\nThe gentlemen conducted the ladies to their places on the Gump, and with a\ncourtly bow left them, themselves retiring to a little distance.  The next\ntroop then came up, in this the gentlemen were all attired in black,\ntrimmed with silver, silver helmets with black plumes, black stockings and\nsilver shoes.  Their ladies were dressed in pink embroidered in gold, with\nwaving pink plumes in their hair, and golden buckles on their pink shoes.\nIn the next troop the men were dressed in blue and white, the ladies in\ngreen, with diamonds all around the hem of the gown, diamonds flashing in\ntheir hair, and hanging in long ropes from their necks; on their green\nshoes single diamonds blazed and flashed.\n\nSo they came, troop after troop, more than I can describe, or you could\nremember, only I must tell you that the last of all were the most lovely.\nThe ladies, all of whom had dark hair, were clad in white velvet lined\nwith the palest violet silk, while round the hems of the skirts and on the\nbodices were bands of soft white swansdown.  Swansdown also edged the\nlittle violet cloaks which hung from their shoulders.  I cannot describe\nto you how beautiful they looked, with their rosy, smiling faces, and long\nblack curls.  On their heads they wore little silver crowns set with\namethysts, amethysts, too, sparkled on their necks and over their gowns.\nIn their hands they carried long trails of the lovely blossom of the\nwistaria.  Their companions were clad in white and green, and in their\nleft hands they carried silver rods with emerald stars at the top.\n\nIt really seemed at one time as though the troops of Little People would\nnever cease pouring out of the hill.  They did so at last, though, and as\nsoon as all were in their places the music suddenly changed, and became\nmore exquisite than ever.\n\nThe old man by this time seemed able to see more clearly, and hear more\ndistinctly, and his sense of smell grew keener.  Never were such flashing\ngems as here, never had any flowers such scents as these that were here.\n\nThere were now thousands of little ladies gathered on the Gump, and these\nall broke out into song at the same instant, such beautiful singing, too,\nso sweet and delicate.  The words were in an unknown tongue, but the song\nwas evidently about some great personages who were about to emerge from\nthe amazing hill, for again it opened, and again poured forth a crowd of\nSmall People.\n\nFirst of all came a bevy of little girls in white gauze, scattering\nflowers, which, as soon as they touched the ground, sprang up into full\nlife and threw out leaves and more flowers, full of exquisite scents; then\ncame a number of boys playing on shells as though they were harps,\nand making ravishing music, while after them came hundreds and hundreds of\nlittle men clad in green and gold, followed by a perfect forest of banners\nspreading and waving on the air.\n\nThen last, but more beautiful than all that had gone before, was carried a\nraised platform covered with silk embroidered with real gold, and edged\nwith crystals, and on the platform were seated a prince and princess of\nsuch surpassing loveliness that no words can be found to describe them.\nThey were dressed in the richest velvet, and covered with precious stones\nwhich blazed and sparkled in the myriad lights until the eye could scarce\nbear to look at them.\n\nOver her lovely robe the princess's hair flowed down to the floor, where\nit rested in great shining, golden waves.  In her hand she held a golden\nsceptre, on the top of which blazed a diamond as large as a walnut, while\nthe prince carried one with a sapphire of equal size.  After a deal of\nmarching backwards and forwards, the platform was placed on the highest\npoint of the Gump, which was now a hill of flowers, and every fairy walked\nup and bowed, said something to the prince and princess, and passed on to\na seat at the tables.  And the marvel was that though there were so many\nfairies present, there was not the slightest confusion amongst them, not\none person moved out of place at the wrong moment.  All was as quiet and\nwell-arranged as could possibly be.\n\nAt length all were seated, whereupon the prince gave a signal, on which a\nnumber of footmen came forward carrying a table laden with dainty food in\nsolid gold dishes, and wines in goblets of precious stones which they\nplaced on the platform before the prince and princess.  As soon as the\nroyal pair began to eat, all the hosts around them followed their example,\nand such a merry, jovial meal they had.  The viands disappeared as fast as\nthey could go, laughter and talk sounded on all sides, and never a sign\ndid any of them give that they knew that a human being was watching them.\nIf they knew it, they showed not the slightest concern.\n\n\"Ah!\" thought the old miser to himself.  \"I can't get all I'd like to, but\nif I could reach up to the prince's table I could get enough at one grab\nto set me up for life, and make me the richest man in St. Just parish!\"\n\nStooping down, he slowly and stealthily dragged himself nearer and nearer\nto the table.  He felt quite sure that no one could see him.  What he\nhimself did not see was that hundreds of wicked little Spriggans had tied\nropes on to him, and were holding fast to the ends.  He crawled and\ncrawled so slowly and carefully that it took him some time to get over the\nground, but he managed it at last, and got quite close up to the lovely\nlittle pair.  Once there he paused for a moment and looked back,--perhaps\nto see if the way was clear for him to run when he had done what he meant\nto do.  He was rather startled to find that all was as dark as dark could\nbe, and that he could see nothing at all behind him.  However, he tried to\ncheer himself by thinking that it was only that his eyes were dazzled by\nlooking at the bright lights so long.  He was even more startled, though,\nwhen he turned round to the Gump again, to find that every eye of all\nthose hundreds and thousands of fairies on the hill was looking straight\ninto his eyes.\n\nAt first he was really frightened, but as they did nothing but look, he\ntold himself that they could not really be gazing at him, and grew braver\nwith the thought.  Then slowly bringing up his hat, as a boy does to catch\na butterfly, he was just going to bring it down on the silken platform and\ncapture prince and princess, table, gold dishes and all, when hark!\nA shrill whistle sounded, the old man's hand, with the hat in it, was\nparalysed in the air, so that he could not move it backwards or forwards,\nand in an instant every light went out, and all was pitchy darkness.\n\nThere were a whir-r-r and a buzz, and a whir-r-r, as if a swarm of bees\nwere flying by him, and the old man felt himself fastened so securely to\nthe ground that, do what he would, he could not move an inch, and all the\ntime he felt himself being pinched, and pricked, and tweaked from top to\ntoe, so that not an inch of him was free from torment.  He was lying on\nhis back at the foot of the Gump, though how he got there he could never\ntell.  His arms were stretched out and fastened down, so that he could not\ndo anything to drive off his tormentors, his legs were so secured that he\ncould not even relieve himself by kicking, and his tongue was tied with\ncords, so that he could not call out.\n\nThere he lay, no one knows how long, for to him it seemed hours, and no\none else but the fairies knew anything about it.  At last he felt a lot of\nlittle feet running over him, but whose they were he had no idea until\nsomething perched on his nose, and by the light of the moon he saw it was\na Spriggan.  His wicked old heart sank when he realized that he had got\ninto their clutches, for all his life he had heard what wicked little\ncreatures they were.\n\nThe little imp on his nose kicked and danced and stamped about in great\ndelight at finding himself perched up so high.  We all know how painful it\nis to have one's nose knocked, even ever so little, so you may imagine\nthat the old miser did not enjoy himself at all.  Master Spriggan did,\nthough.  He roared with laughter, as though he were having a huge joke,\nuntil at last, rising suddenly to his feet and standing on the tips of his\ntiny toes, he shouted sharply, \"Away! away!  I smell the day!\" and to the\nold man's great relief off he flew in a great hurry, followed by all his\nmischievous little companions who had been playing games, and running\nraces all over their victim's body.\n\nLeft at last to himself, the mortified old man lay for some time, thinking\nover all that had happened, trying to collect his senses, and wondering\nhow he should manage to escape from his bonds, for he might lie there for\na week without any human being coming near the place.\n\nTill sunrise he lay there, trying to think of some plan, and then, what do\nyou think he saw?  Why, that he had not been tied down by ropes at all,\nbut only by thousands of gossamer webs!  And there they were now, all over\nhim, with the dew on them sparkling like the diamonds that the princess\nhad worn the night before.  And those dewdrop diamonds were all the jewels\nhe got for his night's work.\n\nWhen he made this discovery he turned over and groaned and wept with rage\nand shame, and never, to his dying day, could he bear to look at sparkling\ngold or gems, for the mere sight of them made him feel quite ill.\n\nAt last, afraid lest he should be missed, and searchers be sent out to\nlook for him, he got up, brushed off the dewy webs, and putting on his\nbattered old hat, crept slowly home.  He was wet through with dew, cold,\nfull of rheumatism, and very ashamed of himself, and very good care he\ntook to keep that night's experiences to himself.   No one must know his\nshame.\n\nYears after, though, when he had become a changed man, and repented of his\nformer greediness, he let out the story bit by bit to be a lesson to\nothers, until his friends and neighbours, who loved to listen to anything\nabout fairies, had gathered it all as I have told it to you here.  And you\nmay be quite sure it is all true, for the old man was not clever enough to\ninvent it.\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRY OINTMENT.\n\n\nNow I will tell you a story of a very foolish woman, whose curiosity got\nthe better of her, and of how she was punished.\n\nThe old woman's Christian name was Joan.  I will not tell her surname,\nfor it does not make any difference to the story, and there may be\nsome of her descendants left who would not like it to be known.\nJoan was housekeeper to Squire Lovell.  The name of his house shall be\nkept a secret too, but I will tell you this much, that he lived a few\nmiles out of Penzance.\n\nNow one Saturday afternoon it fell out that Joan wanted to go to Penzance\nMarket to get herself a pair of shoes, and to buy some groceries and\nseveral Christmas things for the house, for it was Christmas Eve, and the\nSquire had a lot of folks coming to supper that very night.  So, the\nweather being fine, Joan started off soon after her twelve o'clock dinner,\nto walk into Penzance to market.  Having, though, a great fancy for\ncompany, and loving a little gossip, she thought she would step in on her\nway to see if her friend Betty Trenance was going to market too.\nIt would be so nice to have each other's company on the way.\n\nNow many persons in those parts told some very queer stories about Betty\nTrenance, and amongst themselves some called her a witch, and were afraid\nof her.  Joan, though, argued that if she was a witch, there was all the\nmore reason for keeping friendly with her.  And if one did not offend\nBetty, she was always ready to give one a cup of tea, or do anything to\noblige one.\n\nBetty lived down at Lamorna Cove, which was a little way out of Joan's\nroad, but she did not mind that if she could get Betty's company.\nShe walked quickly, though, for the days were short, and she had a long\nway to go, and to be back in time to cook the Squire's supper.\nOn her way she met two of Betty's elder children carrying baskets of fish\non their backs, and down in the Cove she saw all the younger ones at play\nwith the limpets and crabs in the rock-pools, and paddling about in the\nwater.  But she could not stay to watch them, for she had no time to\nspare, so she hurried on to the cottage.\n\nWhen she got there, though, to her astonishment she found the front door\nwas closed and fastened, not only latched either, but bolted!  This was\nsuch an unusual thing in those parts, that Joan was quite startled.\nAt first she thought something must really have gone amiss, then she\ncomforted herself by deciding that Betty had already started for the\nmarket, and had locked the children out to keep them from ransacking the\nplace.  Just, though, as she had settled all this in her mind, and was\nabout to turn away, the sound of voices reached her, and voices talking\nvery earnestly, too.\n\nJoan looked round her nervously, the voices sounded quite near to her, but\nthere was no sight or sign of any living thing except some seagulls,\nand Betty's old black cat.\n\nWhat did it all mean?  Joan was frightened, but her curiosity made her\nstay and try to get to the bottom of the mystery.  She stood quite still\nand listened very closely.  Yes, there were the voices again, plainly\nenough, but where?  She tiptoed close up to the door and placed her ear\nagainst the keyhole.  This time she heard Tom Trenance's voice quite\ndistinctly,--Tom was Betty's husband.  He was talking very earnestly to\nsomeone too, more earnestly than she had ever heard him speak in her life\nbefore, but, try as she would, she could not make out to whom he was\nspeaking, nor what he was saying.\n\nThis was more than inquisitive Joan could endure.  She must know what was\ngoing on in that cottage, or she would know no peace day or night, for\nthinking about it.  So she made up her mind to knock and knock until those\ninside were obliged to come to the door, but first of all she thought she\nwould have a peep in through the finger-hole by the latch.  So she stooped\ndown and put her eye to the hole, and there she saw Tom sitting on the\nsettle, and after all it was only Betty that he was talking to.\n\nBetty was standing beside him with a little box in her hand, from which\nshe took something that looked like ointment, which she smeared over her\nhusband's eyes, and all the time she did it she seemed to be mumbling some\nverses or something that sounded like a charm.  There seemed to be other\nvoices as well, though, and to Joan's great annoyance she could not see\nfrom whence they came.\n\nAll this put old Joan in a fearful flutter.  People had always told her\nthat Betty was a witch, and that Tom had the power of the evil eye, and\nnow she began to believe them.  You would not have thought so to look at\nhim, for though they were very piercing, they were handsome hazel eyes,\nclear and kind-looking,--unless he was angered, and _then_--\n\nCompletely mystified, and more inquisitive than ever, Joan went round to\nthe window by the chimney, to see if from there she could hear what they\nwere saying; but it was of no use.  The door of the cottage was on the\nlandward side, and the windows of the cottage were to seaward, and round\nthe kitchen window was a great bush of honeysuckle and 'Traveller's Joy,'\nwhich prevented anyone's getting quite close, and what with the sound of\nthe sea, the singing of the birds, and the shouting of the children below,\none might as well have been a mile off, for all one could hear!\n\nBack tiptoed Joan again, and sat down on the bench outside the house to\nthink, but her curiosity would not let her keep still, so up she jumped\nagain, and peeped through the door once more.  This time she saw that Tom\nwas standing up, preparing to come out; so not wanting to be caught\nprying, she tapped at the door, and lifting the latch at the same time,\nwalked in as if she had but that moment arrived.  She was so excited by\nwhat she was doing that she did not notice that the door opened quite\neasily now.  She went in so quickly, too, that she was just in time to see\nBetty push something under the dried ferns at the back of the chimney.\n\nAfter saying \"good day,\" and hearing what she had come for, Tom went out,\nleaving them to make their plans by themselves, but Betty, though she\nseemed pleased to see her friend, could not be persuaded to go to market\nwith her.  She was very sorry, she said, but she was very bad, she had not\nbeen well for days, and she still had a good day's work to get through\nmaking ready for Christmas.  She was not too busy, though, to make a cup\nof tea, and Joan must stay and have one with her, and away she bustled to\nthe talfat,[1] where she had a special case of tea put away.  This was\nJoan's opportunity, and she seized it.  As soon as Betty's back was\nturned, she whipped the pot of ointment out from under the ferns, stuck\nher finger in it, and popped the pot back again, in no time.  But no\nsooner had she touched her eye with the ointment than, oh! such a pain\nshot through it, she very nearly shrieked aloud.  It was as though a\nred-hot knitting needle had been run right through her eyeball!\nAnd, oh, the smarting and the burning that followed!  To prevent a sound\nescaping her she had to hug and squeeze herself with all her might, she\ndared not open her lips to speak, and the tears poured down her cheeks\nlike rain.\n\nIt was lucky for her that Betty had some trouble in dragging the chest of\ntea from under the bed, for if she had come back quickly she could not\nhave helped seeing what Joan had been doing.  By the time she returned,\nthough, the worst of the pain was over, and keeping up her hand to that\nside of her face, Joan managed to conceal the injured eye, and Betty was\ntoo busy with her fire and her kettle to be very observant.\n\n\"I'm glad you came in to have a cup with me, and drink my health, it being\nChristmas Eve and all,\" said Betty as they drew up to the table.\nThen, having drunk each other's health, they had a third cup to drink the\nhealth of the children, for, as Joan said, \"there wasn't a healthier,\nhandsomer family in the whole parish.\"  Then they drank the health of the\nmermaids, for it is always wise to be civil to them, and after that Joan\nrose to go.\n\nBefore she could go, though, she felt she must manage to open her injured\neye, which still watered and smarted a good deal.  So she rubbed it and\nblinked and winked until at last she managed to part the lids,--when, lo\nand behold! to her amazement and alarm she saw that the house, which she\nhad thought empty save for herself and Betty, was simply thronged with\nLittle People!\n\nThere was not a spot that was free of them!  They were climbing up the\ndressers, hanging on to the beams, swinging on the fishing nets, hanging\nacross them, playing pranks on the clock, on the table, and the\nmantelpiece, sliding down the saucepan handles, riding races on mice,--\nthey were everywhere, in fact, and up to every kind of game.\n\nThey were all very beautifully dressed.  Most of the little men wore green\nvelvet, trimmed with scarlet, and their long green caps, which most of\nthem were waving frantically, had long scarlet feathers in them.\nThey all wore little red boots, too, and large silver spurs,--at least,\nlarge for fairies.\n\nThe ladies were very consequential little people indeed, and swept about\nin their long-trained gowns as though they were Court ladies at a\nDrawing-room.  On their little shoes they had diamond buckles, and their\ngreat steeple-crowned hats were garlanded with beautiful flowers.\nSuch flowers as are seldom seen on Christmas Eve, but the Little People\nhave gardens under the sea where the flowers bloom in wonderful beauty all\nthe year round.  Fishermen see them sometimes on moonlight nights, when\nthe water is clear and the wind calm, and if they listen closely they can\nhear exquisite fairy music floating across the waters from bay to bay.\n\nBack in the corner by Betty's wood heap were a lot of Spriggans, poor\ndepressed little creatures, dirty and sullen-looking.  They were not\nlively like the others, for you know they have to guard the Fairy\ntreasures all the year round, and they get no fun at all, as other fairies\ndo.  So they are naturally not very lively.\n\nWhile Joan was standing gazing, open-mouthed, bewildered by what she saw,\nstrains of the most beautiful music reached her ears, and gradually a\nchange began to come over the whole house.  It was no wonder that she\nthought her head was turned!  The music came nearer and nearer, and\nmingling with it was the tramp of hundreds of little feet; at last it came\nquite close, and through the window marched a regiment of robins as\nunconcernedly as a regiment of soldiers entering their barracks.\nQuite gravely they stepped down from the window, marched across the room,\nand flew up to the beam, where they perched themselves in perfect order,\nand began to sing as hard as they possibly could.  In a moment or two they\nwere followed through the window by a regiment of wrens, and then by a\nregiment of Little People, all playing on every kind of musical instrument\never invented, and on a number made out of reeds, and shells, such as had\nnever been seen before or since.\n\nStepping down gracefully from the window to the floor, the band, followed\nby numbers of little ladies and gentlemen, carrying branches of herbs and\nflowers, marched with stately tread past old Betty Trenance, bowed to her\nin a most respectful manner in passing, then arranged themselves in\nperfect order behind her.  Last of all came another troop of fairies, and\nthese took the herbs and flowers brought by the little ladies and\ngentlemen and placed them in Betty's apron.\n\n\"These are what she makes her salves and ointments of,\" thought Joan to\nherself; \"no wonder she is thought so clever.\"\n\nThis done, all the other fairies who had been playing about the house came\ndown to the floor and joined the new-comers.  Such a crowd never was seen!\nNo sooner had the flowers and herbs been heaped in Betty's lap than\nanother troop of fairies came forward with fox-glove bells full of dyes,\nwhich they poured over Betty's dress, when in a moment her russet gown was\nchanged to the softest white velvet, her apron to the filmiest lace,\nedged all round with a delicate fringe of harebells and snowdrops.\nOther fairies outlined the quilted 'diamonds' of her petticoat with silver\ncord.\n\nWhen her dress had been transformed in this way, all the troop of Little\nPeople came forward with dainty bunches of flowers to complete her toilet,\nsweet wild flowers they were, delicate speedwells and forget-me-nots with\ntheir fresh green, and their innocent blue eyes; the warm scarlet\npimpernel, violets, snowdrops, heather bells, and ladies' white\npetticoats.  Some of each and every kind of flower we find in the lanes\nand hedges.  The little ladies stitched a small nosegay in each 'diamond'\nof Betty's petticoat, and every nosegay was different.  The tiniest\nflowers of all they laid on sprays of feathery moss, others had background\nof graceful ferns, or delicate grass.  Around the hem of the skirt were\nsprays of pink and white dog-roses, while the bodice was wreathed with\ntiny pink and white convolvulus.  Sparkling at Betty's throat were such\nbrilliant jewels that Joan had to look away, her eyes were so dazzled.\n\nThe strangest part of all this was that Betty did not seem in the least\nsurprised at what was going on, and was apparently quite unaware that Joan\nwas watching her.\n\nAs soon as the gown was completed, another group of the clever little\ncreatures clambered up to the top of the high-backed chair in which Betty\nwas seated, and began to arrange her hair.  Some had quaint little pots in\ntheir hands from which they poured delicate perfumes over Betty's head,--\nJoan picked up one of the pots, which they threw aside when empty, and\nfound to her astonishment that it was only a poppy head.  Then they\ncarefully arranged every curl and wave of Betty's hair, until she looked\nas beautiful as a queen, and as dignified and stately, too; for Betty,\nthough a mischievous witch, was not at all like our ideas of one.\nShe was as clean as a new pin, and as neat and tidy as anyone could be.\nHer features were unusually handsome, and her thick dark hair, which\nreached the ground when she sat down, was full of the prettiest curls and\nwaves.\n\nAs soon as the last curl was arranged, and her tire-maidens satisfied,\nthey placed a spray of jessamine amongst her tresses, and jumped down,\ntheir task completed.\n\nAll this time the music was playing the most bewitching melodies.\n\nVery soon after this Joan began to have a feeling that Betty wished her\ngone.  The Little People, too, were making signs that she could not fail\nto understand, and such hideous grimaces at her, too, that made her long\nto box their ears.  Of course, neither Betty nor the fairies knew that she\nhad used the Fairy Ointment, and could see them, and to save herself from\nbeing found out, she bade her friend 'goodbye' with all speed.\n\nWhen Joan got outside, though, she could not resist one more sly peep in,\njust to make sure she had not been dreaming.  So down went her eye to the\nfinger-hole again, but all she saw was the kitchen, with its sanded floor\nand bright turf fire, the key-beam with the nets hanging across it, and\nBetty stitching away as fast as her fingers could fly.\n\n\"This is the most extraordinary thing I ever heard tell of,\" said Joan to\nherself.  \"I'll have another look.\"\n\nDown went her eye again, but the right one this time, and, lo and behold!\nthere was the kitchen turned into a splendid banqueting hall, hung around\nwith tapestry representing everything that had ever happened in the world.\nThe talfat-rail was turned into a balcony hung with pale blue satin, where\nsat a number of little ladies and gentlemen watching the dancing which was\ngoing on below.  The costumes of all were magnificent, the cottage was as\nbeautiful as a bit of Fairyland, and seated on a golden chair of state\nunder a velvet canopy was Betty Trenance looking as royal as a queen.\n\nBetty, though, seemed to be keeping a sharp eye on the door, and as she\nhad a crowd of wicked little piskies about her, Joan thought it wise to\nget away to safer quarters.  So off she hurried, but as she went she met\nnumbers of fairies all hurrying away to Betty's cottage, while from the\nrocks below came the doleful wail of the mermaids, and all was so uncanny\nJoan was glad to hurry along as fast as she knew how.  She was really\nscared by this time, and the light was growing dim, for it was already\npast three o'clock.\n\nOnce arrived at Penzance, Joan did her marketing quickly, but by the time\nshe had finished she was very tired and very hungry, for she had had\nnothing to eat since twelve o'clock dinner, and had been trudging about\nfor hours.  So, having a piece of saffron cake in her basket, she turned\ninto an inn in Market Jew Street, to get something to drink with it, and a\nplace to sit down for a while to rest.\n\nWhen she got there she found the house so crowded that she had to sit on a\nbench outside, and here she met a lot of friends, and had a thorough good\ngossip.  They drank each other's health too, and passed the compliments of\nthe season, until Joan remembered all of a sudden that she ought to have\nbeen on her way home by that time, for the Squire would be very angry if\nshe were not there to see to things for the supper-party.