{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_30955/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_30955","id":"gutenberg_30955","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30955","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction","Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction","Elves -- Juvenile fiction","Fairies -- Juvenile fiction","Fairy tales","Magic -- Juvenile fiction","Princesses -- Juvenile fiction","Wealth -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Produced by Annie McGuire. This book was produced from\nscanned images of public domain material from The Internet\nArchive.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"I HAVE BROUGHT MY LITTLE DAUGHTER TO YOU, MY\nFRIEND.\"--[PAGE 19.]]\n\n\n\n\nThe Princess Idleways\n\n_A FAIRY STORY_\n\n\nBY\nMRS. W. J. HAYS\n\n\nILLUSTRATED\n\n\nNEW YORK AND LONDON\nHARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS\n\n\nEntered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, by\nHARPER & BROTHERS,\nIn the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nYou must not suppose that the Princess Idleways was a great, grand\nwoman, for she was not: she was only a little lovely girl named Laura.\nTo be sure, she was of high birth; that is to say, her father and\ngrandfather and great-grandfather, as well as all the fine lady\ngrandmothers, were people who, not obliged to labor for themselves or\nothers, having always had more time and wealth and pleasure than they\nknew what to do with, were something like the beautiful roses which grow\nmore and more beautiful with planting and transplanting, and shielding\nfrom too hot a sun or too sharp a wind; but, for all that, roses, as you\nknow, have thorns.\n\nLittle Laura Idleways was as bright and bewitching in appearance as any\nrosebud, but she had a few thorns which could prick. She lived in a\ngreat castle high up in the mountains, from the windows of which she\ncould see hill after hill stretching far away up to the clouds, and\neagles flapping their great wings over deep ravines, down which tumbled\nfoaming cascades. The castle was a very ancient building, and part of it\nwas nearly a ruin; indeed, it was so old that Laura's father--who was a\nsoldier, and not much at home--had decided not to repair it, but allowed\nthe stones to fall, and would not have them touched; so the wild vines\ngrew luxuriantly over them, and made a beautiful drapery. But the part\nof the castle in which Laura lived was no ruin. The thick walls kept it\ncool in summer and warm in winter, and made nice deep seats for the\nwindows, which were hung with heavy folds of crimson silk. The walls\nwere covered with superb paintings, the wide rooms were beautiful with\nall manner of comforts and luxuries. Low divans of rich and soft\nmaterial, ottomans and rugs of Persian and Turkish wool, statues and\nstatuettes of marble, graceful forms, filled the corners and the niches.\nBirds of many colors sang in golden cages, and curious cuckoo-clocks\nchimed the hours. Laura's mamma was a fine musician, and her harp and\npiano were always ready to yield sweet tones. The library shelves held\nbooks of all kinds and colors; and the cabinets of richly carved wood,\nbefore the glass doors of which Laura often stood, contained rare\nshells, minerals, stuffed birds and insects, and strange foreign things\nthat a child could only wonder about.\n\nOf all places in which to play \"hide-and-seek,\" this castle was the\nbest--it had so many nooks and corners, such little cosy turns in the\nstairs, such odd cupboards, such doors in strange places, so many quaint\npieces of furniture to hide behind--and yet Laura never played\nhide-and-seek.\n\nThere was a delicious garden, too, full of fragrant bushes and arbors\nand rustic seats, and two fountains rained liquid diamonds into marble\nbasins. But Laura did not play in the garden.\n\nThe truth is, Laura was a petted, spoiled, wayward little creature,\nalways depending upon others for entertainment, too lazy to amuse\nherself, and much less inclined to study or to find happiness in being\nuseful.\n\nShe had nurses and governesses. She had toys and trinkets, and the\nlatter were of about as much service as the former. Her mother had\nalways loved her fondly, but even she began to see that something was\namiss with Laura, and to think her little child needed something she\ncould not buy for her. Absorbed in her books, her music, and her\nembroidery, Laura's mother was constantly occupied; but, strange to say,\nshe seemed to forget that Laura, too, might need occupation. One day\nLaura's mamma went alone on an excursion into the woods. She had seemed\nvery much distressed. Her maid noticed that she had been intently\nregarding Laura for several days, and had spoken of the child's\nunhappiness.