\n\nUp she jumped in a great flurry, and had said 'good-bye' all round when\nshe suddenly remembered that she had not yet bought several of the things\nshe had come to town on purpose to get.  She was dreadfully vexed,\nbut there was no time to stay and think about it, she had just to hurry\nback into the market and make her purchases as quickly as possible.\n\nAt last she had really bought everything, and was about to leave, when\nunfortunately some wonderful bargains caught her eye, and it did seem to\nher sinful to go away without taking a glance at them when she might never\nhave such a chance again.  So she lingered by the stalls, and wandered up\nand down having a good look at everything, when whom should she see doing\nthe very same thing but Tom Trenance!\n\nHe did not see Joan, so she thought she would go up and speak to him, and\nask if he was going home soon, for it would be nice to have his company on\nthe way.  He was so busy, though, darting about from stall to stall, that\nJoan could never get up to him.   But she could see what he was doing, and\nthe sight made Joan's blood boil with indignation!  He was helping himself\nto everything that took his fancy!  Yarn, stockings, boots, spoons,\nclothing, until the wonder was that he could manage to stow the things\naway.\n\nThe oddest part of all, though, was that nobody seemed to see him.\nJoan looked again and again to make sure she was not dreaming, but no, he\nwas there right enough, and pocketing things as fast as he could, right\nunder the stall-keepers' very noses, and they paying no heed whatever to\nhim!\n\nJoan could bear it no longer!  She could not stand by and see such\nwickedness going on; it made her blood boil with indignation.  So over she\nbustled and touched him on the arm.\n\n\"Tom Trenance,\" she cried, \"I'm downright ashamed of 'ee!  I wonder you\nain't above carrying on such dishonest ways, and you with children to set\nan example to!  I didn't think you capable of such wickedness.\"\n\nTom for a minute looked, and was too much taken aback to speak.  But he\nquickly recovered himself.  \"Why, Joan,\" he said, taking no notice of her\naccusations, \"I take it very kind and neighbourly of 'ee to come up and\nspeak.  What sharp eyes you've got!  Now which of them did you 'appen to\ncatch sight of me with?\"\n\n\"Which? Why, both, of course,\" cried Joan, but she put up her hand first\nover one and then over the other, and found she could only see Tom with\nthe right one.  \"Why, no, I can't see 'ee with both,\" she cried in\nastonishment.  \"The left one don't seem to be a bit of good!\"\n\n\"The right one is it?\" said Tom, and his look went through her like a\ngimlet.  Then, pointing his finger at it, he muttered:--\n\n    \"Thou wicked old spy--\n        Thou shalt no more see me,\n      Nor peep nor pry\n        With that charmed eye.\"\n\nAnd at that very moment a sharp pain shot through her right eye.  It was\nso sharp that she screamed aloud, and from that moment she never could see\nwith it again.\n\nYelling, and pressing her fist into her throbbing eyeball, she rushed\nhither and thither, calling to people to come and help her, and to go and\ncatch Tom Trenance, all in one breath; but as they could not see Tom,--nor\ncould she, either, now,--they unkindly said the poor soul was crazy,\nwhich, of course, was most unjust and cruel of them, and shows what\nmistakes people can make.\n\nOf course, it was the Fairy Ointment on her eye which enabled her to see\nso much, and it was that same ointment which rendered Tom Trenance\ninvisible to everyone but to her.\n\nHow poor Joan ever found her way back to Market Jew Street again she never\ncould tell, but when she did arrive there she had, of course, to stay a\nlittle while and tell her sad story, so that it was really quite late and\ndark before she started for home; and then, what with the darkness and her\nblindness she could only crawl along.  She groped her way painfully down\nVoundervoor and over the Green, stumbling over the ruts and sandy banks\nuntil she was very nearly driven crazy.  Through only being able to see\nwith her left eye, she kept bearing away to the left side of the road, and\nI cannot tell you how many times she fell into the ditch, marketing and\nall!  And so afraid was she of falling into the sea, and so close did she\nkeep to the other side of the road away from it, that at last she went\nright through the hedge and fell over into a place called\n'Park-an-Shebbar!'\n\nLuckily one of the farm-boys was in the field, and helped her up and\npicked up her parcels for her; then, seeing how bad she was, he took her\ninto the house to rest and recover, for she seemed quite dazed by that\ntime.  There they gave her something to bring her round, and presently she\nbegan to feel better and able to go on again.\n\nBy this time she was very anxious to get home, so the lad helped her over\nthe stream and set her on the right road once more.  This time Joan\nstepped out briskly, for she was really very troubled about the Squire's\nsupper, and all the people who were expected to it.  If she did not get\nhome soon, they would have arrived first, and, oh, how angry the Squire\nwould be!\n\nBy the time, though, that she got to the top of Paul Hill, she was so\ntired she felt she could not go another step without a rest, so, though\nshe could badly spare the time, she dropped with a sigh of relief on to a\nsoft green spot, when, oh! what a shriek she gave! for the soft green spot\nwas a duck-pond covered with duck-weed!  How she got out of the pond she\ncould never tell, but she did and crept over to the other side of the\nroad, where she fell back on the hedge quite exhausted.\n\n\"Oh dear, oh dear!\" she moaned, \"I'm nearly dead.  Oh, if only I'd got our\nold Dumpling here to give me a lift; or any other quiet old horse I'd be\nthankful for.  I shall never reach home to-night on my two feet, I'm sure,\nthey are ready to drop off already!\"\n\nBarely had she uttered her wish when there by the roadside stood an old\nwhite horse, cropping quietly away at the brambles and dead ferns.\nHow he came there I can't tell you.  Whether he had been there all the\ntime without her seeing him, or whether he came by magic, no one can say,\nbut there he was.\n\nMany persons in Dame Joan's place would have been afraid to mount him,\nfearing witchcraft, or fairies' pranks, but Joan was too tired to have\nmany scruples.  So up she got and untied his feet, for he was hobbled, put\nthe rope round his head, and then managed somehow to clamber up on his\nback, basket and all.  It was hard work, but she got settled after a bit,\nthen picking up the rope, called to him to start.\n\n\"Gee wug! gee wo!\" she called, \"get up, you lazy old faggot!\" and she\nhammered away at his side with her heels with all her might--and her shoes\nwere none of the daintiest! but in spite of her coaxings and her threats,\nher kicks and her thumps, the old horse did not move an inch.\n\n\"Come up, can't you!  Gee wug, come here!\"  She beat him and kicked him\nagain until she was really too tired to move hand or foot; then, when she\nhad given up in despair, the tiresome creature made a start.  But such a\nstart! he went at a slow snail's pace, and try as Joan would she could not\nmake him go faster.\n\nAt last, though, when she reached the top of a hill, there came from the\nvalley below the cry of hounds, devil's hounds they must have been, for no\nothers would be out at that time of night.  As soon as the sounds reached\nthe old horse's ears, he pricked them up, whinnied loudly, and with a toss\nof his head and a fling of his tail started away like any young colt.\n\nAway, away, uphill and downhill they tore as fast as the wind.  Joan clung\nto the horse's mane with both hands, and yelled and yelled to him to stop.\nShe might as well, though, have held her breath.  All her marketing flew\nout of her basket, her precious beaver hat was carried away, her shawl was\nwhisked off her back!  On and on the old horse tore, jumping over\neverything that came in his way, until Joan was nearly flung from his\nback.   Presently, too, to her horror she saw that the creature was\ngrowing bigger and bigger, and higher and higher; soon he shot up above\nthe trees, then he was as high as the church tower.  Poor Joan, perched on\nhis back, grew sick, giddy, and terrified.  She was afraid now to slip off\nlest she should be dashed to pieces, and was afraid to stay there lest she\nshould fall off.\n\nFor miles and miles they travelled like this, until at last they came to\nToldave Moor, on the further side of which there was, Joan knew, a deep\nblack pool, and for this pool, to Joan's horror, the monster galloped\nstraight!\n\n\"If I don't slip off now, I shall surely be drowned outright!\" thought\npoor Joan, for the pond was deep, she felt her powers were failing her;\nher hands were numb, her limbs cramped.  She knew she could not swim.\n\"Better a dry death than a wet one, it will save my clothes, anyway!\"\nSo, letting go her hold of the creature's mane, she was about to let\nherself slide down, when the wind caught her and carried her right off the\nhorse's back.  They were going at a terrific rate, and the wind was very\nkeen on the moor; it lifted her right up in the air, high above the horse,\nand then, just as she thought she was going to disappear through the\nclouds, she was dropped plump into the rushes by the edge of the very pool\nitself.\n\nAt the same moment the air became filled with the most awful clamour, such\nyells and cries, and terrible laughter as no living being had ever heard\nbefore.  Poor old Joan thought her last hour had really come, and gave\nherself up for lost, for when she looked round she saw the fearful great\ncreature she had been riding, disappearing in the distance in flames of\nfire, and tearing after it, helter-skelter, pell-mell, was a horrible crew\nof men and dogs and horses.  Two or three hundred of them there must have\nbeen, and not one of the lot had a head on his shoulders.\n\nJoan would have screamed, too, if she had not been stricken dumb with\nfright; so, very nearly scared to death, trembling with cold and fear,\nthere she lay until they had disappeared.\n\nHow she scrambled out of her soft, damp resting-place she could never\ntell, but she did, somehow, and got as far as Trove Bottom, though without\nany shoes, for they had come off in the ditch.  Her shawl was gone, too,\nand all her marketing, and, worst of all, her precious broad-brimmed\nbeaver hat.\n\nThere was a linhay down at the Bottom, where Squire Lovell kept a lot of\nsheep, and into that Joan crept, and lay down, and from sheer exhaustion\nfell asleep and slept till morning.  How much longer she would have slept\nno one knows, but on Sunday mornings it was the Squire's habit to go down\nand look over his sheep, and on this Sunday, though it was Christmas Day,\nhe visited them as usual.\n\nHis entrance with his boys and his dogs and his flashing lantern woke old\nJoan with a start, and so certain was she that they were the horse, and\nthe huntsmen, and their hounds come again, that she sprang up in a frenzy\nof terror.  \"Get out, get out!\" she cried, \"let a poor old woman be!\"\nBut instead of the hollow laugh of the huntsmen, it was the Squire's voice\nthat answered her.\n\n\"Why, here's our poor old lost Joan!\" he cried, amazed, \"and frightened\nout of her wits, seemingly!  Why, Joan,\" he said, \"whatever have you been\nspending the night out here for?  We've been scouring the country for you,\nfor hours!\"\n\n\"Oh, Master!\" she cried, almost in tears as she dropped trembling at his\nfeet, \"for the sake of all the years I've served 'ee from your cradle up,\ndo 'ee let me die in peace, and bury me decent!\" and then, her tongue once\nset going, she poured out all the long tale of the dreadful things that\nhad happened to her since she set out for Penzance Market.\n\nHow long she would have talked no one knows, but the Squire sent for his\nmen, and between them they carried her home, and warmed and fed and\ncomforted her, for she was black and blue, wet to the skin, and half\nfrozen.  However, with all their care she soon recovered, and when she was\ndry, and warm, and rested she poured out all her adventures and disasters.\n\nTo her astonishment, though, and anger and pain, they refused to believe a\nword of it.  They did not pity her a bit; they even laughed at her.\nIndeed, they tried to make her believe that the enchanted steed was only\nthe miller's old white horse, that the demon huntsman and his hounds were\nno more nor less than her own son John riding across the moor with the\ndogs, in search of her, that her lost eye must have been scratched out by\na 'fuz'-bush; and so they went on pooh-poohing the whole of her story,--\nwhich was very nearly the most aggravating thing of all she had had to\nbear.\n\nOne thing, though, Joan had not told them, and that was about her stealing\nthe Fairy Ointment, or they would have known that she had been pisky-led\nthat night, by order of the Fairies, as a punishment, and would one and\nall have agreed that she richly deserved it.\n\n\n[1] A 'talfat' is a raised floor at one end of a cottage, on which a bed\nis placed.  Sometimes it is divided off by a wooden partition, but more\noften there is only a bar, to prevent the sleeper falling out of bed.\n\n\n\nTHE EXCITING ADVENTURE OF JOHN STURTRIDGE.\n\n\nOne of the greatest feast-days in Cornwall, and the most looked forward\nto, is St. Picrons' Day, which falls just before Christmas.  It is the\nspecial day of the tinners and streamers, their greatest holiday in the\nyear, and on it they have a great merry-making.  Picrons was the\ndiscoverer of tin in Cornwall, so they say, so, of course, it is the\nbounden duty of those who earn their living by it, to keep up his day with\nrejoicings.\n\nIt is not of St. Picrons, though, that I am going to tell you, but of John\nSturtridge, a streamer, and what befell him one year when he had been\nkeeping up St. Picrons' Day.\n\nHe had been up to the 'Rising Sun' to the great supper that was always\nheld there, and to the merry-making after it, and had enjoyed himself\nmightily.  Enjoyed himself so much, in fact, that he did not greatly\nrelish having to turn out, when both were ended, and face a long walk\nhome.\n\nIt was a bitterly cold night, and the road was a lonely one, all across\nTregarden Downs.  However, it had to be faced, and nothing was gained by\nputting it off, so John started, and at first he got along pretty well.\nTrue, he found the roads very puzzling, and difficult to follow, but that\nmay have been the fault of the moonlight, or the will-o'-the-wisps.\nAnyhow, if he did not get on very rapidly, he got on somehow, and\npresently reached the Downs.\n\nNow Tregarden Downs is a horribly wild, uncanny stretch of country,\na place where no one chooses to walk alone after nightfall, and, though\nJohn was in a cheerful mood, and did not feel at all frightened, he\nquickened his steps, and pulled hot-foot for home and bed.  He kept a\nsharp eye on the cart-tracks, too, for he had no fancy for going astray\nhere as he had done in the lanes.  Whether, though, he did go a little\nastray or not, no one can say, but all of a sudden what should he come\nupon right across his path, but a host of piskies playing all sorts of\ngames and high jinks under the shelter of a great granite boulder.\n\nWhatever John's feelings may have been at the sight of them, the piskies\nwere not troubled by the sight of John.  They were not in the least\nalarmed, the daring little imps.  They only burst into roars of wicked\nlaughter, which pretty nearly scared the wits out of poor John, and made\nhim take to his heels and run for his life!  If only he could get off the\nDowns, he thought, he would be safe enough, but the Downs, of which he\nknew every yard, seemed to-night to stretch for miles and miles, and,\ntry as he would, he could not find his way off them.  He wandered round\nand round, and up and down, and to and fro, until at last he was obliged\nto admit to himself that he did not know in the least where he was, for he\ncould not find a single landmark to guide him.\n\nIt is a very unpleasant thing to lose yourself on a big lonely Down, on a\nbleak winter's night, but it is ten times more unpleasant when you are\npursued all the way by scores of mischievous little sprites, who shriek\nwith laughter at you all the time, and from sheer wickedness delight in\nleading you into all the marshy places, the prickily 'fuz'-bushes, and\nrough boulders they can find, and nearly die of laughter when you prick or\nbump yourself, or get stuck in the mud.\n\nJohn was thoroughly frightened, and thoroughly out of temper, and was\nmeditating how he could punish his little tormentors, when suddenly from\nall sides rose a shrill cry.  \"Ho and away for Par Beach!  Ho and away for\nPar Beach!  Ho and away for Par Beach!\"\n\nHardly knowing what he was doing John shouted, too.  \"Ho and away for Par\nBeach!\" he yelled at the top of his voice, and almost before he had said\nthe words he was caught high up in the air, and in another minute found\nhimself on the great stretch of sands at Par.  As soon as they had\nrecovered their breath the piskies all formed up in rings and began to\ndance as fast as their little feet could move, and John with them.\n\n\"Ho and away for Squire Tremaine's cellar!\"  The shrill cry rang out\nagain, even as they danced.  John again repeated the cry, and in a flash\nfound himself in the cellars at Heligan,--Squire Tremaine's place,--with\nhis mischievous little companions swarming all over them.  John felt no\nfear of them now.  He joined them in all their pranks, and had a good time\nrunning from cask to cask, and bottle to bottle, opening everything and\ntasting the contents of most.\n\nJohn at last became so confused he could not remember who he was or where\nhe was; in fact, he was so confused and so sleepy that when the piskies\ncalled out, \"Ho and away for Par Beach!\" try as he would he could not\nspeak, so the piskies flew off, and John was left behind alone.\n\nJohn did not mind it in the least, at first, for it was much more pleasant\nin the shelter of the cellar, with plenty of wine to warm him, than it\nwould be out on the desolate sands at Par, where the wind blows keenly\nenough to take one's ears off.  John did mind, though, the next morning,\nwhen the butler came and discovered him.  He was groping his way between\ntwo rows of casks, trying to find his way to Luxulyan, he explained to the\nbutler, but the butler, instead of putting him in the right road, led him\nat once to Squire Tremaine's study, where John told the wonderful story of\nhis adventures.\n\nStrangely enough, though, neither the Squire nor anyone else would believe\na word of them, and without any consideration for poor John's feelings,\nthey popped him into Bodmin Jail almost as quickly as the piskies and he\nhad popped into the cellar.  And worse still, before much time had\nelapsed, they tried him, convicted him, and sentenced him to be hanged.\n\nPoor John!  Here was a dreadful state of affairs, and all brought on an\ninnocent man by those wicked piskies!  There was no escape either, or hope\nof reprieve, for people were not so tender-hearted in those days as in\nthese, and a man was not only sentenced to death for a trifle, but no one\never took any trouble to get him off.\n\nWell, the fatal day came, and John was brought to the gallows, where a\nlarge crowd was gathered to see the execution; and there stood John, with\nthe clergyman imploring him to confess, and free his mind of a load of\nfalsehood; and the hangman waiting with the noose in his hand, waiting to\nslip it over poor John's head, when suddenly a beautiful little lady,\ndressed in white and silver, appeared in the midst of the crowd gathered\nat the gallows-foot.\n\nNo one saw her come, no one knew how she got there; but without a word\nfrom her, not knowing, indeed, why they did so, every man, woman, and\nchild stood back and left a clear pathway for her right up to the\nscaffold.\n\nThere she paused, and stood, with her eyes fixed on the prisoner, who,\nhowever, did not see her, for he was too frightened to notice anything\nthat was going on around him--until, \"Ho and away for France!\" rang out a\nsweet voice, which John recognized in a moment.  With the sound of it his\npoor dazed senses returned, and the spirit to seize the chance of escape\noffered him.\n\n\"Ho and away for France!\" he yelled.  There was no danger of his not being\nable to shout this time!  And then, before anyone there could collect his\nsenses, the officers of justice saw their prisoner whisked away from out\nof their very grasp, and John was in France long before the executioner\nand the chaplain, the jailers and the crowd, had ceased gaping stupidly at\neach other.\n\n\n\nTHE TRUE STORY OF ANNE AND THE FAIRIES.\n\n\nMore than two hundred years ago there lived in the parish of St. Teath,\na poor labouring man called Jefferies, and this man had one daughter,\ncalled Anne.  Anne was a sweetly pretty girl, and a very intelligent one,\ntoo; but she was a terrible hoyden.  She shocked all the old ladies in the\nvillage, and all the prim people, dreadfully, and instead of being\nashamed, she seemed to glory in it.\n\nEveryone wondered how she came to have such a spirit, and whom she took\nafter, for her mother was as quiet and meek a little woman as ever was\nborn, and always had been; while her father was a stern, silent man, who\nlooked upon his flighty daughter as a thorn in his side, a cross laid upon\nhim for his good.  But the fact remains that Anne was the most daring of\nall the young people in the parish, doing things that even the boys were\nafraid to do, for she had no fear, nothing awed her, and there was nothing\nshe would not attempt.\n\nIn those days the fairies and piskies, witches and goblins of all sorts\nwere all over the land, and everyone knew it, and was more or less in awe\nof them.  The young people appealed to the fairies for everything, to be\nhelped in their work, to get love-draughts, to be made beautiful, and to\nknow their fortunes.  At the same time they all, except Anne, would have\nbeen scared to death if they had caught sight of one.  Anne, indeed, often\nboldly declared that she longed to see them, and would love to have a talk\nwith them; and she made up her mind that she would, too, and when once\nAnne had got an idea into her head, she generally managed to carry it out.\n\nSo, without saying anything to anyone, she went out every evening as soon\nas the sun was gone down, and wandered about looking into the fox-glove\nbells, and under the ferns, examining the Fairy Rings and every other\nlikely spot, singing:--\n\n     Fairy fair and fairy bright,\n     Come and be my chosen sprite!\n\nFor though she had got a very good and true sweetheart, named Tom, she had\na great fancy for a fairy one.  Perhaps she was thinking of the lovely\npresents that people said the fairies gave, or perhaps she thought that\nshe would like to live in a palace, and be dressed in silks and velvet,\nnone of which things could poor Tom give her, of course.\n\nOn moonlight nights Anne crept away by herself to the banks of the stream\nwhich ran through the valley, and here, walking against the current, she\nwould sing:--\n\n     Moon shines bright, water runs clear,\n     I am here, but where's my fairy dear?\n\nShe sang it wistfully enough to touch the heart of any fairy, but though\nshe went on for a long time repeating all the charms she knew, and trying,\nby every means she could think of, to please the Little People, and though\nshe often nearly put her hand on one during her searches, the Little\nPeople never showed themselves to her.\n\nThey noticed her, though, and were only biding their time.\n\nOne beautiful warm summer's day, Anne, having finished her housework\nearly, took her knitting and went and sat in an arbour at the foot of the\ngarden, for she never could bear to be cooped up indoors if she could\npossibly get out.  She had not been sitting there very long when she heard\na rustling amongst the bushes, but she took no notice of it, for she felt\nit was sure to be her lover, coming to have a talk with her; and now that\nshe was so possessed with the thought of a fairy lover, she had ceased to\ncare for poor Tom, and was extremely cool and off-hand with him.\n\nSo, at the sound of the rustling, even when it was repeated, she did not\neven raise her eyes from her knitting, or turn her head.\n\nPresently, though, the bushes were rustled more violently, and then\nsomeone gave a little laugh.  Anne moved this time, for the laugh was\ncertainly not Tom's laugh.\n\nA lane ran along at the back of the arbour, a lane which one had to pass\ndown to get to the garden gate, and it was from here that the laugh came.\nAnne peeped carefully out through the trellis-work and bushes to try to\nsee who it was who was laughing at her, but not a sign of any living being\ncould she see.  She felt annoyed, for it is extremely unpleasant to feel\nthat someone is looking at you through a peep-hole, and making game of\nyou.\n\nAnne grew so vexed she could not keep her vexation to herself.\n\"Well,\" she said aloud, feeling sure it was Tom who was trying to tease\nher, \"you may stay there till the moss grows over you, before ever I'll\ncome out to you.\"\n\nA burst of laughter, peculiarly sweet and ringing, greeted her words.\n\"Oh,\" she thought to herself, \"whoever can it be?  I'm certain sure Tom\ncould never laugh like that.  Who can it be, I wonder?\"\n\nShe felt really nervous now, for there was something unnatural about it\nall, but she tried to reassure herself by thinking that nothing could\nhappen to her in broad daylight such as it was then.  Besides which, she\ndid not know of anyone who wished to harm her, for she was a favourite\nwith everyone in the village.  She waited anxiously, though, to see what\nwould happen next.\n\nShe went on with her knitting, seemingly paying no heed to anything, but\nher ears were strained to catch the least sound, and when, after a little\nwhile, the garden gate was softly opened and closed again, she heard it\ndistinctly, and glancing up to see who was coming, she saw to her\nastonishment, not Tom, or anyone else she knew, but six little pisky\ngentlemen, handsome little creatures, with pleasant smiles and brilliantly\nshining eyes.\n\nTo her astonishment they did not seem at all disturbed at seeing her, but\ncame up and ranged themselves in a row before her and bowed to the ground.\nThey were all dressed alike in green knickerbockers and tunics, edged with\nscarlet, and tiny green caps, and one, the handsomest of the lot, had a\nbeautiful red waving feather at one side of his.  They stood and looked at\nAnne and smiled, and Anne, not at all frightened now, but pleased, smiled\nback at them.  Then he with the red feather stepped in front of the\nothers, and bowing to her in the most courtly manner, addressed her with a\ncharming friendliness which set her at ease at once.\n\nWhether this strange little gentleman was really attracted by her charms,\nor whether he acted in the same way to every pretty girl he met, one\ncannot say, but he certainly looked at Anne very affectionately and\nadmiringly, and poor Anne's heart was captured at once.  She was certain\nthere never had been such a charming little gentleman before, nor ever\ncould be again, nor one with such good taste.\n\nStooping down she held out her hand, whereupon the little gentleman\nstepped into it, and Anne lifted him to her lap.  From her lap he soon\nclimbed to her shoulder, and then he kissed her, and not only kissed her\nonce, but many times, and Anne thought him more charming than ever.\nPresently he called his companions, and they climbed up and kissed Anne,\ntoo, and patted her rosy cheeks, and smoothed her hair.  But while one of\nthem was patting her cheek, he ran his finger across her eyes, and Anne\ngave a terrible scream, for with his touch she felt as though a needle had\nbeen run through her eyeballs, and when she tried to open them again she\nfound she was blind.\n\nAt the same moment she felt herself caught up in the air, and for what\nseemed to her a very long time she was carried through it at a tremendous\nrate.  At last they came to a stop, whereupon one of the Little Men said\nsomething which Anne could not understand, and, behold, her eyesight at\nonce came back!\n\nAnd now, indeed, she had something to use it on, for she found herself in\nwhat seemed to be a perfectly gorgeous palace, or rather two or three\npalaces joined together, all built of gold and silver, with arches and\npillars of crystal, large halls with walls of burnished copper, and\nbeautiful rooms inlaid with precious marbles.  Outside was a perfect\nparadise of a garden, filled with lovely flowers, and trees laden with\nfruit or blossom.  Birds were singing everywhere, such rare birds, too!\nSome were all blue and gold, others a bright scarlet, then again others\nshone like silver or steel.  There were large lakes full of gold and\nsilver fish, and marble fountains throwing jets of water high into the\nair.  Here and there were dainty bowers covered with roses, and filled\nwithin with soft moss carpets and luxurious couches.  Walking about\neverywhere in this lovely place were scores of little ladies and\ngentlemen, dressed in rich silks and velvets, and with precious stones\nsparkling and flashing from their fingers, their hair, their shoes, indeed\nthey seemed to sparkle all over, like flowers covered with dewdrops.\nSome strolled along the walks, others reclined in the bowers, some floated\nin little scarlet or ivory boats on the lakes, others sat under the\nblossoming trees.  There seemed, indeed, no end to them, and to Anne's\ngreat astonishment, neither they nor her six companions seemed small now,\nalso, to her great delight, she was dressed as beautifully as any of them,\nand wore as beautiful jewels.  Though she did not know it, she had shrunk\nto their size, and a very lovely little fairy she made.\n\nHer gown was of white silk, with a long train bordered all round with\ntrails of green ivy, and over her shoulders she wore a long green silk\ncloak with a little scarlet hood.  Her hair looked as though it had been\ndressed by a Court hairdresser, and amidst the puffs and curls sparkled\nemeralds and diamonds, like trembling stars.  Her little green slippers\nhad silver heels, and diamond buckles on the toes, round her waist hung a\ndiamond girdle, on her neck, too, and fingers gems sparkled and flashed\nwith every movement.\n\nOh, how proud and delighted Anne did feel, and how eagerly she hoped that\nshe might always live like this!  Instead of having one cavalier as most\nof the ladies had, she had six, but the one with the red feather was her\nfavourite, and hour by hour he and Anne grew more deeply in love with one\nanother.\n\nUnfortunately, though, the other five began to grow very jealous, and they\nkept such a watch on Anne and her friend, that the poor lovers had no\nchance to get away and talk by themselves, or exchange even a look, or a\nkiss, or a handclasp.\n\nHowever, when people are determined they usually succeed in the end,\nand one day Anne and her handsome lover managed to slip away unobserved.\nHand in hand they ran to a garden which lay at some little distance from\nthe others, one that was seldom used, too, and where the flowers grew so\ntall and in such profusion that they soon were completely hidden amongst\nthem.\n\nHere they made their home, and here they lived for a time as happily as\nany two people could who loved each other more than all the world beside.\n\nAlas, though, their happiness was too great to last!  They had not been in\ntheir beautiful retreat very long, when one day they heard a great noise\nand disturbance, and to Anne's dismay the five little men followed by a\ncrowd of fairies, equally angered, burst in on them.  They had traced the\nlovers to the garden, and even to the lily-bell in which they had made\ntheir home.  With drawn swords and faces full of anger, they surrounded\nthe lily and commanded the lovers to come down.  Nearly mad with jealousy\nas they were, they heaped the most cruel and insulting speeches on the\npoor little pair.\n\nFurious with indignation Anne's lover sprang down, sword in hand, and\nfaced his attackers, but what could one do against such odds?  His sword\nwas knocked out of his hand, he himself was overpowered by the numbers who\nhurled themselves on him.  For a while he fought desperately, his back to\nthe wall, his courage unfailing, but the blows fell on him so fast and\nfurious, that in a few minutes he lay bleeding and lifeless at poor Anne's\nfeet.\n\nWhat happened next Anne never knew.  She remembered looking down on her\ndead lover through eyes almost blind with tears, she remembered seeing his\nblood staining her dainty green slippers, and splashing her gown, then\nsomeone passed a hand over her eyes, and she could see nothing.  She was\nas blind as she had been once before.\n\nAll about her she heard strange noises, like the whirring and buzzing of\nnumberless insects; she felt herself being carried through the air at a\nterrific rate, until her breath was quite taken away,--then she was placed\non a seat, and in a moment her sight came back to her.\n\nShe was back in the arbour where she had first seen the fairies, but,\ninstead of six little men, she now saw about six-and-twenty big men and\nwomen all staring at her with frightened eyes and open mouths.\n\n\"She's very bad,\" they were whispering, \"poor maid, she do look ill!\n'Tis a fit she's had, and no mistake!\"  Then seeing her open her eyes and\nlook about her, they crowded nearer.  \"Why, Anne, child, you've been in a\nfit, haven't 'ee?\"\n\nAnne lifted her arm and looked at it and her hand; there was not a\nsingle jewel on either.  She glanced down over her gown,--it was of\nlinsey-woolsey, not silk or velvet.  She closed her eyes again that they\nmight not see the tears that sprang to them.\n\n\"I don't know if I've been in a fit,\" she said wearily, but to herself she\nadded sadly, \"I know, though, that I've been in love.\"\n\n\n\nBARKER AND THE BUCCAS.\n\n\nPerhaps some of you have never heard about the 'Buccas,' or 'Knockers,'\nas some people call them, the busy little people about the same size as\npiskies, who are said to be the souls of the Jews who used to work in the\ntin mines in Cornwall.\n\nThe Buccas live always in rocks, mines, or wells, and they work\nincessantly pickaxing, digging, sifting, etc., from one year's end to the\nother, except on Christmas Day, Easter Day, All Saints' Day, and the Jews'\nSabbath.  On those days their little tools are laid aside, and all is\nquiet, but on every other you can, if you listen, hear them hammer,\nhammer, dig, dig, and their tongues chattering all the time.\n\nA lot of these little people lived and worked within the sides of a well\nin one particular part of Cornwall, the name of which I will not tell you,\nfor in the first place you would not be able to pronounce it if I did;\nand in the second, you might be tempted to go there and disturb them,\nwhich would make them angry, and bring all kinds of ill-luck and trouble\nupon yourself.\n\nThe story I am going to tell you is of someone who did disturb them, and\npried upon them after laughing at them.  The name of the youth was Barker,\na great, idle, hulking fellow, who lived in the neighbourhood of the well\nwhere these little Buccas dwelt.\n\nNow this Barker often heard the neighbours talking about the Buccas, and\npraising their industry, and, like most idle people, he disliked hearing\nothers praised for doing what he knew he ought to do but would not.\nSo, to annoy the neighbours, and the Buccas, too, he declared he \"didn't\nbelieve there wasn't no such things.  Seeing was believing, and when they\nshowed him a Bucca 'twould be soon enough for him to b'lieve there was\nsuch things.\"  And he repeated this every time the little men were\nmentioned.\n\n\"'Tis nowt but dreams,\" he sneered, \"there ba'nt no Buccas in Fairy Well,\nno more nor I'm a Bucca.\"\n\n\"You a Bucca!\" cried the neighbours, \"why, they wouldn't own such a lazy\ngood-for-nothing.  They does more work in a morning than you'd get through\nin a year, you who never does a hand's-turn for anybody and haven't sense\nenough to earn your own bread!\"\n\n\"I've sense enough to find out if there's any such things as Buccas in\nthat there well, and I'll go there and watch and listen till I finds out\nsomething, and if there's Buccas there I'll catch one!\"\n\nSo away he went to spend his time idly lying amidst the tall grass and\nferns which grew thickly around the well.  This sort of job suited him to\na nicety, for the sun was warm and pleasant, and he did no work, for, said\nhe, if he was to work he wouldn't be able to hear any sounds that might\ncome from below.  And for once he spoke the truth.\n\nDay after day Barker went and lay by the Fairy Well, and at first he heard\nnever a sound but the birds singing, and the bees humming, and his own\nbreathing.  By and by, though, other sounds began to make themselves heard\nby him, noises of digging and hammering, and numbers of little voices\ntalking and laughing merrily.\n\nBarker could not at first make out what they said, but he could understand\nthat they were always busy.  Instead, though, of taking them as an\nexample, the lazy fellow only said to himself gleefully that if others\nworked so hard, there was the less need for him to do so!\n\nHaving discovered that his neighbours were right, and that there really\nwere such people as Buccas, you would have thought that he would have\nhurried home to tell of his discoveries; but no, he liked the lazy life,\nlying in the sun by the well, doing nothing.  So he kept quiet about his\ndiscovery, and every day started off for his favourite spot, making the\nexcuse that he was still watching for Buccas.\n\nAs the days passed by he began to understand what the little workmen said,\nand he gathered from their talk that they worked in sets, and that each\nset worked for eight hours,--which was, of course, the origin of the Eight\nHours Day we hear so much about.  He also found that when they had\nfinished they hid away their tools, and every day in a fresh place.\nI cannot tell you why they hid them, or from whom, unless it was those\nother 'little people,' the Fairies and Piskies, who love to be up to\nmischief when they are not doing good.  It could not have been from each\nother that they hid the things, for they talked together about the\nhiding-places.\n\nOne evening, when the day's work was coming to an end, Barker heard the\nusual discussion begin.  \"I shall hide mine in this cleft in the rock,\"\nsaid one.\n\n\"Very well, then I will hide mine under the ferns.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said a third, \"I shall leave mine _on Barker's knee_.\"\n\nYou may be sure it gave Barker quite a shock to hear his own name spoken\nin those mysterious regions, it frightened him, too, but before he could\nstir his big, lazy body and run away,--as he meant to do,--he felt three\nhard blows, bang! whack! bang! and then a heavy weight fell crash upon his\nknee.\n\nBarker roared and bellowed like a great calf, for the pain was very great,\nand he was a big coward.\n\n\"Take it away! take it away!\" he cried, but the only answer was peal upon\npeal of mocking laughter.  \"Oh my poor knee, oh my poor knee, I'm lame for\nlife!  Take away them tools!  Oh my, oh my!\" but the more he screamed,\nthe more the Buccas laughed.  They laughed and laughed until they were\ntired, then they vanished, and Master Barker was left to make his way home\nas best he could.  He did not want to tell the neighbours how he got his\nstiff knee, but pretended he had had a fall; the neighbours, though,\nsoon found out, and pretty well he was laughed at for a long time wherever\nhe went.\n\nNever again did Barker doubt the existence of the Buccas, never again did\nhe speak disrespectfully of them, nor could he forget the lesson he had\nbeen taught, for to his dying day he had a stiff knee, and nothing would\ncure it.\n\nNow, if ever you hear of anyone having 'Barker's knee' you will know that\nhe has spoken rudely of the Buccas, and that the Buccas have paid him out.\n\n\n\nLUTEY AND THE MERMAID.\n\n\nOne lovely summer evening many, many years ago, an old man named Lutey was\nstanding on the seashore not far from that beautiful bit of coast called\nthe Lizard.\n\nOn the edge of the cliff above him stood a small farm, and here he lived,\nspending his time between farming, fishing, and, we must admit it,\nsmuggling, too, whenever he got a chance.  This summer evening he had\nfinished his day's work early, and while waiting for his supper he\nstrolled along the sands a little way, to see if there was any wreckage to\nbe seen, for it was long since he had had any luck in that way, and he was\nvery much put out about it.\n\nThis evening, though, he was no luckier than he had been before, and he\nwas turning away, giving up his search as hopeless, when from somewhere\nout seaward came a long, low, wailing cry.  It was not the melancholy cry\nof a gull, but of a woman or child in distress.\n\nLutey stopped, and listened, and looked back, but, as far as he could see,\nnot a living creature was to be seen on the beach but himself.\nEven though while he listened the sound came wailing over the sand again,\nand this time left no doubt in his mind.  It was a voice.  Someone was in\ntrouble, evidently, and calling for help.\n\nFar out on the sands rose a group of rocks which, though covered at high\nwater, were bare now.  It was about half ebb, and spring tide, too, so the\nsea was further out than usual, so far, in fact, that a wide bar of sand\nstretched between the rocks and the sea.  It was from these rocks that the\ncry seemed to come, and Lutey, feeling sure that someone was out there in\ndistress, turned and walked back quickly to see if he could give any help.\n\nAs he drew near he saw that there was no one on the landward side, so he\nhurried round to the seaward,--and there, to his amazement, his eyes met a\nsight which left him almost speechless!\n\nLying on a ledge at the base of the rock, partially covered by the long\nseaweed which grew in profusion over its rough sides, and partially by her\nown hair, which was the most glorious you can possibly imagine, was the\nmost beautiful woman his eyes had ever lighted upon.  Her skin was a\ndelicate pink and white, even more beautiful than those exquisite little\nshells one picks up sometimes on the seashore, her clear green eyes\nsparkled and flashed like the waves with the sun on them, while her hair\nwas the colour of rich gold, like the sun in its glory, and with a ripple\nin it such as one sees on the sea on a calm day.\n\nThis wonderful creature was gazing mournfully out at the distant sea,\nand uttering from time to time the pitiful cry which had first attracted\nLutey's attention.  She was evidently in great distress, but how to offer\nher help and yet not frighten her he knew not, for the roar of the sea had\ndeadened the sound of his footsteps on the soft sand, and she was quite\nunconscious of his presence.\n\nLutey coughed and hem'd, but it was of no use--she could not or did not\nhear; he stamped, he kicked the rock, but all in vain, and at last he had\nto go close to her and speak.\n\n\"What's the matter, missie?\" he said.  \"What be doing all out here by\nyourself?\"  He spoke as gently as possible, but, in spite of his\ngentleness, the lovely creature shrieked with terror, and diving down into\nthe deep pool at the base of the rock, disappeared entirely.\n\nAt first Lutey thought she had drowned herself, but when he looked closely\ninto the pool, and contrived to peer through the cloud of hair which\nfloated like fine seaweed all over the top of it, he managed to\ndistinguish a woman's head and shoulders underneath, and looking closer he\nsaw, he was sure, a fish's tail!  His knees quaked under him, at that\nsight, for he realized that the lovely lady was no other than a mermaid!\n\nShe, though, seemed as frightened as he was, so he summoned up his courage\nto speak to her again, for it is always wise to be kind to mermaids, and\nto avoid offending them, for if they are angry there is no knowing what\nharm they may do to you.\n\n\"Don't be frightened, lady,\" he said coaxingly; \"I wouldn't hurt 'ee for\nthe world, I wouldn't harm a living creature.  I only wants to know what\nyour trouble is.\"\n\nWhile he was speaking, the maiden had raised her head slightly above the\nwater, and now was gazing at him with eyes the like of which he had never\nseen before.  \"I 'opes she understands Carnish,\" he added to himself,\n\"for 'tis the only langwidge I'm fluent in.\"\n\n\"Beautiful sir,\" she replied in answer to his thoughts, \"we sea-folk can\nunderstand all languages, for we visit the coast of every land, and all\nthe tribes of the world sail over our kingdom, and oft-times come down\nthrough the waters to our home.  The greatest kindness you can do me is to\ngo away.  You are accustomed to women who walk, covered with silks and\nlaces.  We could not wear such in our world, sporting in the waves,\nswimming into caverns, clambering into sunken ships.  You cannot realize\nour free and untrammelled existence.\"\n\n\"Now, my lovely lady,\" said old Lutey, who did not understand a half of\nwhat she was saying, \"don't 'ee think anything about such trifles,\nbut stop your tears and tell me what I can do for 'ee.  For, for sure,\nI can help 'ee somehow.  Tell me how you come'd here, and where you wants\nto get to.\"\n\nSo the fair creature floated higher in the water, and, gradually growing\nbraver, she presently climbed up and perched herself on the rock where\nLutey had first seen her.  Her long hair fell about her like a glorious\nmantle, and she needed no other, for it quite covered her.  Holding in her\nhand her comb and mirror, and glancing from time to time at the latter,\nshe told the old man her story.\n\n\"Only a few hours ago,\" she said sadly, \"I was sporting about with my\nhusband and children, as happy as a mermaiden could be.  At length,\ngrowing weary, we all retired to rest in one of the caverns at Kynance,\nand there on a soft couch of seaweed my husband laid himself down to\nsleep.  The children went off to play, and I was left alone.  For some\ntime I watched the crabs playing in the water, or the tiny fish at the\nbottom of the pools, but the sweet scent of flowers came to me from the\ngardens of your world, borne on the light breeze, and I felt I must go and\nsee what these flowers were like whose breath was so beautiful, for we\nhave nothing like it in our dominions.  Exquisite sea-plants we have, but\nthey have no sweet perfume.\n\n\"Seeing that my husband was asleep, and the children quite happy and safe,\nI swam off to this shore, but when here I found I could not get near the\nflowers; I could see them on the tops of the cliffs far, far beyond my\nreach, so I thought I would rest here for a time, and dress my hair, while\nbreathing in their sweetness.\n\n\"I sat on, dreaming of your world and trying to picture to myself what it\nwas like, until I awoke with a start to find the tide far out, beyond the\nbar.  I was so frightened I screamed to my husband to come and help me,\nbut even if he heard me he could not get to me over that sandy ridge; and\nif he wakes before I am back, and misses me, he will be so angry, for he\nis very jealous.  He will be hungry, too, and if he finds no supper\nprepared he will eat some of the children!\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear!\" cried Lutey, quite horrified, \"he surely wouldn't never do\nsuch a dreadful thing!\"\n\n\"Ah, you do not know Mermen,\" she said sorrowfully.  \"They are such\ngluttons, and will gobble up their children in a moment if their meals are\na little late.  Scores of my children have been taken from me.  That is\nhow it is,\" she explained, \"that you do not oftener see us sea-folk.\nPoor children, they never learn wisdom!  Directly their father begins to\nwhistle or sing, they crowd about him, they are so fond of music, and he\ngets them to come and kiss his cheek, or whisper in his ear, then he opens\nwide his mouth, and in they go.--Oh dear, what shall I do!  I have only\nten little ones left, and they will all be gone if I don't get home before\nhe wakes!\"\n\n\"Don't 'ee take on so, my dear.  The tide will soon be in, and then you\ncan float off as quick as you like.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I cannot wait,\" she cried, tears running down her cheeks.\n\"Beautiful mortal, help me!  Carry me out to sea, give me your aid for ten\nminutes only, and I will make you rich and glorious for life.  Ask of me\nanything you want, and it shall be yours.\"\n\nLutey was so enthralled by the loveliness of the mermaid, that he stood\ngazing at her, lost in wonder.  Her voice, which sounded like a gentle\nmurmuring stream, was to him the most lovely music he had ever heard.\nHe was so fascinated that he would have done anything she asked him.\nHe stooped to pick her up.\n\n\"First of all, take this,\" she said, giving him her pearl comb, \"take\nthis, to prove to you that you have not been dreaming, gentle stranger,\nand that I will do for you what I have said.  When you want me, comb the\nsea three times with this, and call me by my name, 'Morwenna,' and I will\ncome to you.  Now take me to the sea.\"\n\nStooping again he picked her up in his arms.  She clung tightly to him,\ntwining her long, cool arms around his neck, until he felt half\nsuffocated.  \"Tell me your wishes,\" she said sweetly, as they went along;\n\"you shall have three.  Riches will, of course, be one.\"\n\n\"No, lady,\" said Lutey thoughtfully, \"I don't know that I'm so set on\ngetting gold, but I'll tell 'ee what I should like.  I'd dearly love to be\nable to remove the spells of the witches, to have power over the spirits\nto make them tell me all I want to know, and I'd like to be able to cure\ndiseases.\"\n\n\"You are the first unselfish man I have met,\" cried the mermaid\nadmiringly, \"you shall have your wishes, and, in addition, I promise you\nas a reward, that your family shall never come to want.\"\n\nIn a state of great delight, Lutey trudged on with his lovely burthen,\nwhile she chatted gaily to him of her home, of the marvels and the riches\nof the sea, and the world that lay beneath it.\n\n\"Come with me, noble youth,\" she cried, \"come with me to our caves and\npalaces; there are riches, beauty, and everything mortal can want.\nOur homes are magnificent, the roofs are covered with diamonds and other\ngems, so that it is ever light and sparkling, the walls are of amber and\ncoral.  Your floors are of rough, ugly rocks, ours are of mother-of-pearl.\nFor statuary we have the bodies of earth's most beautiful sons and\ndaughters, who come to us in ships, sent by the King of the Storms.\nWe embalm them, so that they look more lovely even than in life, with\ntheir eyes still sparkling, their lips of ruby-red, and the delicate pink\nof the sea-shell in their cheeks.  Come and see for yourself how well we\ncare for them, and how reposeful they look in their pearl and coral homes,\nwith sea-plants growing around them, and gold and silver heaped at their\nfeet.  They crossed the world to get it, and their journeys have not been\nfailures.   Will you come, noble stranger?  Come to be one of us whose\nlives are all love, and sunshine, and merriment?\"\n\n\"None of it's in my line, I'm thinking, my dear,\" said Lutey.  \"I'd rather\ncome across some of the things that have gone down in the wrecks, wines\nand brandy, laces and silks; there's a pretty sight of it all gone to the\nbottom, one time and another, I'm thinking.\"\n\n\"Ah yes!  We have vast cellars full of the choicest wines ever made, and\ncaves stored with laces and silks.  Come, stranger, come, and take all you\nwant.\"\n\n\"Well,\" answered the old smuggler, who was thinking what a fine trade he\ncould do, if only he could reach those caves and cellars, \"I must say I'd\nlike to, 'tis very tempting, but I should never live to get there,\nI'm thinking.  I should be drownded or smothered before I'd got half-way.\"\n\n\"No, oh no, I can manage that for you.  I will make two slits under your\nchin, your lovely countenance will not suffer, for your beard will hide\nthem.  Such a pair of gills is all you want, so do not fear.  Do not leave\nme, generous-hearted youth.  Come to the mermaid's home!\"  They were in\nthe sea by this time, and the breakers they wanted to reach were not far\noff.  Lutey felt strangely tempted to go with this Siren; her flashing\ngreen eyes had utterly bewitched him by this time, and her promises had\nturned his head.  She saw that he was almost consenting, almost in her\npower.  She clasped her long, wet, finny fingers more closely round his\nneck, and pressed her cool lips to his cheeks.\n\nAnother instant, and Lutey would have gone to his doom, but at that moment\nthere came from the shore the sound of a dog barking as though in\ndistress.  It was the barking of Lutey's own dog, a great favourite with\nits master.  Lutey turned to look.  At the edge of the water the poor\ncreature stood; evidently frantic to follow its master, it dashed into the\nsea and out again, struggling, panting.  Beyond, on the cliff, stood his\nhome, the windows flaming against the sun, his garden, and the country\nround looking green and beautiful; the smoke was rising from his chimney,\n--ah, his supper! The thought of his nice hot meal broke the spell, and he\nsaw his danger.\n\n\"Let me go, let me go!\" he shrieked, trying to lower the mermaid to the\nground.  She only clung the more tightly to him.  He felt a sudden fear\nand loathing of the creature with the scaly body, and fish's tail.  Her\ngreen eyes no longer fascinated him.  He remembered all the tales he had\nheard of the power of mermaids, and their wickedness, and grew more and\nmore terrified.\n\n\"Let me go!\" he yelled again, \"unwind your gashly great tail from about my\nlegs, and your skinny fingers from off my throat, or I'll--I'll kill you!\"\nand with the same he whipped his big clasp-knife from his pocket.\n\nAs the steel flashed before the mermaid's eyes she slipped from him and\nswam slowly away, but as she went she sang, and the words floated back to\nLutey mournfully yet threateningly.  \"Farewell, farewell for nine long\nyears.  Then, my love, I will come again.  Mine, mine, for ever mine!\"\n\nPoor Lutey, greatly relieved to see her disappear beneath the waves,\nturned and waded slowly back to land, but so shaken and upset was he by\nall that had happened, that it was almost more than he could accomplish.\nOn reaching the shore he just managed to scramble to the shed where he\nkept many of the treasures he had smuggled from time to time, but having\nreached it he dropped down in a deep, overpowering sleep.\n\nPoor old Ann Betty Lutey was in a dreadful state of mind when supper-time\ncame and went and her husband had not returned.  He had never missed it\nbefore.  All through the night she watched anxiously for him, but when\nbreakfast-time came, and still there was no sign of him, she could not\nrest at home another minute, and started right away in search of him.\n\nShe did not have to search far, though.  Outside the door of the shed she\nfound the dog lying sleeping, and as the dog was seldom seen far from his\nmaster, she thought she would search the shed first,--and there, of\ncourse, she found her husband.\n\nHe was still sound asleep.  Ann Betty, vexed at once at having been\nfrightened for nothing, shook him none too gently.  \"Here, Lutey, get up\nto once, do you hear!\" she cried crossly.  \"Why ever didn't 'ee come in to\nsupper,--such a beautiful bit of roast as I'd got, too!  Where've 'ee\nbeen? What 'ave 'ee been doing?  What 'ave 'ee been sleeping here for?\"\n\nLutey raised himself into a sitting position.  \"Who are you?\" he shouted.\n\"Are you the beautiful maiden come for me?  Are you Morwenna?\"\n\n\"Whatever are you talking about?  You haven't called me beautiful for the\nlast thirty years, and I ain't called Morwenna.  I'm Ann Betty Lutey, your\nown lawful wife, and if you don't know me, you must be gone clean out of\nyour mind.\"\n\n\"Ann Betty Lutey,\" said the old man solemnly, \"if you're my lawful wife\nyou've had a narrow escape this night of being left a widow woman, and you\nmay be thankful you've ever set eyes on me again.\"\n\n\"Come in and have some breakfast,\" said Ann Betty Lutey sternly, \"and if\nyou ain't better then I'll send for the doctor.  It's my belief your brain\nis turned.\"\n\nLutey got up obediently and went in to his breakfast; indeed, he was glad\nenough of it, for he was light-headed from want of food.  His breakfast\ndid him good.  Before he had finished it he was able to tell his wife\nabout his adventure the night before, and he told it so gravely and\nsensibly that Ann Betty believed every word of it, and no longer thought\nhis brain was turned.\n\nIndeed, she was so much impressed by his story that before many hours had\npassed she had gone round to every house in the parish spreading the news,\nand to prove the truth of it she produced the pearl comb.\n\nThen, oh dear, the gossiping that went on!  It really was dreadful!\nThe women neglected their homes, their children, and everything else for\nthe whole of that week; and for months after old Lutey was besieged by all\nthe sick and sorry for miles and miles around, who came to him to be\ncured.  He did such a big business in healing people, that not a doctor\nfor miles round could earn a living.  Everyone went to old Lutey, and when\nit was found that he had power over witchcraft, too, he became the most\nimportant man in the whole country.\n\nLutey had been so rude and rough to the mermaiden when he parted from her,\nthat no one would have been surprised if she had avenged herself on him\nsomehow, and punished him severely.  But no, she was true to all her\npromises.  He got all his wishes, and neither he nor his descendants have\never come to want.  Better far, though, would it have been for him had it\nbeen otherwise, for he paid dearly enough for his wishes in the end.\n\nNine years from that very time, on a calm moonlight night, Lutey,\nforgetting all about the mermaid and her threats, arranged to go out with\na friend to do a little fishing.  There was not a breath of wind stirring,\nand the sea was like glass, so that a sail was useless, and they had to\ntake to the oars.  Suddenly, though, without any puff of wind, or anything\nelse to cause it, the sea rose round the boat in one huge wave, covered\nwith a thick crest of foam, and in the midst of the foam was Morwenna!\n\nMorwenna! as lovely as ever, her arms outstretched, her clear green eyes\nfixed steadily, triumphantly on Lutey.   She did not open her lips, or\nmake a sign, she only gazed and gazed at her victim.\n\nFor a moment he looked at her as though bewildered, then like one bereft\nof his senses by some spell, he rose in the boat, and turned his face\ntowards the open sea.  \"My time is come,\" he said solemnly and sadly, and\nwithout another word to his frightened companion he sprang out of the boat\nand joined the mermaid.  For a yard or two they swam in silence side by\nside, then disappeared beneath the waves, and the sea was as smooth again\nas though nothing had happened.\n\nFrom that moment poor Lutey has never been seen, nor has his body been\nfound.  Probably he now forms one of the pieces of statuary so prized by\nthe mermaiden, and stands decked with sea-blossoms, with gold heaped at\nhis feet.  Or, maybe, with a pair of gills slit under his chin, he swims\nabout in their beautiful palaces, and revels in the cellars of shipwrecked\nwines.  The misfortunes to his family did not end, though, with Lutey's\ndisappearance, for, no matter how careful they are, how far they live from\nthe sea, or what precautions they take to protect themselves, every ninth\nyear one of old Lutey's descendants is claimed by the sea.\n\n\n\nTHE WICKED SPECTRE.\n\n\nThere was once upon a time a good old Cornish family of the name of\nRosewarne.  Well-born, well-to-do gentlepeople they were, who had always\nlived in their own fine old house on their own estate, and never knew what\nit was to want any comfort or luxury.\n\nThe family in time, though, grew larger than their income, and their pride\nand their dignity were greater than either, so that in trying to support\nthe large family according to their larger dignity, the poor little income\ngot quite swallowed up and the whole family of Rosewarne became involved\nin poverty and great difficulties.\n\nMr. Rosewarne, the father of the last of the family to live on the\nproperty, employed for his lawyer and man of business an attorney called\nEzekiel Grosse, and, as so often happens, as fast as Mr. Rosewarne went\ndown in the world, his lawyer went up.\n\nEzekiel grew rich, no one knew how, and prospered in every way; Mr.\nRosewarne grew poor, and lost in every way.  Nothing on the property paid,\nand at last, to his great grief and never-ceasing regret, Mr. Rosewarne\nhad to sell his beloved home and everything belonging to him.  Then, who\nshould come forward to buy it, as soon as ever it was put up for sale,\nbut his own lawyer, Ezekiel Grosse!\n\nEverybody wondered, and most people declared that Ezekiel could not have\nmade such a large sum honestly by his business; that he must have other\nand less straight methods of getting money.  Anyhow, whether he made it\nhonestly, or dishonestly, he had enough to buy the estate he coveted, and\nas soon as the old family could turn out, he himself took up his abode in\nthe fine old house, and a very proud man he was.\n\nIf, though, he was a proud man as he sat in the spacious library, or\nwandered through the lofty rooms and noble old hall, he could not have\nbeen a very happy one, and very little enjoyment could he have got out of\nhis new possession, for, from the very hour he entered and took up his\nabode there, such unearthly and mysterious noises, such fearful screams\nand gruesome groans worried and haunted and dogged him, as made his hair\nstand on end, and nearly scared him out of his wits.  A ghost, too,\nappeared in the park as soon as night fell.\n\nAs Ezekiel crossed the park he would be suddenly confronted by a white,\nworn face and a pair of great, ghastly, luminous eyes.  It would rise up\nfrom the ground in front of him, or pop round trees and bushes at him, or,\non raising his eyes, he would find it confronting him over a hedge.  And\nbefore very long the ghost, not content with making noises in the house,\nand haunting the park, took it into his head to enter the house, and make\nthat his permanent home.\n\nWhen Ezekiel came face to face with him indoors, he thought he was not\nsuch a terrible ghost after all, and much of his fear left him, for the\nghost to look at seemed only an infirm old man.  Indeed the lawyer found\nhim less terrifying than the horrible uncanny sounds which seemed to come\nfrom nowhere, and could not be accounted for.\n\nBy and by, though, the ghost's visits were repeated so often, and he began\nto make such mysterious signs and movements, that the surly lawyer soon\nlost patience, and before long grew so seriously angry that he determined\nto put an end to the annoyance and rid himself of his tormentor once and\nfor all.\n\nThe very next night as Ezekiel sat alone in his office looking over some\npapers, and making up his accounts, the ghost glided into the room as\nusual, and taking up his position opposite, at once began to make the\nusual mysterious and extraordinary signs.  The lawyer was very irritable,\nhe had lost an important case, and was out of spirits, he was unusually\nnervous, too.  For a while he bore the presence of the ghost and his\nextraordinary behaviour with a certain amount of patience, then suddenly\nhe lost his temper.\n\n\"For pity's sake tell me what it is you want with me, and be done with it,\ncan't you?\" he cried angrily.\n\nThe ghost immediately stopped his gesticulations, and spoke.\n\"Ezekiel Grosse,\" said he, in a hollow, ghostly voice, \"Ezekiel Grosse,\nfollow me.  I can show you buried gold, the wealth for which thou\nlongest.\"\n\nNow no man in the world loved gold better than did the attorney, but he\nwas anything but a brave man, and even he himself knew that he was not a\ngood one, and the thought of going alone with this uncanny guide, to some\ndesolate spot where no one could see or hear him if he called for help,\nmade his teeth chatter and his knees tremble.\n\nHe hesitated, and gazed searchingly at the little old ghost, but to save\nhis life he could not utter a word.   He nearly suffocated with longing to\npossess the secret and know where the treasure lay, but he dared not ask;\nand all the time the spectre stood staring at him with unwinking scornful\neyes, as if the sight of the cowardly, trembling man gave him unfeigned\npleasure.\n\nAt length, beckoning Ezekiel to follow him, he turned and walked towards\nthe door.  Then Ezekiel, fearful of losing the secret and the wealth,\nthrew aside every feeling but greed, and sprang to follow--at least, he\ntried to spring, but so firmly was he secured to his chair he could not\nbudge.\n\n\"Come,\" said the ghost imperatively.\n\nEzekiel tried again, but great as was his longing to find the gold, he\ncould not obey.\n\n\"Gold,\" whispered the ghost in a whining, craven tone, \"don't you hear me,\nman?  Gold!\"\n\n\"Where?\" gasped the lawyer, making another desperate struggle.\n\n\"Come with me, and you shall see,\" answered the spectre, moving further\nthrough the doorway; and the lawyer struggled like a madman to get free\nfrom the chair and to follow.\n\n\"Come, man, come,\" shrieked the ghost in a perfectly awful voice.\n\"Ezekiel Grosse, I command thee.\"  And with that Ezekiel, by a power\nstronger than his own, was forced to rise and to follow the old man\nwheresoever he led him.\n\nOut through the hall they went, down through the park, and on and on by\nways the attorney did not know, until at last they arrived at a little\ndell.  The night was pitchy dark, and nothing could Ezekiel see but the\nghostly figure gliding along ahead of him, all lit by a weird\nphosphorescent light.  In the dell was a small granite cairn, and here the\nghost stopped and looked around for the attorney.\n\n\"Ezekiel Grosse,\" said he, when Ezekiel had come up and was standing on\nthe other side of the cairn.  \"Ezekiel Grosse, thou longest for gold.\nSo did I!  I won the prize, but I found no pleasure in it.  Beneath those\nstones lies treasure enough to make thee richer than thou hast ever\ndreamed of.  Dig for it, it is yours.  Obtain it and keep it all to\nyourself, and be one of the rich men of the earth, and when thou art\nhappiest I will come and look upon you.\"\n\nWith that the spectre disappeared, and Ezekiel, overcome with fright and\namazement, was left alone by the cairn.\n\n\"Well,\" he said at last, recovering his courage, \"I don't care if you are\nghost or devil, I will soon find out if you are telling me lies or not!\"\nA harsh laugh sounded through the darkness, as though in answer to his\nbrave words, and once again the attorney trembled with fear.\n\nHe did not begin his search that night, but taking careful note of the\nexact spot, he returned to his house to think over all that had happened;\nand what he decided was that he was not going to let any squeamishness\nstand in the way of a fortune.\n\n\"I'll tip over that old cairn,\" he said, with a great show of coolness,\n\"and I'll search every foot of ground under it and around it, and it shall\nnot be my fault if the treasure is not found!\"\n\nSo, a night or two later, armed with a crowbar and other tools, away he\nstarted secretly, and found his way again to the lonely dell, where he\nsoon dispersed the stones of the cairn and began his digging.  The ground\nwas hard and flinty, and the work anything but easy, but he had not far to\ndig before he came across something, something hard and round, which\nincreased his excitement until it nearly suffocated him.\n\nFeverishly he dug and dug, and cleared away the earth until at last he had\nlaid bare a large metallic urn sunk deep in the ground, an urn so large\nand heavy that though he used his utmost strength, and his strength by\nthat time was almost that of a madman, he could not move it, much less\ncarry it home with him; and having brought no light he could not even\nexamine it.  So all he could do that night was to cover it over again with\nearth, and replace the stones on the top so that no one, coming upon it,\nshould guess that the cairn had been touched.  Ezekiel scarcely knew how\nto live through the next twenty-four hours, and as soon as it was dark on\nthe following evening he crept out of his house, with a dark lantern\nconcealed beneath his cloak.\n\nHe knew his way to the dell so well now that he reached there very\nquickly, and with very little trouble he threw down the cairn and laid\nbare the urn again.  By the light of the lantern he soon forced open the\nlid, in spite of the trembling of his eager, covetous fingers.  The lid\noff he went to plunge his hand in boldly, when to his unspeakable delight\nhe found the thing full to the brim of gold coins of all sorts and sizes,\nand from all countries, coins of the rarest and most valuable description!\n\nGlancing round every now and then to see that he was not followed, or that\nno one had come upon him accidentally, he loaded every pocket in his\nclothing with his treasure, then he buried the urn, rebuilt the cairn, and\nhurried back to his house anxious to conceal his wealth in a place of\nsafety.\n\nFrom that time forward, whenever he could get out without arousing the\nsuspicions of his servants, he went night after night to the cairn, until\nhe had brought away every coin, and had them all carefully hidden in\nRosewarne House.\n\nAnd now, his treasure safe, himself the richest man in the county,\nEzekiel Grosse began to feel perfectly happy.  He built new wings on to\nthe old house, he laid out the gardens, and made improvements everywhere;\neven in his own clothing and his personal appearance.\n\nThe people round could not help noticing the changes that were taking\nplace, the money that was being spent, and the improvements that were\nbeing made.  You may be quite sure, too, that the attorney took care to\nparade his wealth, for, having money, a fine house, fine clothes, and\ncarriages and servants, indeed, everything but friends, he began to want\nfriends too, and people to whom to show off his grandeur.\n\nAnd before very long, though everyone knew his character, and what he had\nbeen and what he had done, the neighbouring gentry began to seek his\nacquaintance, and many of them declared themselves his friends.\n\nAfter that the attorney broke forth in quite a new way, he began to give\nentertainments more lavish and splendid than anything of the kind ever\nknown in the county.  Everyone flocked to him, people plotted and\nstruggled to get invitations from him.  They quite ignored the fact that\nbut a little while before he had been a poor rogue of an attorney whom\nthey all despised, and that he had come by his wealth by means which no\none had been able to fathom.  They all seemed to be bewitched, to be under\nsome spell.\n\nHigh revels were constantly held at Rosewarne House, now, and the gayest\nand liveliest of all the people gathered there was the master himself.\nHe was as happy at this time as a man could be, and a great part of his\nhappiness was due to the fact that he had never set eyes on his ghostly\nvisitor since the night he conducted him to the treasure in the dell.\n\nMonths went by, the feastings and gaieties grew more and more splendid,\nthe hospitality more and more profuse, those who had not his acquaintance,\ncraved it, and everyone bowed before the 'Lord of Rosewarne,' as in time\nhe came to be called.\n\nIndeed, he went about as though he were the lord of the whole county, and\neveryone his inferior.  He travelled always in a chaise and four, he kept\nnumberless carriages, horses, servants.  He was elected to every high\nposition in the county, and he was never tired of preaching of the beauty\nof honesty and uprightness, and our duty to our poorer brethren.\n\nSo things went on until one Christmas Eve, when there was gathered at\nRosewarne a large company of the most beautiful and well-born of all the\nfamilies in Cornwall.  Such a gathering had seldom been seen as was\ngathered that night in the great hall for the ball Ezekiel Grosse was\ngiving; and in the kitchen was an equally large party engaged in the same\nform of enjoyment.\n\nFood and wine were provided in lavish profusion, everything was on a most\nsumptuous scale.  Merriment ran high, everyone was in the gayest of\nspirits, and gayest of all was Ezekiel.  Now he felt the power of wealth,\nnow he was positive that all other things were as nothing to it; for had\nit not made him the most popular, the most important, the most welcomed\nand sought-after man in the county?\n\nAll had just reached the very highest pitch of mirth and excitement that\ncould be reached, when a sudden chill, as though the hand of death were on\nthem, fell on the company!  The dancing ceased, no one quite knew why, and\nthe dancers looked at each other uneasily, each frightened by the other's\npallor.\n\nThen, suddenly, whence, or how come, no one knew,--in the middle of the\nhall they saw a little old man standing gazing at the host with eyes from\nwhich darted a hatred which was perfectly venomous.  Everyone wanted to\nask who he was, and how he had come, but no one dared.  They looked at\nEzekiel Grosse, expecting him in his usually haughty way to demand what\nright he had there;--but Ezekiel Grosse stood like a figure hewn out of\nstone.\n\nIt all took place in about a minute, and then the old man vanished in the\nsame mysterious way that he had come.\n\nAs soon as he had gone, the host, who a moment before had been petrified\nwith terror, as quickly recovered himself, and burst into uproarious\nlaughter.  It was forced laughter, though, unnatural mirth, as most of\nthose present could not help feeling.\n\n\"Ha, ha! my friends.  What do you think of my little surprise?  How do you\nlike my Father Christmas?  Cleverly managed, was it not?  But you all look\nrather alarmed by his sudden movements.  I hope my little joke has not\nfrightened you.  Hand round the wine and punch there, then we will on with\nthe dancing again!\"\n\nTry as he would, though, he could not put new life into the evening's\nfestivities, the mirth was dead, the pleasure overcast, for there was\nstill that strange deathlike chill in the air.  The guests, frightened,\nand convinced that something was wrong, made various excuses and one by\none took their departure.\n\nFrom that evening everything was changed.  Ezekiel Grosse and his\nentertainments were never the same again.  He never acknowledged any\ndifference, and he gave more parties, and issued more invitations than\never, but at every feast, every dance, every entertainment of any sort,\nthere was always one uninvited guest, a little wizened, weird old man, who\nsat back in his chair and never spoke to anyone, but gazed all the time at\nEzekiel with stern, uncanny eyes which frightened all who caught sight of\nthem.  Indeed, the effect he had on the guests was extraordinary; under\nthe chill of his presence they could not talk, or eat or drink, or keep up\nany appearance of enjoyment.\n\nEzekiel was the bravest of them.  He tried to encourage them to talk and\nlaugh,--talking and laughing loudly himself all the time, but all was\nunnatural.  His apologies for his strange visitor were numerous.  He was\nan old friend who liked to come to him and see new faces and young life,\nbut was too old to do more than look on.  He was deaf and dumb, that was\nwhy his conduct was so strange.   Sometimes the little old man sat unmoved\nwhile these stories were told, at other times, though, he would spring up,\nand with a burst of mocking laughter would disappear no one knew how.\n\nBy and by, of course, Ezekiel Grosse's friends began to leave him.\nThey declined his invitations, and omitted to include him in theirs, so\nthat in a comparatively short time he had not a single friend remaining of\nall those he had spent so much upon.\n\nDisappointed and miserable, he soon became the wreck of his old self.\nAlone in his luxurious house now, save for his old clerk John Cull, he\ncould never be said to be quite alone, either, for wherever he went,\nor whatever he did, the spectre haunted him persistently.  Under this\npersecution the attorney became a brokendown, miserable man, with every\nfeature stamped with terror.  For a long time he bore with the merciless\nghost without complaining, but at last he came to an end of his endurance.\nIn heart-rending terms, with tears and piteous pleading, he begged the old\nman to go away and leave him.  He had been punished sufficiently, he said.\nBut his prayers were poured into deaf ears.  The spectre absolutely\nrefused to go, and for some time stuck to his word.  Then, at last he\nconsented, on one condition, and that was that Ezekiel should give up all\nhis wealth to someone the spectre should name.\n\n\"Who am I to give it to?\" gasped Ezekiel humbly.\n\n\"To John Cull, the man you have overworked and underpaid for years.\nJohn Cull, your clerk and dependent.\"\n\nEzekiel Grosse had been given wealth, happiness, friends, only to be\ndeprived of all, to be lowered in the eyes of all men, with not one to\npity him.  This was the punishment designed by the frightful spectre,\nwho was no more nor less than an ancestor of the family Ezekiel Grosse had\nrobbed, the Rosewarnes.  He had planned to punish the lawyer by whose\nwickedness his family had been robbed and made homeless, and he carried\nthrough his plan.\n\nPoor Ezekiel Grosse did not live long in his disappointment and shame.\nHe was found dead one day, with strange marks upon him, and people who saw\nit say that when he died the weird little spectre stood beside him with a\npleased smile on his face.  As soon as it was dark, he disappeared,\nand the story goes that he took Ezekiel's body with him, for from that day\nto this it has never been seen.\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE LOVERS' COVE.\n\n\nThis is a sad story,--at least, some will think it sad!  It is not about\nfairies, or giants, or witches, but about two lovers who loved each other\nabove and beyond everything else in the world;--which is uncommon,\nfor most people love themselves in that way first, and someone else next.\n\nThese two lovers loved each other passionately and devotedly.  They used\nto meet in the Lovers' Cove, or Porthangwartha,--which means the same,--\nand many a happy meeting they had, and well did everything go until they\ntold their friends.  After that there was such a talk and such a stir, and\nsuch hardness and misery, that the lovers never again knew what it was to\nbe happy.  The parents said that they _should not_ love each other,--which\nwas foolish, for they could not prevent it; that they should never meet\nand never marry, which was cruel, for this they could prevent, and did.\nSo the poor lovers led a life of utter wretchedness, for they were\npersecuted sadly, and were breaking their hearts for each other.\n\nAt last their persecutors ended by driving the young man away.\nHe determined to go to the West Indies.  Then the relations congratulated\nthemselves heartily that they had got their own way, and parted the lovers\nfor ever.\n\nIn spite of all their precautions, though, those two poor heart-broken\nlovers managed to meet once more; and as it was to be their very last\nsight of each other for they did not know how long, perhaps for ever,\nit was a very, very sad parting indeed.\n\nIt was in the Lovers' Cove that they met, and there, under the frosty\nlight of the moon, they bade each other their sad good-byes, and while\nthey clung to each other for the last time, they made a solemn vow that,\nliving or dead, they would meet again in that same place at that same hour\nof the same day three years hence.\n\nSo the young man sailed away, and the girl lived with her parents,\ngoing about her duties quietly and patiently, and, in spite of her\nsadness, with a look of hope in her eyes that increased and increased as\nthe weeks and months slipped by.  Her parents noticed it, and told\nthemselves that she had forgotten the banished lover, and would soon learn\nto care for one of those they approved of.  When, though, she had refused\nto listen to any of the others who came wooing her, they began to fear\nthat they were mistaken, and were puzzled to know what it was that was\ndriving the wistfulness from her face, and the languor from her step.\n\nSo the long years dragged to a close, and at last, as it was bound to do,\nthe end of the three years drew very near, and with each day the girl's\nstep grew lighter and more buoyant, her eyes glistened and her lips curved\nin a smile that was new to them.  Now and then even a snatch of song burst\nfrom them.  Her parents had no doubt now that she had quite forgotten the\nlover whose name had not been mentioned in her presence since the day he\nsailed.\n\nThen, at last, the three years were really past and gone, the last day\ndawned and wore away to evening, and then night fell, moonlit, still,\nbeautiful, a fitting night for lovers who were to meet once more, whether\nliving or dead.  In the Cove it was as light as day, one could count each\nwave as it rose and fell, and see distinctly the white foam at its edge as\nit broke on the beach.  The sands gleamed like silver in the sad white\nlight save where the rocks threw dark shadows.\n\nAll round the coast the witches and wizards were busy manufacturing their\nspells.  High up on a cliff overlooking the Lovers' Cove an old woman,--\nnot a witch,--was sitting preparing her herbs and simples,--which must\nalways be done by moonlight,--when suddenly she was startled to see down\nin the Cove below her the figure of the maiden swiftly crossing the sands.\nThe old dame, who recognized the girl, was startled for it was nearly\ntwelve o'clock, and in that part most people are in bed by nine.\n\nSwiftly and unhesitatingly the girl made her way to a rock far out on the\nsands, and close to the water.  Up the rock she climbed, and sat herself\ndown as though it had been noon on a fine summer's day.  Did not she know,\nwondered the old woman nervously, that the tide was rapidly rising, and\nthe rock being fast surrounded?  Apparently, though, the maiden did not\nknow, or care, for there she sat immovable, her face turned towards the\nsea, gazing at it with bright intent eyes, as though searching its face\nfor something.\n\nAt last the old woman grew so alarmed she could endure the suspense no\nlonger.  The girl's danger increased every moment, and she felt it her\nduty to go and warn her, and give her what help she could.  So with\ntrembling limbs and fast-beating heart she hurried as fast as she was able\ndown the side of the cliff.  The path, though, was rough and winding, and\nshe was old.  At one point the end of the beach where the girl sat was cut\noff from her view.  It was only for a moment, certainly, yet when the old\ndame caught sight of her again, she saw, to her amazement, that a fine\nyoung sailor had also mounted the rock, and was seated close beside her!\n\nHe too, sailor though he was, seemed quite unconscious of their danger.\nThey sat there on the water-surrounded rock, he with arm around the girl,\nshe with her head on his breast, oblivious of everything but each other.\n\n\"Oh ho! my young woman!\" said the old dame to herself, \"so this is how you\npass your time while your lover is away! and after the way you pretended\nto love him, too!\"  She felt quite cross, for she was very tired and very\nfrightened and in no mood to smile at lovers' foolishness.  She sat\nherself down on a rock by the path they would have to ascend, determined\nto await their return, partly to give the maiden a good sound scolding for\nher reckless behaviour, and partly to satisfy her curiosity by seeing who\nthe young man was who had won her heart away from the absent lover.\n\nThe lovers, though, appeared in no hurry to move.  There they sat clinging\ntogether, with the moon shining down coldly on them, and the water\ngleaming around them.  The wind had died away until there seemed to be\nscarcely a breath of air stirring, and the sea lay as calm as a lake.\nThe whole scene resembled Fairyland, with the lovers as two spirits\nwatching over the Cove.  The tide rose higher and higher, and the only\nsound to be heard in that lone, desolate spot was the lazy plash of the\nwaves on the shore, and around the cliffs.\n\nIn a short time the water rose so high that the rock was almost covered;\nto get off it now the lovers would have to swim; yet still they paid no\nheed.  They seemed lost to everything but each other.\n\nIt was all so ghostly and uncanny that the poor old woman grew wild with\nnervousness and excitement.  She called and called to them at the top of\nher voice, but she failed to make it reach them.  The plash of the waves\nand the sighing of the gently heaving sea seemed to swallow it up.\nAnd when at last a wave came up and washed right over them, she shrieked\naloud, distracted by her own helplessness, and covered her eyes with her\napron.  She could not bear to look and watch them being drowned.\n\nWith her face hidden she waited, breathless, for their shrieks for help,--\nbut none came.  She uncovered her eyes and looked at the rock,--it was\nbare, save for the water which now covered it.  She gazed frantically\naround, first at the beach, then out to sea; the beach was empty, save for\nherself, but out on the sea were the two lovers, floating out on the\nscarcely moving waters, hand in hand, gazing into each other's eyes,\nsmiling happily and without sign of struggle.  Further and further away\nthey drifted.  Then across the still waters came the sound of sweet low\nvoices singing, and in the stillness which hung over everything the very\nwords sounded distinctly:--\n\n     I am thine,\n     Thou art mine,\n        Beyond control;\n     In the wave\n     Be the grave\n        Of heart and soul.\n\nSlowly, slowly they passed out through the moonlit sea, sweetly chanting\ntheir pathetic song; until at last they turned and faced the shore; and in\nthat moment the old woman recognized in the sailor the lonely maiden's\nlover, who had been driven away by her parents so long before.\n\nOne long look they took at the Lovers' Cove and the black rock on which\nthey had met, then turned their happy faces to each other, their lips\nmeeting in one long, long kiss, and while their lips were meeting they\nsank quickly beneath the waves.\n\nA few days later the maiden's body was found not far from the Lovers'\nCove; and some time after news reached the village that on the very night\nthat she had been seen with him on the rock he had been killed in a\nforeign land.\n\n\n\nTHE SILVER TABLE.\n\n\nOff Cudden Point, in the parish of Perranuthnoe, there lies buried in the\nsea, treasure enough to make anyone who finds it, one of the wealthiest\npersons in the whole county.\n\nNow and then, during the spring-tides, when the water is very low,\nsmall portions of it are found, just enough to keep up the excitement,\nand cause dozens of children from all the neighbourhood round to gather\nthere in a swarm, to search among the seaweeds, and dig in the sands,\nand venture out in the sea itself as far as they dare.  It is only about\nonce in a blue moon that they do come upon treasure, but there is always\nthe hope that any hour or day may bring them a big find.\n\nJewellery and coins, and silver goblets, are some of the treasures they\nseek, but the greatest of all is no less a thing than a table, a large and\nmassive table, too, made of solid silver.\n\nI am sure you would like to know why they expect such a prize, so I will\ntell you.\n\nMany, many years ago there lived in those parts a very wealthy man.\nHe was also a very wicked one, indeed it was said that he was no other\nthan the Lord of Pengerswick, of whom you will have read in another of\nthese stories.  It was rather difficult to say for certain, for the wicked\nold man being an enchanter could go about in all kinds of disguises,\nso that only those who had the gift of 'second sight' could discover him.\n\nAnyhow, if this rich, bad man was not the Lord of Pengerswick he was\nsomeone just as wicked, and just as rich.  I believe, though, it was that\nold enchanter, and, at any rate, we will call him so for the time.\n\nThe old gentleman had plenty of money and he spent it freely too, for it\ncost him no trouble to get.  He ground it out of the poor, and in the most\ncruel manner.  As he got it so easily he did not mind wasting it, and he\nkept 'open house' as they call it,--that is, he always had a houseful of\nvisitors, men and women who were nearly as bad as he was, and he provided\nthem with every kind of luxury, and pleasure, and amusement that he could\nthink of.  They rode pell-mell over the country on fiery, unmanageable\nhorses, breaking down the farmers' hedges, trampling down the land,\nhunting, shooting, dancing and gambling!  They did anything and everything\nthat was wild, and foolish, and exciting, in order to make the days pass\npleasantly.\n\nOne very, very hot summer's day, though, when the sun was pouring down\npitilessly, scorching up everything, and there was scarcely a breath of\nair to be found, and it was too hot to dance, or to ride, or do anything\ntiring, this gay crew thought they would like to spend some hours on the\nsea, where it was cooler than on the land.\n\nSo the Lord of Pengerswick, always glad to show off his possessions,\nordered his largest and most sumptuous barge to be set afloat, and stored\nwith every kind of luxury, and every sort of dainty thing he could think\nof, and the gay party went on board.  Seated on silken cushions under an\nawning of cloth of gold, they began at once to feast on the marvellous\ndainties spread for them on a large solid silver table, and all the time\nthey feasted and laughed and jested, delicate music and singing wafted\ntowards them from the far end of the boat, to charm their ears if they\ncared to listen.\n\nWhile, though, the awning sheltered them from the sun, it also concealed\nfrom them a little cloud which presently appeared in the sky; and the\nmusic, talk and laughter drowned the sound of a little breeze that sighed\nround the vessel.\n\nThe little breeze sighed, and went away unnoticed, but presently returned,\nnot little now, but very big, and determined to be heard; but they were,\nby this time, making such a noise on board, that even the louder breeze\nwent unheeded, until, grown quite angry, in a gust of fury it struck the\nboat--and what happened next no one knows, for none were left to tell the\ntale,--except the breeze, and he went scuffling off to another point.\n\nThis only is known, that where the barge had floated nothing was to be\nseen but a desolate expanse of water, but for years and years afterwards,\nwhen the wind was in the right direction, the fishermen heard sounds of\nlaughter and talking coming up from the bottom of the sea, the rattle of\nplates and the jingle of glasses, and through it all the strains of sweet\nmusic, and deep voices singing.  If the moon was in the right quarter and\nthe water very still, far down beneath the waves could be seen the\ngleaming silver table, and the wicked old Lord of Pengerswick and his\nguests still seated round it keeping up their revels.\n\nThe feasting must all have ceased by this time, though, for no sound is\never heard now, and it is long since anyone has caught sight of the\npleasure-loving crew.  A part of the treasure has been cast up by the sea,\nand seized by the descendants of the poor people the old lord robbed, and\nit seems quite possible that if they only wait long enough, and the tide\ngoes out far enough, someone will be so fortunate as to find the silver\ntable.\n\n\n\nCRUEL COPPINGER, THE DANE.\n\n\nOne of the most terrific storms ever known was raging on the north coast\nof Cornwall.  The gale, blowing up channel from the southwest, broke with\nsuch fury on that bold, unsheltered piece of coast by Morwenstow, that the\nwreckers, who were gathered on the shore and heights above, had more than\nenough to do to keep their feet.  The rain came down in driving sheets,\nshutting off the sea from their eager eyes, so that they could see nothing\nof the prey they were watching for.\n\nBeaten down, drenched, well-nigh frozen, even these hardy men were on the\npoint of giving way before the fury of the hurricane, when suddenly from\nout the sheets of driving rain loomed a vessel, a foreigner.  If she had\nbeen a phantom ship, as at first they thought she must be, she could not\nhave appeared more strangely, suddenly, or unexpectedly.  But it was no\nphantom battling so bravely, yet so hopelessly with the fierce waves,\nploughing her way through them, defying their efforts to draw her down and\ndevour her.  She rolled and lurched heavily, and was driven closer and\ncloser on to the jagged rocks of that cruel coast; her sails were in rags,\nand she herself was utterly beyond control.\n\nAs she drew nearer, the terror-stricken faces of those on board\ncould be plainly seen, clinging to each other or to the masts,\npraying, gesticulating, or too frightened to do anything but gaze with\nfixed and ghastly eyes at the awful fate awaiting them.\n\nStanding near the wheel was a man who, even at such a time, seemed to hold\nhimself apart from the rest.  He was of gigantic size, towering above the\nheads of the rest of them.  He had stripped himself of his clothing, and\nwas evidently awaiting a suitable moment to plunge off the vessel into the\nboiling ocean, and fight his hand-to-hand battle with death.  At last the\nright moment came.  Without an instant's hesitation he plunged over the\nside into the raging waters.  Then rising again, in a moment or two, to\nthe surface, like a perfect Hercules, he fought his way through the\nbillows, his strong arm and massive chest defying their power.  On, on he\nwent, now riding on the top of a huge boiling mountain of water, now down\nin the hollow, with the raging sea rising above him, so that it seemed he\nmust be swallowed and crushed in their embrace.\n\nLong the struggle continued, and the excitement on shore grew intense,\nfor no one thought it possible that he could reach the land alive.\nBut, after a terrible fight which would have exhausted anyone not endowed\nwith supernatural powers, his bravery was rewarded, and with one\ntremendous leap he landed safely on the shore, well beyond the deadly\nclutch of the waves.\n\nAll the people of the country-side seemed now to have gathered to witness\nthe marvellous combat, men and women, on horse and on foot, wreckers,\nfishermen, and what not,--and into the midst of them all rushed the\ndripping stranger.  Apparently not in the least exhausted, he snatched the\nscarlet cloak off the shoulders of an old woman, and wrapping it about\nhimself, as suddenly sprang up behind a young woman, who was sitting on\nher horse watching the wreck, and urging the animal on to a furious\ngallop, rode off in the direction of the young woman's home.  The people\nshouted and screamed, for they thought the poor girl was being carried\noff, no one knew where, by the Evil One himself; but the strange cries,\nwhich they took to be the language of the Lower Regions, were only a\nforeign tongue, and the horse made for its own stable by instinct.\n\nWhen Miss Dinah Hamlyn and her reeking steed dashed into the courtyard of\nher own home, closely clasped by a tall wicked-looking man wrapped in a\nscarlet cloak, the outcry was doubled.  There was nothing to be done,\nthough, but to give the stranger a suit of Mr. Hamlyn's clothes, and some\nfood, and very comely he looked in the long coat, the handsome waistcoat,\nknee-breeches, and buckled shoes.\n\nHe accepted the clothes, and the food, and indeed all their attention,\nas a matter of course, and having informed them that his name was\nCoppinger, and that he was a Dane, he seemed to think he had done all that\nwas required of him, and settled down in the family circle as though he\nwere one of them, and as welcome as though he were an old family friend.\n\nOf the distressed vessel, and the rest of the shipwrecked crew, nothing\nmore was seen from the moment the big man left her.  How or where she\ndisappeared no one knew, all eyes had been fixed on the struggling swimmer\nfrom the moment he leapt into the sea; and when they had looked again the\nship had gone, and no trace or sign of her or her crew was ever found on\nthat coast, or on any other.\n\nAt first Coppinger made himself most agreeable to the people he had\nappeared amongst, he was pleasant and kind beyond anything you can\nimagine.  Miss Dinah Hamlyn thought him a very attractive man, indeed,\nand not only forgave him for his first treatment of her, but thought it\nsomething to be proud of.  Old Mr. Hamlyn liked the man, too, and was as\nkind to him as could be, giving him the best he had, and even at last\nconsenting to his marriage with Miss Dinah herself, though against his own\nfeelings.\n\nCoppinger had given out that he was a Dane of noble birth and great\nwealth, who had run away to escape marrying a lady he disliked.\nOld Farmer Hamlyn did not like his daughter to marry a 'furriner,' and he\nconsidered that people should marry in their own stations; but Dinah\nherself loved the man all the better for what he had told them, and\nbetween them they soon overcame the father's scruples, and the wedding-day\nwas fixed.\n\nThe wedding-day had to be postponed, though, for Farmer Hamlyn fell ill,\ngrew rapidly worse, and in a very short time was dead and buried.  As soon\nas this was over a great change came over things.  Master Coppinger began\nto show himself in his true character, and a very black character indeed\nhis was!  So black and so bad that for generations his mere name was a\nterror to the people who lived in that part of the world, and is detested\nto this day.\n\nAs soon as poor Farmer Hamlyn had passed away, Coppinger made himself\nmaster and controller of the house and all in it, even to the smallest\ndomestic affairs.  Dinah he persuaded to marry him at once, and hardly had\nshe done so, when all the evil in his character made itself known, and as\nthough to make up for having so long suppressed his wicked passions,\nhe utterly threw off all appearance of goodness or respectability, and\npoor respectable Farmer Hamlyn's quiet, happy home became a den of thieves\nand vagabonds, and a meeting-place for all the lawless characters in the\ncounty.\n\nThen it very soon came out that the whole country-side was infested with a\nbody of smugglers, wreckers, poachers, robbers, and murderers, over all of\nwhom 'Cruel Coppinger,' as he came to be called by the honest people in\nthe neighbourhood, was captain and ringleader.\n\nHe and his gang worked their own wicked will, and the poor inhabitants of\nthe place were completely in their power, for there were no magistrates,\nor rich men of power in that part, and no revenue officer dared show\nhimself.  The clergyman was scared into silence, and Coppinger and his\nband ruled the country-side.\n\nVery soon a regular system of smuggling was carried on.  All sorts of\nstrange vessels appeared on that part of the coast, and were guided by\nsignals to a safe creek or cove, where they were unloaded, and the\nvaluable, illegal spoil brought in and hidden in the huge caves, which no\none but Coppinger and his crew dared to enter, for it would have meant\ntorture and death.\n\nBy and by one particular vessel, the 'Black Prince,' Coppinger's own,\nwhich he had had built for him in Denmark, became a perfect terror to all\nthe other vessels in the parts she frequented.  Coppinger and his crew\nsailed the seas as though they belonged to them, robbing, murdering,\nand doing every evil thing they could think of.\n\nIf a vessel chased them, they led her into such dangerous parts of the\ncoast that her whole crew invariably perished, while the 'Black Prince'\nglided out by some intricate passage, and got safely off.  If one of the\npoor landsmen offended any of the gang, away he was dragged to Coppinger's\nvessel, and there made to serve until he was ransomed, and as the people\nwere almost reduced to beggary by the rogues, there was very little chance\nof the poor fellow's ever being free again.\n\nWealth poured into their clutches, and Coppinger soon began to have\nenormous quantities of gold, which he spent lavishly.  Amongst other\nthings he bought a farm, which bordered on the sea, but the lawyer to whom\nhe was to pay the money was taken aback at receiving it in coins from\npretty nearly every country in the world, doubloons, ducats, dollars,\npistoles!  At first he refused to accept them, but a look from Coppinger,\nand a threat, made him change his mind.  He accepted the coins without\nanother word, and handed over the papers.\n\nOf course, when Coppinger realized his power, and saw how everyone\nfeared him, he grew more and more daring.  He closed up bridle-paths, to\nwhich he had no possible right, and made new ones, where he had no right\nto make them, and forbade anyone but his own friends to use them after a\ncertain hour in the evening, and no one dared disobey him.  Their roads\nwere called 'Coppinger's Tracks,' and all met at a headland called\n'Steeple Brink,' a huge hollow cliff which ran three hundred feet sheer up\nfrom the beach, while the vast, roomy cave beneath it ran right back into\nthe land.  Folks said it was as large as Kilkhampton Church, and they were\nnot far wrong.\n\nThis was called 'Coppinger's Cave,' and here took place such scenes of\nwickedness and cruelty as no one can imagine in these days.  Here all the\nstores were kept, wines, spirits, animals, silks, gold, tea, and\neverything of value that they could lay hands on.  No one but the crew\never dared to show themselves there, for it was more than their lives were\nworth, the crew being bound by a terrible oath to help their captain in\nany wickedness he might choose to perpetrate.  So it came to pass that\nall, whether of his band or not, gave in to him, and were ruled by him as\nthough they were slaves and he their lord.\n\nHis own house, too, was full of misery and noisy, disgraceful scenes.\nWhen John Hamlyn died, Coppinger had obtained possession somehow of\neverything belonging to him, with the exception of a large sum of money\nwhich went to the widow.  Coppinger meant to have this money too, though,\nso he began by getting small sums from his mother-in-law from time to\ntime, until she at last refused to give him any more, and even his threats\nand coaxings failed to move her.\n\nCruel Coppinger was not a man to be baulked in any way, so he soon hit\nupon a plan.  Taking his wife to her room, he tied her to the post of the\ngreat bedstead, then calling in her mother he told her that he was going\nto flog Dinah with the cat-o'-nine-tails which he held in his hand, until\nshe handed over to him the money he had asked her for.  They knew quite\nwell that he would be as good as his word, and that refusal meant death by\ntorture to Dinah; so the poor mother was compelled to give in, and finding\nthat this plan answered his purpose so well, he repeated the performance\nuntil he had had nearly every penny poor old Mrs. Hamlyn was possessed of.\n\nAmongst the numerous animals he owned, there was one favourite mare,\n--a vicious, uncontrollable creature,--on which he used to scour the\ncountry at a terrible pace, spreading terror wherever he went.  He never\ncared in the least how many people or animals he knocked over and trampled\nto death; the more weak and helpless they were the more he seemed to love\nto hurt them.\n\nOne evening, after spending a few festive hours at a neighbour's house,\nhe was just on the point of departing when he happened to notice seated by\nthe hearth a poor little half-witted tailor, who always went by the name\nof 'Uncle Tom.'\n\nUncle Tom was a very quiet, extremely nervous little man, well-known and\npitied by all.  He went from house to house all over the countryside,\ndoing a day's work at one house, and half a day's at another, and in most\nhouses he was given a meal in addition to his trifling pay, for everyone\nliked him, he was always willing and obliging, and had never harmed anyone\nin his life.\n\n\"Hulloa, Uncle Tom!\" cried Coppinger boisterously, going up and laying\na heavy hand on the thin, shaking shoulder of the little tailor.\n\"We are both bound for the same direction.  Come along with me, I'll give\nyou a lift on my mare.\"\n\nThe old man shrank away nervously, mumbling all sorts of excuses, for he\nabove all people lived in deadly terror of Cruel Coppinger, also of his\nvicious mare, and the idea of being at the mercy of them both nearly\nscared away what few wits he had.\n\nThe sight of his terror, though, only made Coppinger more determined to\nfrighten him.  He loved to torment so helpless a victim, and the other\npeople present, partly from love of mischief, but chiefly to please\nCoppinger, egged the tormentor on.\n\nIn spite of his struggles and entreaties they hoisted the poor little\ntailor on to the back of the prancing, restive beast, and held him there\nwhile Coppinger sprang up.\n\nNo sooner were they both mounted than up reared the mare, danced round on\nher hind legs a time or two, and then sprang away along the road at a rate\nwhich it made one gasp to witness.  Tom clung in sheer terror to his big\ntormentor, afraid of falling off, yet afraid to stay on.  Coppinger,\nguessing perhaps that the little man in his terror might spring off, undid\nhis belt, and passed it round the little tailor's body, buckling it\nsecurely around them both.  Then, having fastened his victim to him,\nbeyond all hope of escape, he urged the mare on to a more furious pace\nthan ever.  They tore through the air at lightning speed.  Tom shrieked\nand prayed to be put down,--to be told whither he was to be taken,--what\nCoppinger meant to do with him; and pleaded to be killed at once,\nrather than tortured.  They dashed on past his own little cottage, and his\nwife at the door, catching sight of the pair, nearly fainted to see her\npoor husband in the grasp of the tyrant. On they went and on, without sign\nof stopping.  They leapt ditches and hedges, animals, waggons, people,\nanything that came in their way, until, coming at last to a steep hill,\nthey slackened their pace a little, and Coppinger condescended to speak.\n\n\"I promised the Devil I would bring him a tailor,\" he said, \"for his\nclothes sadly need mending, and I am going to carry you to him to-night.\nIt will not be very hard work, and he won't harm you as long as you do\nwhat he bids you.\"\n\nSo terrified was poor little Uncle Tom on hearing this awful fate, that he\nhad a fit then and there from fright, and the violence of his struggles\nwas such that the belt gave way, and he was flung from the racing mare,\nright into the ditch by the roadside.\n\nThere he lay all night, and there he was found in the morning, not only\nbattered and bruised and half frozen, but with his poor weak mind quite\ngone.\n\n\"He would never sew for the Devil,\" he kept repeating over and over and\nover again, \"he would never sew for the Devil, nor for Coppinger either.\nHe believed Coppinger was the Devil, and he might do his work himself,\nUncle Tom would never work for such as he!\"\n\nNever again did poor Uncle Tom get back his reason, or do another stroke\nof work to support himself and his wife,--but Coppinger had had his joke,\nand thought it a very fine one.\n\nCountless were the cruel pranks he played on the poor, the helpless,\nand defenceless, until at last people became afraid to go outside their\nhouses, and were afraid to stay in them, for every day brought some new\nwickedness done by him, and every fresh one was worse than the last.\n\nCoppinger had one child, a boy; he was deaf and dumb, and as uncanny a\nchild as his father was a man.  He was a beautiful boy to look at, with\nsoft fair skin and golden hair, but he had his father's cruel eyes, and\nhis father's cruel nature.  From his babyhood his mischievousness and\nwickedness knew no bounds; any bird, or animal, or even child that came\nwithin his reach he would torment almost to death, and the more his victim\nwrithed and screamed, the greater was his delight.\n\nWhen he was but six he was found one day on the headland, dancing in\nfrantic joy, and pointing with gestures of delight to the beach below.\nHurrying down they found the mangled and bleeding corpse of a little\nchild, his companion, whom he had enticed to the edge of the cliff, and,\nby an unexpected push, sent headlong on to the rocks beneath.  From that\nday he was always to be found on the tragic spot, and when a stranger\npassed he would make unearthly sounds of delight, and pointing down to the\nbeach, dance and throw himself about in ecstasy.\n\nAll this time Coppinger and his gang grew more and more reckless and\ndaring, until they were the scourge of the country-side.  To what lengths\nthey might have gone, no earthly powers can tell, but money became scarce,\nand times grew bad for them.   Armed King's cutters came, not singly,\nbut in great numbers, and tidings of danger were brought to Cruel\nCoppinger by strangely dressed foreigners.\n\nAnd so, at last, things came to a climax, and deliverance was at hand for\nthe poor suffering people.\n\nJust such another time as preceded Coppinger's arrival, burst again on\nthat coast; the rain and hail came down in sheets, the gale blew furiously\nall day.  At sunset a vessel appeared off the coast--full-rigged.\n\nPresently a rocket went up from the Gull Rock,--a little rock island with\na creek on the landside, a spot where many smugglings had taken place.\nA gun answered from the ship, again both signals were sent up.  Then, on\nthe topmost peak of the rock, appeared the huge form of Coppinger.\nHe waved his sword, and a boat immediately put off from the ship, with two\nmen at each oar, for the tide is terribly strong just there.  They neared\nthe rock, rode boldly through the surf, and were steered into the Gull\nCreek by someone who evidently knew the coast well.\n\nThen Coppinger, who was standing impatiently awaiting them, leapt on board\nand took the command.\n\nTheir efforts to get back to the vessel were enormous.  Like giants they\nlaboured at their oars to force a path through the boiling, seething\nwaters.  Once, as they drew off-shore, one of the rowers, either from loss\nof strength or of courage, relaxed his hold for a moment; in an instant a\ncutlass waved above his head, and one swift cruel stroke cut him down.\nIt was the last brutal deed that Cruel Coppinger was ever seen to do.\n\nHe and his men reached the ship and got on board.  What happened\nafterwards no one knows, for at the same moment she disappeared like some\nghostly, phantom ship, nobody knows where or how.\n\nThen, in even more fearful violence than before, the storm raged and beat\non that coast.  Hail, thunder, lightning, hurricanes of wind blinded,\ndeafened, or killed all who were exposed to it.\n\nRound Coppinger's home it expended the very utmost of its fury;\ntrees were torn up by the roots, the thatch was blown off the outhouses,\nchimneys fell, windows were blown in, and, as Dinah, terrified by the\nuproar and destruction racing round her, stood holding her uncanny child\nin her arms, through the roof and ceiling came crashing a monstrous\nthunderbolt, surrounded by flames, and fell hissing at the very foot of\nCruel Coppinger's chair.\n\n\n\nMADGE FIGGY, THE WRECKER.\n\n\nThose of you who know Land's End, and that part of it called\nTol-pedn-penwith, cannot fail to have been struck by a huge cliff there,\nin shape like a ladder, or flight of steps, formed of massive blocks of\ngranite, piled one upon another, and on the top of which there is perched\nwhat looks like, and is, a monstrous granite chair.\n\n'Madge Figgy's Chair' is its name, for in it Madge Figgy, who was a\nwrecker by trade, used to sit and call up the storms, and here, while the\nrough, cruel Atlantic boiled and lashed in impotent fury over the face of\nthe ladder, Madge sat cool and unconcerned, keeping a sharp look out for\nany vessels coming in on that terrible coast.\n\nAs well as being a wrecker, Madge Figgy was one of the most cruel and\nwicked witches in the county; and hour after hour she would sit in her\nchair plotting mischief, or hurling curses at any unfortunate person or\nthing who had happened to offend her.  The poor country-folk were afraid\nof their very lives of her, and whatever wicked things she told them to\ndo, they had to do them, for they knew her power and lived in terror of\noffending her.\n\nAmongst the witches she was the leader in all their frolics and revels and\nwickedness.  Getting astride her broomstick she would fly right away\nacross the sea to some foreign land, a band of her friends and cronies\nafter her, and right well did they enjoy themselves,--which was more than\nanyone else did who came across them while on their wicked revels.\n\nMadge Figgy's home was in a little cottage in a cove not far from her\nladder and chair, and this cove was a nest of a gang of the worst wreckers\nin Cornwall, gathered together by old Madge to help her in her cruel work.\nNo one can count how many noble vessels they lured on to the rocks of that\ndangerous coast, how many bodies they stripped and cast back into the sea\nagain; while as for the treasure they had divided amongst themselves!--\nthey had quite enough to live on for the rest of their lives, even if they\nnever did another stroke of mischief.  That, though, was not what they\ncared about.  They loved wrecking and robbing, and all their evil ways,\nand would have been quite miserable if they had had to live quiet,\nrespectable stay-at-home lives.\n\nWhere all were so wicked there were none to shame them into being any\nbetter, and they flaunted their stolen riches as shamelessly as though\nthey had come by everything honestly.  It was quite a common sight to see\nthe great, clumsy country-women and girls going about their work dressed\nin costly silks and velvets, all of the richest character and most\nbeautiful colouring, digging and ploughing, cooking and scrubbing with\nvaluable jewellery on their great arms and their coarse red hands,\nsparkling gems in their ears, and very likely a tiara that would have made\na queen envious, fastened round their untidy, unbrushed hair.\n\nOf all the crew, though, Madge and her husband were the very worst.\nMost of them did abide by the old saying, 'Honour amongst wreckers,' but\nnot those two.  If they could cheat or trick even their friends they would\ndo so; and did, too, very often.\n\nOne particularly stormy day, Madge Figgy sat in her great chair in high\nglee.  A tempest such as was seldom known, even on that coast, was raging\nround her, and close on to the rocks below her was drifting a Portuguese\nIndiaman which she had lured in to be dashed to fragments on the terrible\nrocks by the boiling, maddened breakers which towered up like mountains,\nthen broke and fell with all their force on the helpless vessel.\n\nMadge Figgy kicked her heels and clapped her hands with joy as she\nwatched, for the huge vessel laden with valuables of the costliest kind\nwas a prize such as they did not often get, and Madge in her mind was\nalready reckoning up her gains.  Far better for the Indiaman had she\ndropped her treasure overboard and sent it to the bottom of the sea, where\nshe would be ere long; for Madge could tell at any distance what a ship's\ncargo was worth, and if it was a small one she let the vessel sail on in\npeace.\n\nUp aloft was the old witch dancing and singing, and down below struggled\nthe perishing crew, captain, sailors, passengers, men, women and children,\nshrieking aloud for help, but seeing never a living creature coming to\ngive them a hand.  Their cries might have melted hearts of iron, but not\nthe hearts of those who were hiding behind the rocks watching with greedy\ninterest for the moment when they might go down and seize their prey.\nOne by one the cries ceased as the sea swallowed up the poor struggling\ncreatures, then presently the vessel broke up, and in on the waves came\nfloating cases, casks, chests, broken spars, mingled with the dead bodies\nof men and women and little babies.\n\nAs fast as they appeared they were seized on, and quickly stripped of\neverything that was of value, the ladies were robbed of their jewels and\ndresses, and even of their long hair, and even the babies were robbed of\nthe necklaces which still hung around their chubby necks.\n\nWhen the bodies were stripped they were not thrown into the sea again,\nbut were carried away and buried in a great green hollow near Perloe Cove,\nwith a stone at the head of each to mark the spot.  Though the graves\ncannot be distinguished now, the hollow may yet be seen.\n\nFor weeks after the wreck of the Portuguese Indiaman, the wreckers were\ncontinually finding gold and jewels washed in to the sand, and now and\nagain more bodies were washed ashore, all richly dressed.  Oh, it was a\nfine haul the wreckers had after that black storm, but one very curious\nthing happened such as had never happened before.\n\nAmongst the bodies washed in was that of a beautiful lady, dressed in the\nrichest of robes, and wearing more magnificent jewellery than any of the\nother poor creatures.  In addition to her jewellery, too, she had,\nfastened about her, a very large amount of money and treasure, as though,\npoor lady, she had thought that she could not only save herself, but a\ngreat deal else as well.\n\nWhen Madge Figgy, who had claimed this body, had finished stripping it,\nshe stood gazing at it very attentively for a long time.  She appeared to\nbe troubled about something, almost frightened, in fact, and turning to\nthe rest of the gang she forbade them to divide any of the spoil, or even\nto touch a single thing.\n\nThere was a fine row at that, of course, for they had all been counting on\na rich share, and they vowed they would have it, too!  They quarrelled,\nand fought, and a good deal of blood was spilt, but Madge took care of\nherself and got the better of them all, too, for it would have taken more\nthan a gang of wreckers to outwit that wicked old woman.\n\nShe declared that there was a mark on the body which she understood,\nthough no one else could, and that if they divided any of the things\nbelonging to it, ill-luck would befall them all, and no one knew where it\nwould end.\n\n\"Trust a witch to know a witch!\" she cried.  She got her way, as she\ngenerally did, for they were all afraid of her, and everything belonging\nto the poor lady was put into a chest which stood in Madge's kitchen,\nwhile the body was carried to the hollow and buried with the others.\n\nThe very night, though, after they had laid her in her grave, a very\ncurious thing happened.  Out from the grave there came, as soon as\ndarkness fell, a little blue light.  For a moment it flickered and gleamed\non the newly made mound, then glided swiftly away up over the cliffs until\nit reached Madge Figgy's great granite chair.  Up into the chair it\nglided, and there it stayed for a long time, a weird, mysterious gleam,\nlooking most uncanny in the darkness.  Then out of the chair it glided and\nmade its way to Madge Figgy's cottage, where it floated across the\nthreshold and straight to the chest where the dead lady's belongings lay.\n\nAll the wreckers were watching it, and all, except old Madge, were very\nnearly terrified out of their senses.  They felt sure that at last their\nwickedness was to meet with its punishment, that the Evil One had come to\ncarry them away, and their hours on earth were numbered.\n\nMadge Figgy tried hard to laugh away their fears and cheer them up.\nShe wanted no 'chicken-hearts' about her, men who would refuse to take\npart in her wicked work, or even carry tales where she did not want them\ncarried.\n\n\"Get along, you great stupids, you!\" cried Madge, trying to put some\nspirit into them, \"it will all come right in time.  I know all about it!\"\n\nIt took a long time, though, and the people began to lose faith in Madge's\ncleverness; for three long months the little blue flame crept out of the\ndead lady's grave at nightfall, glided to Madge Figgy's chair, and then to\nthe chest in the cottage, and nothing could stop it.\n\nAt the end of three months, when the people of the Cove were feeling they\ncould not bear this thing any longer, there came to Madge's cottage one\nday a curiously dressed stranger.  From his appearance all who saw him\nconcluded that he was a foreigner, but from what part of the world he came\nno one could tell, for never a word escaped his lips.\n\nMadge Figgy's old husband, who was home alone when the stranger arrived,\nwas very nearly scared to death.  Firstly because the sight of a stranger\nalways frightened any of that wicked crew, and secondly because of the\nman's signs and curious gesticulations.  Old Figgy thought that he was a\nmadman, sure enough.\n\nAfter some time, though, and a good many signs and misunderstandings,\nthe old man gathered that the stranger wished to see the graves of the\npoor souls who went down in the wreck of the Portuguese Indiaman.\nOld Figgy put on his cap readily enough to show him the way, only too\nthankful to get him out of the house; but as soon as ever they had started\non the right road, the stranger did not need any further guidance,\nhe walked on by himself straight to the hollow, and making his way direct\nto the grave of the Portuguese lady he threw himself on it passionately,\nand broke into the most violent outburst of grief imaginable.\n\nFor some time old Figgy stood watching him in astonishment, until the\nforeigner, looking up, caught sight of him, and signed to him to go away;\nthen returning to the grave, again, he threw himself on it once more and\nstayed there weeping and moaning until nightfall.\n\nWhen darkness crept on up rose the little blue flame from the grave as\nbefore, but, instead of going to Madge Figgy's chair it made its way to\nthe cottage, and gliding on to the chest, gleamed there with twice its\nusual brilliancy.\n\nThe foreigner, who had followed the flame closely, went, without let\nor hindrance from the old witch or anyone, straight to the chest,\nand clearing away with one sweep all the rubbish and lumber which were\npiled on it, opened it as if he had known it all his life, picked out\neverything in it that had belonged to the lady, then, without touching\nanything else that the chest contained, closed it again, and, after giving\nliberal gifts to every wrecker in the place, departed as mysteriously as\nhe had come.\n\nAnything of his history, or whence he came, was never discovered, but from\nthe moment he left Madge Figgy's cottage neither he nor the little blue\nflame was ever seen again by any of them.\n\n\n\nHOW MADGE FIGGY GOT HER PIG.\n\n\nMadge Figgy, as you already know, spent most of her life in injuring\nsomeone.  After she had left her cottage by the sea, where she spent so\nmuch of her time in robbing the dead, she went to live in St. Buryan,\nand there she spent her time in robbing the living, and doing any other\nmischief that came into her head to do.\n\nOne of her victims here was her near neighbour, Tom Trenoweth,\na hard-working, struggling man who spent all his days trying to make both\nends meet, and mostly failing, poor fellow.  Now Tom had a sow, a fine\ngreat creature, on which he set great store, for when she was fattened up\nenough he meant to take her to Penzance Market, where he hoped to sell her\nfor at least twenty shillings, for she was worth that and more of any\nman's money.\n\nAs ill-luck would have it, though, Madge Figgy caught sight of the sow one\nday, and from that moment she could not rest until she had got it for\nherself.\n\nOver she bustled to Tom's house in a great hurry.  \"Tom,\" she said,\n\"I've taken a fancy to that sow of yours, and I'll give 'ee five shillings\nfor her, now this very minute, if you'll sell her.  Four would be a good\nprice, but I've set my mind on having her, and I don't mind stretching a\npoint for a friend.\"\n\n\"I ain't going to sell her now,\" said Tom, \"I'm fattening her up for\nmarket, and it's a long sight more than five shillings I'm thinking I'll\nget for her.  So keep your money, Madge, you may want it yet,\" he added\nmeaningly.\n\n\"Very well,\" replied the witch, shaking her finger at Tom, and wagging her\nhead; \"I won't press 'ee to sell the pig, but mark my words, before very\nlong you will wish you had!\" and away she went without another word.\n\nPoor Tom!  He did mark her words, and many a time he remembered them with\nsorrow, for from the moment they were uttered his sow began to fail.\nShe ate and drank as much as ever he chose to give her, and seemed to\nenjoy her food, too, but instead of growing fatter she grew leaner and\nleaner, and from being a fine great beast, nearly fit for a Christmas\nmarket, she became a poor, spare-looking thing that no one would say\n'thank you' for.\n\n\"Are you willing to sell her now, Tom?\" cried cruel old Madge, popping her\nhead round the door of the pig-sty one day, when Tom was feeding the\nanimal.\n\n\"No, and I wouldn't sell her to you for her weight in gold,\" cried Tom,\ntoo desperate now to care whether he offended the woman or not.\n\"So get home to your own house, you ill-wishing cross-grained old witch!\"\n\nMadge Figgy only smiled.  \"Don't lose your temper, Tom, my dear,\" she said\nsweetly, \"'tis for me to do that.  Just wait a bit, and I'll be bound that\nbefore another week is out you'll be glad to get rid of her, even to me!\"\nand away trotted the mischievous old creature, cackling to herself, and\nrubbing her hands with glee.\n\n\"I'll fatten the pig up somehow,\" cried Tom desperately, and he began\ngiving her more than double her usual quantity of food at each meal.\nHe gave her enough, indeed, to fatten two pigs, and nearly ruined himself\nto do it; but the more she ate the thinner she grew, and before the week\nwas out she was merely skin and bone.  \"I can't afford to spend no more on\n'ee,\" said Tom sorrowfully, and he made up his mind to take her to market\nthe very next day before she got any worse.\n\nSo, early the following morning they started off to walk to the market.\nTom tied a string around the sow's leg to prevent her running away, but\nthere was little enough fear of her doing that, for the poor thing could\nscarcely stand for weakness.  In fact, she kept on falling down from sheer\ninability to support herself, and Tom had to pick her up and put her on\nher feet again, for she had not got the strength to get up by herself.\n\nAfter a long time, for they only went at a snail's pace, they came to the\nhigh road.  \"I believe I'll have to take and carry her on my back,\" said\nTom dolefully, \"or we shan't get to market till night.\"  But hardly had he\nspoken the words when the sow took to her heels, and ran as if she had\nbeen a stag with the hounds after her!\n\nPoor Tom was nearly shaken to bits, and his arms were pretty nearly\ndragged from his body, for over hedges and ditches she went, and over\neverything else that came in her way, dragging Tom after her, until at\nlast he had to drop the rope and let her take her chance, for his strength\nwas all gone, and he had no breath left.\n\nAs soon, though, as Tom let go his hold of the rope, the creature stopped\nher mad race, and walked along as quietly and soberly as the best-behaved\npig that ever breathed.  She went, though, every way but the right one,\nand this she did for mile upon mile, taking Tom after her, until at last\nthey came to Tregenebris Downs.\n\nHere, where the two roads branch off, the one to Sancreed and the other to\nPenzance, Tom caught hold of the rope again, and tried once more to lead\nher to market, but the moment she came to the cross-roads, the sow started\noff at full speed again, jerking the rope out of Tom's hand, and careering\naway by herself until she got under Tregenebris Bridge.  Here, though, she\nwas forced to stop, for she stuck fast, and could not move backwards or\nforwards, for Tregenebris Bridge was a queer, old-fashioned construction,\nmore like a big drain-pipe than anything, except that it was smaller in\nthe middle than at the ends.  Consequently, as she could not go through it\nand come out the other side, and she would not come back, she had to stay\nwhere she was.\n\nTom did not know what to do.  He could not reach her to pull her out, and\nall his holloaing and shouting was so much waste of breath.  He pelted her\nwith stones and lumps of turf, first her head and then her tail, until he\nwas tired, but he might just as well have left her, for all the good it\ndid.  She only grunted, and planted her feet more obstinately.\n\nAt last Tom, being quite worn out, sat down to rest, and waited to see\nwhat she would do if left to herself, but though he waited and waited till\nevening, the pig never budged.  Tom, though, grew so hungry that he hardly\nknew how to bear with himself.  He had had nothing to eat or drink since\nfive in the morning, and he had tramped miles upon miles since that time.\n\n\"There don't seem much chance of the contrairy old thing's coming out, so\nI may as well go home to get some supper,\" he said at last.  \"If anybody\nfinds her they'll know she's mine, for there isn't such another poor\nmiserable creature in the parish.  So here goes.\"  But no sooner had he\nmade a start than whom should he see coming towards him but Madge Figgy.\n\nMadge was smiling to herself as she walked along, as though she were very\nwell pleased about something.  \"Hulloa, Tom Trenoweth!\" she cried,\npretending to be surprised.  \"What are you doing here?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Tom, \"that's more than I can tell you, but I ain't here for\nmy own pleasure, I can assure you of that, and if you want to know more\nyou can look under the bridge and find out for yourself.\"\n\n\"What's that grunting in there? Surely never your old sow!  Well, she\ncan't have fattened much if she's got in there!  Are you in the mind to\npart with her now, Tom?  What will you let me have her for now?\"\n\n\"If you've got a bit of something to eat in your basket, for pity's sake\nlet me have it, for I'm famished; and if you can get the old thing out of\nthat there pipe you're welcome to her for your trouble,\" said Tom\nsullenly, for he felt small at giving in to his enemy after all.\n\n\"I've got a beautiful new kettle loaf in my basket, Tom; take it and\nwelcome, do.\"\n\nTom seized the loaf and began to eat ravenously.  \"Thank 'ee,\" said he,\npretending to smile.  \"I think I've got the best of that bargain,\nfor anyway I've got a good loaf, and it'll take more than you to get out\nmy old pig!\"\n\n\"Ha, ha!\" laughed Madge Figgy, \"I'm glad you are pleased, Tom, ha, ha!\nrefused five shillings, and took a twopenny loaf!  I'm pleased with my\nshare of the bargain, and I'm glad you are.\"  Then turning towards the pig\nshe called softly, \"Chug! chug! chug!  Come on, chug! chug! chug!\"\n\nOut walked the old sow at once, and going up to the witch, she trotted\naway down the road after her as tamely as a dog.\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF SIR TRISTRAM AND LA BELLE ISEULT.\n\n\nLong, long ago, when Arthur was King of England, and King Mark was King of\nCornwall,--for there were many petty kings, who held their lands under\nKing Arthur,--there was born in Lyonesse a little boy, a king's son.\n\nInstead, though, of there being great joy and rejoicing at the birth of\nthe little heir, sorrow reigned throughout Lyonesse, for his father, King\nMelodias, had been stolen away by enchantment, no one knew where.\nNor could anyone tell how to release him, and the heartbroken queen was\ndying of grief, for she loved her husband very dearly.\n\nWhen she saw her little son her tears fell fast on his baby face.\n\"Call him Tristram,\" she said, \"for he was born in sorrow,\" and as she\nspoke she fell back dead.\n\nLittle Tristram wailed right lustily, as though he fully realized his\norphan state, and wept with pity for his own sad fate; and good cause he\nhad to wail, too, poor little man, had he but known it, for already the\ngreedy barons had cast their eyes on his land, longing to possess it and\nrule it.  With only a baby boy standing between them and it, their way was\neasy enough.  His death could easily be accomplished.\n\nFortunately, though, for him, and everyone else in the land, King Melodias\nwas just then released from enchantment by Merlin the wizard, and came\nhurrying joyfully to his home, to embrace his beloved wife.  Great was his\ngrief when he found that she was dead, great was the moan he made in his\nsorrow.  With great pomp and splendour he buried her, and for seven years\nlived a lonely life, mourning her.\n\nAt the end of that time he married again, but the stepmother hated little\nTristram, the heir, and longed to destroy him, that her own child might be\nking.  So one day she placed some poison in a cup for him to drink, but\nher own child, being thirsty, drank the poison and died.\n\nThe queen, broken-hearted at the loss of her boy, and horror-stricken at\nwhat she had done, hated her stepson more than ever after this, and once\nagain she tried to kill him in the same manner.  This time, though,\nKing Melodias, spying the tempting-looking drink, took it up and was about\nto drink it, when the queen, seeing what he was about to do, rushed in and\nsnatched it from him.  Then he discovered her guilt, and his anger knew no\nbounds.\n\n\"Thou traitress!\" he cried, \"confess what manner of drink this is, or here\nand now I will run this sword through thy heart!\"\n\nSo she confessed, and was tried before the barons, and by their judgment\nwas given over to be burnt to death.  The faggots were prepared, the queen\nwas bound to the stake, and they were beginning to light the fire when\nlittle Tristram, flinging himself on his knees, besought his father with\nsuch entreaties to pardon her, that the king could not refuse.  So the\nqueen was released, and in time the king forgave her.\n\nBut, though he forgave her, he could never trust her again, and to protect\nlittle Tristram from her, he was sent to France, where he continued for\nsome time, learning to joust and hunt, and do all things that were right\nand brave and noble; and seven years passed before he returned to his home\nin Lyonesse.\n\nLyonesse was the furthest point of Cornwall; it joined what we now call\n'Land's End,' and stretched out through the sea until it reached the\nScilly Islands, a wild, rugged, beautiful spot, washed on either side by\nthe glorious Atlantic sea.   One day, though, that glorious Atlantic rose\nlike a mountain above Lyonesse, and where in the morning had been a\nbeautiful city with churches and houses, and fertile lands, in the evening\nthere was only a raging, boiling sea, bearing on its bosom fragments of\nthe lost world it had devoured.  This, though, was long after the time of\nwhich I am writing now.\n\nFor two years after his return from France, Tristram lived in Lyonesse,\nand then it happened that King Anguish of Ireland sent to King Mark of\nCornwall to demand seven years' truage that was due to him.  But when the\ndemand reached King Mark, he and his knights absolutely refused to pay the\nmoney, and sent the messenger back, with none too polite a message, to say\nso.  If he wanted the debt settled, they said, he could send the noblest\nknight of his court to fight for it, otherwise the king might whistle for\nhis money.\n\nKing Anguish was furiously enraged when this message reached him, and\ncalling to him at once Sir Marhaus, his biggest and trustiest knight, sent\nhim without delay to Cornwall to fight this battle.\n\nSo Sir Marhaus set sail, and King Mark was troubled when he heard who was\ncoming against him, for he knew well he had no knight to match him.\n\nAt last Sir Marhaus arrived, but he did not land at once; for seven days\nhe abode in his ship, and each day he sent to King Mark a stern demand for\nthe money.\n\nThe king had no intention of paying the money, but he sorely wanted a\nknight to fight for him.  One worthy by birth and skill to meet this great\nchampion; and in great ado he sent all over the country in search of such\na one.  At last, when none was to be found at home, someone counselled the\nking to send to King Arthur at Camelot for one of the Knights of the Round\nTable; but that could not be, for Sir Marhaus himself was a Round Table\nknight, and they, of course, never fought each other, unless it was in\nprivate quarrel.\n\nWhen at last the news of all this reached young Tristram's ears, he felt\nvery greatly mortified that there could not be found in Cornwall a knight\nto fight for their rights, and his heart burned within him to go and save\nthe honour of the West Country.  He went to his father, King Melodias.\n\"It seems to me,\" he cried impetuously, \"a shame to us all, that Sir\nMarhaus, who is brother to the Queen of Ireland, should go back and say we\nCornishmen have no one worthy to fight him.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" answered the king, \"know ye not that Sir Marhaus is one of the\nnoblest of Arthur's knights, the best knights of the world? Beyond those\nof the Table Round I know none fit to match him.\"\n\n\"Then,\" cried Tristram, \"I would I were a knight, for if Sir Marhaus\ndeparts to Ireland unscathed, I will never more hold up my head for very\nshame.  Sir, give me leave to go to my uncle, King Mark, that I may by him\nbe made a knight.\"\n\nKing Melodias could deny his son nothing, so, \"Do as your courage bids\nyou,\" he said, and Tristram, filled with joy, rode away at once to his\nuncle's court, and as soon as he arrived there he heard nothing but great\ndole made that no one could be found to fight the Irish knight.\n\n\"Who are you?\" asked the king, when Tristram presented himself before him,\n\"and whence come you?\" he added, looking admiringly at the handsome\nstranger.\n\n\"Sir, I am Tristram of Lyonesse; I come from King Melodias, whose son I\nam; my mother was your sister.\"\n\nThen King Mark rejoiced greatly, for he saw in this stalwart nephew a\nchampion for Cornwall, and, having knighted him, he sent word to Sir\nMarhaus to say he had found a champion to do battle with him.\n\n\"I shall fight with none but of the blood-royal,\" Sir Marhaus sent back\nword; \"your champion must be either a king's son or a queen's.\"\n\nWhereupon King Mark sent word to say that his champion was better born\nthan ever Sir Marhaus was, and that his name was Tristram of Lyonesse,\nwhose father was a king, and his mother a queen, and a king's sister.\n\nSo it was arranged that the fight should take place on an island near, and\nthither Sir Tristram went in a ship with his horse, and his man\nGouvernail, and all that he could need.  And so noble he looked, and so\nbrave, and of so good heart, that not one who saw him depart could refrain\nfrom weeping, for they never thought to see him return alive.\n\nSo, on the island those two noble knights met, and Sir Marhaus was sad to\nsee one so young and well-favoured come against him.  \"I sore repent,\"\nsaid he, \"of your courage, for hear me that against all the noblest and\ntrustiest knights of the world have I been matched and never yet been\nbeaten.  So take my counsel, and return again to your ship while you are\nable.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Sir Tristram, throwing up his head proudly, \"I have been made\na knight that I might come against you, and I have sworn never to leave\nyou until you are conquered or I am dead, for I will fight to the death to\nrescue Cornwall from the old truage.\"\n\nSo they lowered their spears, and without more ado the fight began, and\nsuch a fight as that was never seen or known before in Cornwall. At the\nvery first charge they met with such force that Sir Marhaus's spear\nwounded Sir Tristram in the side, and horses and riders were sent rolling\non the ground; but soon they were on their feet again, and freeing\nthemselves of their horses and spears, they pulled out their shields and\nfought with swords.  With their swords they slashed and smote each other\nuntil the blood poured from them in streams, and so courageous were they,\nand determined not to give in, that they fought on and on until it seemed\nas though that struggle would last for ever.  They hurled at each other\nwith such fury that the blood ran down them in streams, dyeing the ground\nall round, yet neither prevailed in the least degree.\n\nBy and by, though, Sir Tristram, being the younger and the better-winded,\nproved the fresher, and drawing up all his strength for one last effort,\nhe smote Sir Marhaus on the helm with such force that Sir Marhaus fell on\nhis knees, and the sword cleaving through helmet and skull stuck so fast in\nthe bone that Sir Tristram had to pull three times at it with all his\nmight before he could get it free, and when it did come, a piece of the\nedge of the sword was left behind in the skull.\n\nOvercome with pain and shame at his defeat, Sir Marhaus with a mighty\neffort raised himself to his feet, and without speaking one word, flung\nfrom him his sword and his shield, and staggered away to his ship.\n\n\"Ah!\" mocked Sir Tristram, \"why do you, a knight of the Table Round, flee\nfrom a knight so young and untried as I?\"  But Sir Marhaus made as though\nhe did not hear the taunts, but hurrying on board his ship, set sail with\nall possible speed.\n\n\"Well, Sir Knight,\" laughed Tristram, \"I thank you for your sword and\nshield; I will keep them wherever I go, and the shield I will carry to the\nday of my death.\"  So Sir Marhaus returned to Ireland, and there, in spite\nof all that physicians could do, he soon died of his disgrace and his\nwounds; and after he was dead, the piece of sword-blade, which could not\nbe extracted before, was found embedded in his brainpan.\n\nWhen the queen, his sister, saw the piece of sword-blade which was taken\nfrom her brother's skull, she asked that she might have it; and putting it\naway in a secret spot she vowed a solemn vow that when she had found out\nwho had done this thing, she would never rest until she had had revenge.\n\nBut about that time Sir Tristram, who had been severely wounded himself,\nwas also lying at the point of death, neither knowing nor caring to know\nof the blessings and praises showered upon him; and great was the grief\nthat filled the hearts of all the leeches and surgeons for whom King Mark\nhad sent, for not one was of any avail, and the gallant young knight who\nhad saved the honour of Cornwall was more than like to die.\n\nAt last, when hope was well-nigh dead, there came a lady to the court who\ntold King Mark that his nephew would never recover from his wounds unless\nhe went to the land whence the poisoned spear came, for there only could\nhe be healed.\n\nSo, with all speed was a vessel prepared, and on board it Sir Tristram was\ncarried, and with his man Gouvernail, his dogs, his horses, and his harp,\nhe sailed until he came to Ireland.  Here they all landed, and Sir\nTristram was borne carefully on shore, to a castle prepared for him, where\nhe was laid on a bed, and there on his bed he lay day after day, playing\non his harp so exquisitely that all the people crowded to listen to him,\nfor such music had never been heard in that country before.\n\nBy and by the news of the presence of this wonderful player was carried to\nthe king and queen, who were dwelling not very far away: and the king and\nqueen sent for him to come to them; but when they found that he was a\nwounded knight, they had him brought to the castle, and there his wound\nwas dressed and every care taken of him, for now they all grew to have a\ngreat admiration and liking for him.  But who he was, or where he came\nfrom, they had no idea, for he had not told anyone his real name, or the\nstory of the joust in which he got his wound.\n\nNow in all that land there was no better surgeon than the king's own\ndaughter, the lady Iseult,--who, because of her loveliness, was known as\nLa Belle Iseult.--So presently the king, who came to feel a greater and\ngreater liking for Sir Tristram, and was anxious to see him well again,\ngave him over to the charge of his daughter, in whose skill he had great\nfaith; for none other seemed able to heal him.\n\nSo La Belle Iseult nursed him, and attended to his wound, and soon, at the\nbottom of it, she found the poison, which she removed, and quickly healed\nhim.  Before this end was reached, though, Sir Tristram had grown to love\nhis beautiful nurse, and she her patient; for La Belle Iseult with her\nflower-like face and large grey eyes, her broad, low brow, round which her\ngleaming golden hair waved softly, and fell in heavy waves to her knees,\nwas wondrously lovable.  And Sir Tristram was more than passing noble,\nand his manners were gentle and courteous.  When he grew stronger he\ntaught Iseult to play the harp, and they sang songs together, so that they\nsaw much of one another.\n\nSomeone else loved Iseult also, and this was Sir Palamides the Saracen,\nand many fair gifts he brought the lady to win her love.  But ladies are\nnot to be won thus, and Iseult did not love the Saracen knight.\nIndeed, she besought Sir Tristram to joust with him and conquer him, that\nshe might be rid of him, both of which Sir Tristram did, though Sir\nPalamides had put to the worse many brave knights before, and most men\nwere afraid of him.  Sir Tristram, whom Iseult had arrayed in white\nharness, rode against him on a white horse and threw him, and Sir\nPalamides was sore ashamed and would have crept secretly from the field,\nand from the crowds of knights and ladies watching the jousts, had not Sir\nTristram gone after him and bid him return and finish the joust.\nSo Palamides returned and fought again, but once more Sir Tristram\noverthrew him, and this time wounded him so sore that he was at his mercy.\n\n\"Now,\" said Sir Tristram, \"swear to me that you will do as I command, or I\nwill slay you outright.\"  Sir Palamides seeing his stern face, and\nremembering his strength, promised.  \"Then,\" said Sir Tristram,\n\"promise never more to come near the lady La Belle Iseult, also that for a\ntwelvemonth and a day you will bear no armour, nor wear any harness of\nwar.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" cried Sir Palamides, \"I shall be for ever ashamed and disgraced,\"\nbut he had to promise, and in fierce vexation he cut to pieces the harness\nhe then wore, and threw the pieces from him.  No one but La Belle Iseult\nknew who the knight was who had jousted with the Saracen, until some time\nafter; and when it was known, Sir Tristram was loved more than ever by the\nking and queen, as he was already by their daughter.\n\nSo month after month Sir Tristram lingered on in Ireland, and did many a\nnoble deed during that time, and there he might have gone on living to the\nend of the chapter, if it had not been for a sore mischance which befell\nthus.\n\nOne day, while Sir Tristram was absent, the queen and the lady Iseult were\nwandering up and down his room, when the queen suddenly espied Sir\nTristram's sword lying on a couch, and seeing it to be of fine workmanship\nand delicately wrought, she lifted it the better to examine it, and she\nand Iseult stood admiring it together.  Then presently the queen drew the\nsword slowly from out its scabbard, and there, within an inch and a half\nof the point, she espied the broken edge of the blade.\n\nThrusting the weapon into Iseult's hands she ran to her chamber, where she\nhad, safely locked away, the piece of steel which had been taken from her\nbrother's skull; and bringing it back fitted it to the broken blade\nexactly.\n\nAt that her anger knew no bounds, nor her mortification that they should\nhave treated so well, and grown to love, the slayer of her brother.\nSir Tristram happening to return at that moment, her anger so overmastered\nher that, seizing the sword, she rushed on him and would have slain him\nthere and then, had not Gouvernail caught her and wrested the weapon from\nher.\n\nBeing frustrated she ran in a frenzy of hate to her husband.  \"My lord,\"\nshe cried, \"we have here, in our very home, the destroyer and slayer of my\nbrother, your most noble and trusty knight.\"\n\n\"Who is he?\" cried King Anguish, springing to his feet, \"and where?\"\n\n\"Sir, it is this same knight whom your daughter has healed, and whom we\nhave loved and treated well.  I beseech you have no mercy on him, for he\ndeserves none.\"\n\n\"Alas, alas,\" cried the king, \"I am right sorry, for he is as noble a\nknight as ever I saw.  Do him no violence.  Leave him to me, and I will\ndeal with him according to my best judgment.\"\n\nSo the king, who loved Sir Tristram, and could not bring himself to have\nhim slain, went to Tristram's chamber, and there he saw him dressed, and\nready to mount his horse.  Then and there the king told him all that he\nhad learnt, and said, \"I love you too well to do you harm, therefore I\ngive you leave to quit this court on one condition, that you tell me your\nreal name, and if you really slew my brother-in-law, Sir Marhaus.\"\n\nSo Tristram told him all his story, and then took leave of the king and\nall the court; and great was the grief at his departure, but by far the\nsaddest leave-taking was that between him and La Belle Iseult, for they\nloved each other very dearly.  And when they parted Sir Tristram swore to\nbe ever her true and faithful knight, and she, that for seven years she\nwould marry no one else, unless by his consent or desire.  Then each gave\nthe other a ring, and with a last long kiss they parted.\n\nSo Sir Tristram returned at last to Cornwall, and there stayed with his\nuncle Mark, at Tintagel, and great were the rejoicings that he had\nreturned recovered of his wound, and stronger and more noble-looking than\never.\n\nWhen, though, he had been back a little time, a great quarrel arose\nbetween King Mark and his nephew, and their feelings grew very hot and\nangry towards one another.  It was about a beautiful lady that they\nquarrelled, a lady whom King Mark loved more than passing well.\nHe thought that Sir Tristram loved her too, and she him, and he was so\njealous of Sir Tristram that one day he and his knights, disguised, rode\nafter him to see if he had gone to meet her.  And as Tristram came riding\nback King Mark bore down on him, and they fought until the king was so\nwounded that he lay on the ground as though dead, and Sir Tristram rode on\nhis way.  He never knew that it was his uncle with whom he had fought, but\nfrom that day to the day of his death, though they were fair-spoken to\neach other, the king never forgave his nephew or loved him again.\n\nIndeed, he hated him so much that he ever plotted to injure him, and at\nlast one day he thought of a plan by which he could ruin Tristram's\nhappiness, and probably get him killed as well.\n\nNow it happened that when Sir Tristram had first returned from Ireland he\nhad told his uncle of La Belle Iseult, of her beauty, and grace, and\nskill; for his heart was ever filled with love and admiration for her,\nand to him she was the very fairest woman in the world.  So to wound Sir\nTristram, and to take a sore and cruel revenge upon him, King Mark\ndetermined to ask her in marriage for himself, and to make his cruelty the\ngreater, he determined that Sir Tristram should be the knight who should\ngo to Ireland as his ambassador to ask her hand of King Anguish, her\nfather.\n\nSending for Sir Tristram he laid his commands upon him, rejoicing in the\nheavy task he was laying upon him, watching him closely to note how he\nwould bear it.  But Sir Tristram, though sad at heart and deeply troubled,\nbore himself bravely, and accepted the task; for to have refused it would\nhave been a cowardice and a shame, and not the conduct of a true knight.\n\nWithout delay he set about preparing for his sad journey.  He had made\nready a large vessel, fitted in the most sumptuous manner possible,\nand taking with him some chosen knights dressed in the most goodly style,\nhe set sail from Tintagel for Ireland.  Before they had got far, though,\na fierce storm burst over them, and beat their vessel about until she was\ndriven back to England, to the coast of Camelot, where King Arthur dwelt,\nand right glad they were to take to the land.\n\nThere, when they were landed, Sir Tristram set up his tent, and hanging\nhis shield without it, lay down to rest.  Hardly, though, was he lain\ndown, before two knights of the Round Table, Sir Ector de Maris and Sir\nMorganor, came and rapped on the shield, bidding him come forth and joust.\n\n\"Wait awhile,\" called back Sir Tristram, \"and I will bring you my answer.\"\nThen he hastily dressed himself, and came out to the two impatient\nknights, and without much ado he first smote down Sir Ector and then Sir\nMorganor, with the same spear.\n\n\"Whence come you, and whose knight are you?\" they asked as they lay on the\nground, unable to rise because of their bruises.\n\n\"My lords,\" answered Sir Tristram, \"I am from Cornwall.\"\n\n\"Alas, alas, I am sore ashamed that any Cornish knight should have\novercome me,\" cried Sir Ector.  And so ashamed was he that he put off his\narmour and went away on foot, for he would not ride.\n\nNow it happened about this time that King Anguish of Ireland was sent for\nto appear at King Arthur's court at Camelot, to answer a charge of treason\nbrought against him by Sir Blamor de Ganis, and Sir Bleoberis, his\nbrother; which was that he had slain at his court a cousin of theirs and\nof Sir Launcelot.\n\nThe king, who had not known for why he was sent, was sore abashed when he\nheard the charge, for he knew there were only two ways to settle the\nmatter, either he must fight the accuser himself, or he must get a knight\nto do so for him, and very heavy-hearted he was, for Sir Blamor was a\npowerful knight, and one of the trustiest of the Table Round, and King\nAnguish knew that now Sir Marhaus was dead he had no knight in Ireland to\nmatch him.\n\nThree days he had in which to decide upon his answer, and great was his\nperplexity as to what it should be.\n\nMeanwhile, Gouvernail went unto his master and told him that King Anguish\nwas arraigned for murder, and was in great distress.  Whereupon Sir\nTristram replied, \"This is the best news I have heard these seven years,\nthat the King of Ireland hath need of my help.  I dare be sworn there is\nno knight in England, save of Arthur's court, that dare do battle with Sir\nBlamor de Ganis.  Bring me to the king then, Gouvernail, for to win his\nlove I will take this battle on myself.\"\n\nSo Gouvernail went to King Anguish, and told him that a knight wished to\ndo him service.  \"What knight?\" said he.\n\n\"Sir Tristram of Lyonesse,\" answered Gouvernail, \"who, for your goodness\nto him in your own land, would fain assist you in this.\"\n\nThen was the king right overjoyed, and went unto Sir Tristram's pavilion,\nand when Sir Tristram saw him he would have knelt and held his stirrup for\nhim to dismount, but the king leapt lightly to the ground, and they\nembraced each other with great gladness, and the king told his tale.\n\n\"Sir,\" said Sir Tristram, \"for your good grace to me, and for the sake of\nyour daughter, Belle Iseult, I will fight this battle, but you must grant\nme two requests.  The first is, you must give me your own word that you\nwere not consenting unto this knight's death; the second, that if I win\nthis battle you shall give me as reward whatsoever reasonable thing I\nask.\"  Whereupon the king swore to both of them, and then went to tell his\naccusers that he had a knight ready to fight Sir Blamor.  Then King Arthur\ncommanded Sir Tristram and Sir Blamor to appear before the judges, and\nwhen they came many kings and knights who were present recognized Sir\nTristram as the young unknown knight who had fought and conquered Sir\nMarhaus of Ireland, and the excitement grew intense, for two lustier\nknights than Sir Tristram and Sir Blamor could not have been found.\n\nSo the time was fixed, and the combatants retired to their tents to\nprepare for battle.\n\n\"Dear brother,\" said Bleoberis to Blamor, \"remember of what kin you are,\nand how Sir Launcelot is our cousin, and suffer death rather than shame,\nfor none of our blood was yet shamed in battle.\"\n\n\"Fear not,\" answered Sir Blamor stoutly, \"that I will ever disgrace our\nkin.  Yonder knight is a goodly man, but I swear I will never yield,\nnor say the loth word.  He may smite me down by his chivalry, but he shall\nslay me before I say the loth word.\"\n\nSo the two champions rode to meet each other from opposite sides of the\nlists, and they feutred their spears and charged each other with so great\nforce that it sounded as though the heavens were sending forth loud\nthunders, and then Sir Tristram by his great strength bore Sir Blamor to\nthe ground, and his horse under him.\n\nHe was quickly clear of his horse, though, and on his feet again.\n\"Alight, Sir Tristram,\" he cried, pulling out his sword, \"my horse has\nfailed me, but the earth shall not.\"\n\nSo together they rushed, and lashed at each other in fury, slashing and\ntearing, foining, and making such fearful strokes that the kings and\nknights held their breath in horror and amazement that two men could use\neach other so, and neither give in.  But so fierce were they that their\nstabs and cuts might have been falling on men of wood, so little heed did\nthey pay.  So fast and furiously they fought, that the wonder was they had\nbreath to keep on; but Sir Blamor was the more furious, and therefore the\nless wary, so that by and by Sir Tristram saw an opportunity and smote him\nsuch a crushing blow on the head that he fell over on his side, and Sir\nTristram stood over him.\n\nThen was Sir Blamor's shame piteous.  \"Kill me, Sir Tristram,\" he cried,\n\"as you are a noble knight, for I would not live.  Not to be lord of the\nwhole universe would I endure with shame; and I will never say the loth\nword, so the victory is not yours unless you slay me.\"\n\nSir Tristram was sore perplexed what to do.  He could not bring himself to\nkill this noble knight; but for his party's sake he must, unless Sir\nBlamor would say the loth word.  So he went to the assembled kings, and\nkneeling before them he besought them that they would take the matter into\ntheir hands. \"For,\" said he, \"it is a cruel pity that such a noble knight\nshould be slain, and I pray God he may not be slain or shamed by me.  I\nbeseech the king, whose champion I am, that he will have mercy upon this\ngood knight.\"\n\nSir Bleoberis, though, as hotly demanded that his brother should be slain\noutright, until the judges gave him stern reproof.\n\n\"It shall not be,\" they said, \"both King Anguish and his champion knight\nhave more mercy than thou,\" and they went to King Anguish, and he, good\nman, gave up his claim, and resigned the loth word, as each champion was\nproved of good faith.  And so it was settled, and so rejoiced were Sir\nBleoberis and his brother, and right grateful for their goodness, that\nthey swore eternal friendship to King Anguish and Sir Tristram, and each\nkissed the other, and swore a vow that neither would come against the\nother in combat.\n\nThen King Anguish and Sir Tristram set sail for Ireland, with great\nsplendour and gladness, and right welcome was Sir Tristram when the people\nheard what he had done for their king and for them.  Great were the\nrejoicings, and great the joy, but the joy of Iseult was greater than all\nthe rest together, for she still loved Sir Tristram with all her heart and\nsoul.  Then as the days came and went, much did King Anguish marvel that\nSir Tristram had not made his second request, but Sir Tristram was fain to\npostpone doing so, for he was heavy-hearted at his task.  At last King\nAnguish asked him, saying, \"Sir Knight, you have not yet asked of me your\nreward.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said Sir Tristram sadly, \"the time is come.  I would ask you for\nyour daughter Iseult to take back with me to Cornwall,--not for myself,\nbut to wed the king, my uncle Mark; for full well he knows how she\nsurpasseth all in beauty, and wisdom, and charm, for I myself have told\nhim of her, until he desireth her greatly for his queen and lady.\"\n\n\"Ah me!\" cried King Anguish in amazement, and, \"Ah me!\" he sighed,\n\"I would you had asked her for yourself, Sir Tristram.  Right glad would I\nhave been to have called you 'son!'\"\n\n\"That can never be now,\" said Sir Tristram gently; \"I should be false to\nmy trust, and for ever shamed.  My uncle commanded me to come, and I have\npromised.\"\n\nSo a great feasting and merry-making began, and all things were made\nready for La Belle Iseult to sail to another land to be made a queen.\nNow whether the queen, Iseult's mother, saw that Sir Tristram and her\ndaughter loved each other, or whether she feared that her daughter might\nnot love King Mark, no one will ever know, but she set to work to concoct\na love-drink, brewing it from delicate herbs and simples, which when ready\nshe enclosed in a golden flask.  This she handed to Dame Bragwaine,\nLa Belle Iseult's waiting-woman, bidding her guard it with all care,\nand not let it out of her sight until La Belle Iseult and King Mark were\nwedded, when she was to give it to them that they might each drink of it,\nso that a great and holy love should rise and grow between them, never to\ndie until their lives ended.\n\nSo, on a certain day a dainty vessel, all painted white and silver, and\nfurnished with the utmost richness and beauty, set sail from Ireland.\nAt the prow glittered a golden swallow, all set with gems, and on board\nwere Tristram and Iseult.\n\nSilently, swiftly they glided through the waters, the sun shone softly,\nthe breeze lightly caressed the dainty, bird-like vessel and the white\nfluttering canvas, as though afraid to breathe on anything so lovely as\nthe lady lying amidst her silken cushions and cloth of gold.  Then it\nstole modestly away, only to return again, full fain to touch her golden\nhair, or her delicate cheek.  The scent of the land-flowers filled the\nair, for the vessel was gaily bedecked with all the fairest and most\ndelicate.\n\nIn this little nest of luxury sat Tristram and Iseult, he so stalwart,\nnoble, bronzed, she so surpassingly beautiful, gentle and lovable.\nAll through the long, warm days they sat listening each to the other's\ntalk, and when the sun went down and left them to the fair white light of\nthe moon, they still sat and talked, or looked at each other, for the mere\nsight of each filled the other's heart with joy.\n\nOh the pity of it all! the pity of it!  Such a nobly-matched pair was\nnever seen before nor since.\n\nIseult made Sir Tristram tell her of the battles he had fought, of the\ncountries he had seen, and of the people of this new land towards which\nshe was hastening; for all was strange to her, and a great heaviness\nfilled her heart at the thought of King Mark and his court.\n\nThat her mind might not dwell on it, she asked him of Queen Guinevere,\nthe fame of whose beauty had spread to all lands.\n\n\"Alas, alas for her beauty!\" cried Sir Tristram.  \"It has been the undoing\nof many good men and true, who have died for love of her.  Her beauty has\nbeen a sore curse to her, poor lady.\"\n\n\"Then,\" answered Iseult, looking up at him with serious, innocent eyes,\n\"right thankful I am that my face will never bring ill-fortune to any\nman!\"  And Sir Tristram had to turn from her to hide his pain, for his\nlove for her was greater than ever.\n\nOn and on they sailed, full fain that their voyage might last as long as\nmight be, for perfect was their happiness to be together thus, and\neverything was fair and peaceful.  But at last one day the sun was hid by\nthe clouds which gathered in the sky above them, the wind howled\nthreateningly around the vessel, increasing in violence as the hours\ndragged by, until the danger of the dainty craft was great.\n\nIll indeed would it have been with them but for the might of Sir\nTristram's arm, for the vessel was not one built to battle with tempests\nand mighty seas.  With all his strength and skill he guided her through\nthe troubled waters, and Iseult sat and watched him at his task,\nmarvelling at his power.  \"Ah,\" she thought, \"had I been a man I would\nhave been just like to him.\"  And, without fear of danger, so perfectly\ndid she trust in him, she lay and gazed at him with admiring, wistful\neyes.  From time to time he came to her to encourage and reassure her,\nbut although she felt no fear, she did not tell him so, so dearly did she\nlove to hear his voice, and feel his care for her.\n\nAt last when the danger was over he came to her again, dropping beside her\nalmost exhausted.  \"Iseult, my throat is parched and burning, my tongue\ncleaves to my mouth.  Give me some drink,\" he pleaded.\n\nPleased to do his bidding, glad to be able to help him, Iseult rose and\nran below.  But in the confusion caused by the storm nowhere could she\nfind aught wherewith to quench his thirst.  Dame Bragwaine, half dead with\nterror of the storm, fatigue, and sickness, lay in a sort of stupor on her\ncouch, and Iseult, ever kind and thoughtful for others, would not disturb\nher to help her in her search.  Here and there she sought, and high and\nlow, but nowhere could she find wine or aught else to drink.\n\nRight vexed and disappointed, she was returning empty-handed to the deck\nwhere Sir Tristram impatiently awaited her, when, close by the couch of\nDame Bragwaine, she spied a beautiful golden flask full of a rich\nsparkling liquid.  With a cry of relief she snatched it up, and running up\non deck, \"Drink, drink,\" she cried, unloosing the fastening, \"the perfume\nis intoxicating.   Such wine I never before beheld.\"\n\n\"Nay, sweet Lady Iseult,\" cried Sir Tristram, pressing it back into her\nhands; \"deign first to put your lips to it; do me that honour, or I will\nnever taste it.\"  So to her sweet parted lips she raised the flask, and\ndrank, and then, smiling and glad, she handed it to him.\n\nAlas, alas, unhappy pair, who might have been so happy!  No sooner had\nthey tasted of that fatal drink than through their hearts and brains\npoured a love so great, so deep, so surpassing, that never a greater could\nexist in this world.  And in their hearts it dwelt for evermore, never\nleaving them through weal or woe.\n\nAt last, alas, after many adventures and many dangers, the happy voyage\nended, the coast of Cornwall was reached, and Sir Tristram had to lead La\nBelle Iseult to the king.  And King Mark when he saw her was so amazed at\nher beauty that he loved her there and then, and with great pomp and\nrejoicing the marriage took place at once.\n\nBut La Belle Iseult loved none but Sir Tristram, and he her.\n\nFor a while all went well, but only for a little while, for King Mark,\ntold by his knights of the love Queen Iseult and Sir Tristram bore each\nother, grew sore jealous of Sir Tristram, and hating him more and more,\nlonged for a chance to do him harm.\n\nBut Tristram gave him no chance, for he was the noblest and trustiest\nknight of all the court, and though he fought and jousted continually no\nharm came to him until one unhappy day, when he was lying sleeping in a\nwood, there came along, a man whose brother Sir Tristram had killed; when\nthe man saw Sir Tristram lying there asleep he shot an arrow at him, and\nthe arrow went through Tristram's shoulder.\n\nSir Tristram was on his feet in a moment, and killed the man; but his own\nhurt was a grievous one, for the arrow had been a poisoned one, so, what\nwith his poisoned wound and what with his sorrow that Iseult was so kept a\nprisoner by King Mark, that he could neither see her nor hear from her,\nhe was very ill for a long time, and like to die.  And no one had the\nskill to cure him but La Belle Iseult, and she might not do so.\n\nHearing, though, by some means, of his sad condition she sent to him a\nmessage by Dame Bragwaine's cousin, bidding him to go to Brittany, for\nKing Howell's daughter, Iseult la Blanche Mains,--or Iseult of the White\nHands,--could cure him, and no one else.  So he took a ship and went, and\nthis other Iseult healed his wounds, and restored him to perfect health.\nBut she grew to love him, too, for he was a man to whom all women's hearts\nsoftened.\n\nShe was but a child, this White-handed Iseult.  She had barely reached her\nsixteenth year.  And though she thought of her unasked love with shame,\nand though she ever strove to hide it, it shone in her soft brown eyes,\nand pale face, and filled Sir Tristram's heart with pain for her.  So he\nleft the court and sailed the seas again, hoping that she would forget\nhim, and learn to love someone else.\n\nNow, though Sir Tristram could not tear the love of La Belle Iseult from\nhis heart, he did not spend his life in moans and sad regrets.  He gave\nhis life to helping the oppressed, and destroying the oppressors; to\nhelping to right wrongs, and in all ways living a good and noble life\nworthy of the lady who loved him.\n\nHis liking for the sea was great, too, so that he spent many days and\nnights on board his own good ship, and often he thought of the time when\nLa Belle Iseult crossed the sea with him, of the sunny days and starry\nnights, the peace, the joy, and the happiness of that sweet time.\nAnd his heart ached cruelly, and he was full of sadness, for he was a very\nlonely man now, with no hope of happiness before him.\n\nThen one day in his loneliness came the thought of that other lonely\nheart,--kind little Iseult of the White Hands, and of her love for him.\n\"She suffers as I do,\" he said.  \"Why should two women suffer so for my\nsake?  I cannot love her as she deserves, but I will try to make her\nhappy.\"  So, turning the vessel's head, he made once more for Brittany,\nand there he found that an earl called Grip was making great war upon King\nHowell, and was getting the mastery.  So Sir Tristram joyfully went to the\nking's aid, and after mowing down Grip's knights right and left, he killed\nthe earl himself, and so won the battle.\n\nRight royally was Sir Tristram received after that, and King Howell in his\njoy would have given him his whole kingdom had he so desired.  But Sir\nTristram would accept no reward.  What he had done, was done for Iseult's\nsake, he said.  And a love grew up in Tristram's heart for the gentle\nmaiden, for who could help loving one kind and beautiful!\n\nSo they were married with great rejoicings, and all the kingdom was glad,\nand so was Sir Tristram, for now, he thought, he could quench that fatal\nlove for Iseult of Cornwall, and could spend the rest of his days in this\nsunny land, happy with his sweet child-wife.\n\nAlas! alas!  Once more the deadly love-drink did its work!  No sooner had\nhe placed the ring on his bride's finger, than the love for the other\nIseult returned stronger than ever.\n\n\"I have been false to my lady!\" he cried to himself remorsefully,\n\"for I swore ever to be her true knight, loyal to her alone.\"\nAnd such sorrow and repentance filled his heart that his love for his\nbride was killed.  He concealed his pain so well, though, that little\nIseult was happy, never doubting that her husband loved her,--but all the\ndays and nights that passed were full for Tristram of yearning for his\nlove, and a great longing to be again in Cornwall.\n\nAt last one day there arrived at the castle a knight from King Arthur's\ncourt at Camelot; and of him Sir Tristram asked, \"Say they aught of me at\ncourt?\"\n\n\"Truly,\" answered the knight, \"they speak of you with shame, for Sir\nLauncelot says you are a false knight to your lady, and his love for you\nis dead, so that he longs to meet with you that he may joust with you.\"\n\nSore troubled indeed was Sir Tristram at this, for he loved Sir Launcelot,\nand coveted his respect, and to be deemed traitor to the lady for whom he\nwould have laid down his life, hurt him most of all.\n\nFrom that time his longing to return to Tintagel and his love for La Belle\nIseult grew daily more and more unconquerable, until at last he could no\nlonger bear it, and one day set sail from Brittany, leaving his poor\nlittle lonely wife behind to mourn his absence, and yearn for his return;\nfor as yet she had not found out that there was no love at all in his\nheart for her.\n\nBut on a day soon after he had left her there was brought to her the story\nof his love for that other Iseult, and of hers for him.  Then was the\nyoung wife filled with shame that ever she had showed her love for him,\nand jealousy raged in her, turning her love to bitter hate, and her heart\nhardened so that night and day she longed to be revenged.\n\nThus a whole year passed away, and Tristram and Queen Iseult loved each\nother as dearly as ever; but King Mark in his jealous anger kept them so\nwatched that they could never see or speak one to the other, and they had\nno peace or joy in life, until at last they could bear the pain no longer,\nand one day they managed to escape together and to reach the Castle of\nJoyous Gard, where the king had no power to reach them, even had he known\nwhere they were hid.  Of their love and happiness there no tongue can\ntell, and of the peace and joy of their life, for they loved each other\nabove all else, and when they were together nothing had power to pain\nthem.\n\nBut at last, on a sad, sad day, the trusty Gouvernail came to Sir Tristram\nwith word that a summons had been sent him from King Arthur, to go to the\naid of Sir Triamour of Wales, for he was sore beset by a monster named\nUrgan, and needed help.\n\nSir Tristram could in no wise, of course, neglect this summons, for that\nwould have been the direst disgrace to him, and never more in all his life\nwould he have been able to show himself anywhere but as a treacherous and\nloathly knight, and, though it broke his heart to send her from him, La\nBelle Iseult loved him too well to have him so disgrace himself.\n\nSo they parted; and a sadder parting never had been in this world, for\nthey knew with a sure and certain knowledge that never again would they be\nallowed to meet; and their hearts were full of a love and sorrow almost\ntoo great to be borne.  With tears and kisses they said farewell, vowing\neach to be true to the other till death, and after.\n\nSo Sir Tristram rode away into Wales, and Queen Iseult being discovered by\nKing Mark, was made to return to him, only to be made a prisoner in the\ngreat grim castle at Tintagel, where all day long she sat sad and lonely,\nlooking out over the sea, and musing sadly on all the bitterness life had\nheld for her and for her lover.  And her husband, jealous, wrathful, never\nslackened his watch over her, night or day.\n\nA harder lot was Iseult's than her lover's, for he had change and action\nto distract his thoughts, and all the excitement of battle; but she had\nnothing to do but sit and think on all that might have been, until her\nheart was near to breaking.\n\nMeanwhile, Sir Tristram arrived in Wales and met the monster Urgan, a\nhuge, hideous creature with no notion of fighting, or chivalry, for the\nmoment he beheld Sir Tristram, he rushed upon him, and would have dashed\nhim to the ground, but that Sir Tristram by good hap saw what was coming,\nand swerved aside so that the blow fell harmless.  And while the giant\nroared with rage and mortification, and tried to recover his balance,\nSir Tristram swiftly drew his sword, and swinging it lightly round his\nhead, cut the monster's right hand clean off at the wrist with one sharp\nstroke.\n\nMaddened by the pain, Urgan fumbled with his left hand until he drew from\nhis belt a short steel dagger which had been tempered with sorcery, and\nspringing on Sir Tristram they closed together, and long and fiercely they\nfought until the cliffs trembled with the struggle, and the ground was\nsodden with blood.\n\nGreat ado had Sir Tristram to avoid the huge bulk of the giant, and\ngreater and greater grew the strain upon his strength, until a blow from\nhim sent the giant rolling over in the gory mud.  He was soon on his feet\nagain, but the moment had given Sir Tristram time to get his breath.\nThen they closed again, and the blows fell faster and more furiously than\never.  The giant's groans of rage and excitement might have been heard for\nmiles around, while the earth flew about them until they could scarce be\nseen.  Between every joint of their corslets the blood ran down in\nstreams, but the sight only infuriated them the more.\n\nAt last, with a fierce roar between bitter laughter and pain, Urgan smote\nSir Tristram with such fury that he cracked his shield in half, and then\nbefore Sir Tristram could recover himself he smote him again so that he\nwould have killed him had not the blow by great good chance turned aside.\nBut, turning aside as it did, it gave Sir Tristram the chance he coveted,\nand rushing in on the giant before he had recovered his foothold, he smote\nhim with such force and skill that he cleft him clean through; and in his\nagony Urgan leapt so high in the air that he fell back over the edge of\nthe cliff, and dropped heavily into the sea.\n\nHis task accomplished, Sir Tristram got into his ship again and sailed\naway, and as he passed Tintagel, where his unhappy love lay a prisoner in\nthe castle, his heart felt like to break; and his yearning for her was so\ngreat, it seemed as though it must bring her to him in spite of her\njailers.\n\nBut they were parted, those two, by a fate as strong as death.  And she\nlay immured in her castle home, while he sailed on and on, not heeding nor\ncaring whither he went, for all that he loved dwelt on that bleak\niron-bound coast, as far from him as though the whole wide world lay\nbetween them.\n\nAnd so at last, not heeding whither he sailed, he came to that sunny land\nwhere his wife Iseult dwelt, praying always for revenge because she had\nbeen scorned by him.  On the coast at Brittany he landed, close by his own\ncastle, but no sooner had he stepped ashore than he was met by a knight\nwho knelt before him and besought his aid.\n\n\"Noble sir,\" cried he, \"I am in sore distress.  Some robbers, who infest\nthis land like a scourge, met me as I was riding along with my new-made\nbride, and I being alone and single-handed, they quickly mastered me, and\nbinding me, carried my bride away.  And how to rescue her I know not.\nCome to my aid, sir, I beseech you, for you look a noble and trusty\nknight.\"\n\nSir Tristram, glad to have some distraction from his sorrow, was only too\nready to help others who suffered for love's sake.  So to Iseult he sent a\nmessage to say he had arrived, and would have been with her but for the\nquest, which he was bound to accomplish for his honour's sake, and for the\nsake of his knighthood.  Then he departed, and he and the knight rode\nalong the seashore in search of the robbers.\n\nAll night they slept in the wood by the sea, but as soon as morning broke\nthere sounded close at hand a great trampling of horses and clanking of\narms, and soon came along the robber band, with the pale-faced, terrified\nlady in their midst, fastened to one of the robbers.\n\nAt this sight the hapless young husband could no longer restrain himself.\nWith a fierce cry he flew at the man to whom his bride was bound,\nwhile Sir Tristram, cool and strong, closed with the band and slew three\nbefore they had tried to defend themselves.  And so the unequal battle\nbegan, and so it raged; but with so much courage and fierceness did the\ntwo knights fight for their just cause, that soon nearly all the robber\nband lay lifeless on the ground.\n\nThe young knight, though, was himself by that time wounded by the last\nremaining of the band, and ill would it have gone with him, for the\nreeking sword was raised high to give him the final blow, when Sir\nTristram with a cry of triumph rushed in and clove the man so that he\nnever breathed again.\n\nThus was all accomplished, and gladly was Sir Tristram returning on his\nhomeward way, when one of the robbers who had made his escape and lay\nconcealed, shot at Sir Tristram from his hiding-place, and the arrow\npierced Sir Tristram in that same wound whereof he had nearly died before\nhe went to Ireland, and La Belle Iseult cured him.  And now he felt like\nto die again.\n\nScarcely could he stagger home through the long miles of that rugged\nforest by the sea; his eyes were faint and blinded, his legs shook under\nhim.  Parched, trembling, well-nigh dead, he reached at last his castle\ngates, but there his strength failed him, and with a terrible cry he fell\nprostrate on the ground.\n\nAt the sound forth came soldiers and servants, and strong men lifted him\nin kindly arms and laid him gently on a bed, calling aloud for someone to\ncome and dress his wound.\n\nOver by the window of the big hall sat Iseult la Blanche Mains, gazing\nwith stony, unseeing eyes out over the golden sea, paying no heed to the\nnoise and bustle going on about her.  She had recognized that cry of pain\nat the gate, and knew her husband had returned sore stricken, but never,\nnever once did she turn her head to look at him, nor move to give him\ncomfort or assistance.  And Tristram, ill though he was, felt the change\nin her manner to him, and grieved in his heart that all was not as it\nshould have been, for he could not bear to cause pain to any woman.\n\nAs soon as he could speak he called to her, humbly, \"Iseult, my wife!\"\nAt that she rose and went to him, but sullenly, and stood looking at him\nas though he were a stranger.\n\n\"Kiss me,\" he whispered, and at his bidding she stooped and kissed him,\nbut it was as though an icicle had brushed his cheek, and a black cloud of\nmisery settled down upon him, and despairing longing for her who would\nhave been so gentle and kind to him; and towards his wife his heart\nhardened.\n\nAnd she, poor little Iseult, her heart aching sorely with love and\njealousy and bitter pain, returned to her seat, and no movement did she\nmake to heal her lord of his wound, though she alone could do so.  But in\nher heart she had vowed that she would not give him health and life only\nthat he might leave her again to go to that other Iseult.  So, stern and\ncold she sat by the window looking out upon the sea, and never spake one\ngentle word, or tried to win his love.\n\nAnd thus three days and nights passed by, and ever the husband and wife\ndrifted more and more apart.  Sir Tristram's wound refused to heal,\nhis strength failed him more and more, but still his wife made no attempt\nto save him.\n\nAt last there came a day when Sir Tristram could no longer endure his\nlonely, loveless life, or his pain of mind and body, with never a kindly\nword or deed to comfort him.  This hard, reproachful woman tortured him\nhour by hour with her sullen face and hard eyes, her cruel, cold\nindifference.  And his love for that other Iseult, so tender, and true,\nand loving, burnt like fire in his veins and consumed him.  So calling to\nhim Ganhardine, his wife's brother, who loved him greatly, he bade him, by\nthe love they bore each other, to take his ship 'The Swan,' and with all\nspeed sail in her to England; and there to land at Tintagel, and by fair\nmeans or foul to convey to Queen Iseult the ring which he there gave him.\nTo tell her, too, how that he, Sir Tristram, was like to die, but could\nnot die in peace till he had seen her face once more.\n\n\"Then if it be that she comes, hoist a white sail that I may know my love\nstill loves me, and is on her way.  If not, then let the sail be black,\nthat I may know, and die.\"\n\nAnd Iseult of the White Hands heard each word he spake, and never a word\nshe said; but her rage and jealousy well-nigh consumed her.\n\nSo Sir Ganhardine left upon his errand, and sailed for Tintagel in\n'The Swan,' and the journey did not take him long, for the ship flew\nthrough the waters like a real bird, as though she knew she was bound on\nher master's errand, and that his life depended on her swiftness.\n\nDark it was when Ganhardine arrived, for it was winter-time, when storms\nrage full violent on that bleak coast.  And at once he landed, and was\nmade welcome by King Mark, for a stranger, and a noble one, was ever\nwelcome in that lone country; and the king's heart never misgave him that\nthis was a messenger from Sir Tristram.\n\nNow it happened that Dame Bragwaine knew Sir Ganhardine, for they had been\nlovers in days gone by, and more than glad they were to see each other\nagain.  So with Bragwaine's gladly given help, Ganhardine conveyed Sir\nTristram's ring to Queen Iseult in a cup of wine, so that when the queen\ndrank, there at the bottom of the cup lay Sir Tristram's ring, one that\nshe had given him long ago.  And there she saw it, and her pale sad face\nlit up with such a wondrous joy that she had some ado to conceal her\nemotion from the king and those around her who were ever keeping her\nwatched.\n\nDeftly, though, she slipped the ring out of her mouth, and deftly she\npresently managed to slip it into her bosom, marvelling much the while\nwhence and how it came, and why.  And her anxiety and longing nigh drove\nher beside herself.  For until all the inmates of the castle had retired\nto rest, naught could she learn of the mystery, or of the stranger who had\ncome to the castle.  But once within her own apartments, where she was no\nlonger watched and guarded as of yore, she quickly, at Dame Bragwaine's\nbidding, muffled herself to the eyes, and creeping softly down a flight of\nsecret stairs, she got out of the castle by a private passage-way and\nreached the spot where 'The Swan' lay moored, and where Sir Ganhardine\nawaited her with his message and his sad story.\n\nWhen she heard tell of Sir Tristram's sad plight, and how that he was like\nto die, but could not die in peace till he had once more beheld her, there\nwas no need to plead with her to leave all and go to him.  Almost before\nthe tale was told her she had stepped on board the ship, and without one\nglance behind her or one regret she set sail upon the stormy wintry sea to\ngo to her true love, as fast as the faithful 'Swan' could carry her.\nAnd in her joy that once again she should be with him, once again she\nshould see him, she almost forgot his sore plight, for hard it was for her\nto believe that Sir Tristram could be like to die.\n\nMeanwhile death was drawing nearer and nearer to Sir Tristram.\nHis restlessness aggravated his wound, his anxious, tortured mind\nincreased his fever, so that truly he was like to die at any moment.\nAnd all the time, a little way from him sat White-handed Iseult, pale and\ncold without, the better to bide the burning rage within.\n\n\"Iseult! Iseult!\" cried the sick man in his sleep.\n\n\"I am here.  What would you?\" she answered coldly, and he opened his eyes\nwith a half-doubting joy in them; but his heart sank like lead, and all\nthe joy died out of him, for the voice was not the voice of his love, nor\nthe face her face, and sore wearily he sighed, and turned his face away.\n\n\"I wronged you past all forgiveness when I married you,\" he said, \"for my\nheart had long been given to La Belle Iseult, whose sworn knight I was;\nbut I did love you, I thought I could make you happy.  Have you no pity?\nCan you feel no mercy for me now?\" he cried piteously.\n\n\"I feel nothing,\" she answered bitterly; \"between you, you have killed my\nheart, and all that was good in me.\"\n\nSo his heart yearned all the more for the gentler, more tender Iseult.\nWearily he moved in his bed and watched for the first gleam of daylight.\nSlowly the hours dragged by, relieved only by the plash, plash of the\nwaves against the castle walls, or the sighs of the sick man.\n\nThen within a while he spoke again.  \"My wife,\" he said, \"when morning\ncomes, look across the sea, and tell me if you see a ship coming, and if\nits sails be black or white, that I may the sooner be out of this\nmiserable uncertainty.\"\n\nObediently she rose, and sat watching until the first ray of dawn, when,\nskimming over the sea through the morning mist, she saw the dainty 'Swan,'\nwith her white sails like wings gleaming through the dimness.  Over the\nwide waters she flew, until she drew close to the castle, and the anchor\nwas cast.  Then from out her sprang Ganhardine, and following quickly\nafter him came La Belle Iseult.  Too impatient to wait for help she sprang\nlightly on the shore, and stood there breathless, eager, glad.\n\nAnd so for the first time Iseult la Blanche Mains saw that other Iseult,\nand as she stood on the shore in her white gown, with her golden hair\nfalling out under her hood like a mantle over her shoulders, the unhappy\nwife marvelled not that Tristram loved so fair a creature, and her heart\nsank at sight of her beauty, and fiercer burnt her jealousy.\n\n\"They come,\" she said sullenly, turning to her husband.\n\n\"Ah!\" he cried, with a deep groan of intolerable suspense.  \"Of thy mercy\ntell me, and do not torture me!\"\n\n\"The sails are black,\" she answered in a cold, hard voice.\n\nThen was the terrified woman sore afraid, for with a mighty effort Sir\nTristram sprang from his bed, and took one step across the floor, and in a\nvoice that made even her heart throb and bleed with pity, \"Iseult--my\nlove--my love!\" he cried.  Then a sudden darkness falling upon him, he\nflung out his arms as though to catch at something.  \"Iseult--Iseult--my\nlove--come--to me!\" he gasped in broken tones, and with a thud fell at his\nwife's feet, dead.\n\n\"I come, my love, I come!\" rang out a sweet voice, full of love and\ntenderness and joy; and up the castle steps flew La Belle Iseult, and\nacross the hall to where he lay.  And never a look she gave at the pale,\nunhappy wife.  Never a glance at aught beside that form.\n\n\"Tristram, my beloved!  I am here.  I am with you--with you for all time,\"\nshe cried, flinging herself on her knees beside him.  And never another\nword did she speak,--for when they raised her, her spirit had followed his\nto where none could part them more.\n\nSo died those two who had lived and loved so sadly and so truly.  And when\nhe was dead there was found round Sir Tristram's sword-belt the story of\nthe fatal love-draught, and when he read it deep was the grief and bitter\nthe remorse of King Mark that he had ever parted those two so bound\ntogether, and driven them to such despair.\n\nOnce more 'The Swan' sailed over the sea to Tintagel, and this time she\nbore Sir Tristram and his love together, for side by side they were to be\nburied in a dainty chapel made for them alone, that at last they should\nnever more be parted.\n\nBut in time the sea, jealous for those lovers whose doom she had seen,\ncame up and drew that dainty chapel into her own bosom.  And there, where\nnone can see them, the lovers sleep in peace for evermore, wrapped round\nand guarded by the blue waters of the deep Atlantic sea.","title":"Cornwall's Wonderland","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":53509}