\n\nWhen she returned from her excursion with tearful eyes, and bade Laura\nbe ready for a little journey on the following day, every one in the\ncastle became alarmed.\n\nThe nurses put their caps together and whispered. Even Polly on her\nperch screamed out, \"What's the matter? what's the matter?\" but no one\ntook any notice of her. Laura did not know whether to be pleased or\ndispleased; but she was, of course, inclined to sulk about it, rather\nthan to clap her hands with glee and shout for joy.\n\n[Illustration: \"THEY FOUND HER, CURLED UP IN A LITTLE HEAP, FAST\nASLEEP.\"]\n\nShe watched the preparations made for her departure with indifference,\nalthough her pretty frocks were taken down from their hooks in the\nclosets, and her gay ribbons from their boxes, and a trunk of cedar-wood\nwith silver bands was brought into the little pretty room, or _boudoir_,\nas it was called, which joined the bedrooms. Almost any child would have\nbeen pleased to watch this getting ready to go away, and would have\nentered into the details with interest. Many a one would have busied\nherself with packing her little treasures, her doll's clothes, or her\nplaythings; but Laura stood in a listless way in the door, leaning first\nupon one foot, then upon the other, wondering just a little where it\nmight be that she was going, and teasing her little spaniel when he\nleaped to caress her, till, tired of watching the maids, she wandered\noff to gaze into the cabinet I have spoken of. And when evening came,\nthere they found her, curled up in a little heap, fast asleep. Fido,\ntoo, was asleep beside his little mistress, for, much as she teased him,\nhe yet loved her.\n\nThe morning dawned clear and cool, and Laura's mamma bade the nurses put\nplenty of wraps in the travelling carriage; she also bade them give\nLaura a cup of hot chocolate, which was an unusual luxury for the little\ndamsel. Laura's trunk was stowed away, and, to the surprise of all, hers\nwas the only trunk visible, so that it looked very much as if the Lady\nIdleways meant to return sooner than the little princess--whose title,\nby-the-way, had been given by her papa in jest, when she was an infant,\nfrom some of her absurd little freaks of disdain.\n\nAll through the light breakfast Lady Idleways never smiled, but watched\nher daughter anxiously. Laura fed her spaniel and crumbled her rolls\nindifferently. Her little face looked pale and her eyes dim, as if she\nmight have cried, but there were no tears to be seen; and when she bade\nall the household \"good bye,\" she seemed to be entirely unconcerned. And\nin this mood she stayed while the carriage rolled away down the hills,\nand over the stone bridges, and past the cottages, till they came to the\nwoods. Then her mother drew her to her bosom and said, \"Laura, darling,\nI am about to do something for your good which seems very harsh. It\npains me, child, to do it; but you will thank me yet for it. In the\nForest of Pines, towards which we are now journeying, lives an old\nfriend of mine--a fairy friend--whom I have consulted in regard to you.\nShe knows that I desire your happiness, and she understands me when I\ntell her that you seem drooping and unhappy; that it is more my\nmisfortune than my fault (for, having but one child, I do not know the\nneeds of children as well as those mothers who have many); and she has\nbidden me bring you to her, with the promise that she will make you the\nhappy, loving little girl you ought to be. I shall feel the separation\nkeenly, I shall miss you sadly, but knowing that my little daughter is\nto gain only good, I have made up my mind to let you make this visit.\"\n\nLaura pouted a little, wept a little, and then, as the woods became\ndenser, crept closer to her mother.\n\n\"Am I to stay long, mamma?\" she asked.\n\n\"That I do not know; it depends upon yourself.\"\n\n\"And what is the fairy's name, mamma?\"\n\n\"She bade me not tell you her name; she wishes you to call her simple\n_Motherkin_.\"\n\n\"How very queer!\" said Laura. \"I cannot do it.\"\n\n\"You will do better to obey her, my child.\"\n\n\"Is she cross? Is she ugly?\"\n\n\"You may think her plain, but she is neither cross nor ugly.\"\n\nThe road here became almost blocked with bushes, and the wind in the\ntops of the tall pine-trees made strange music.\n\n\"I would rather go home, mamma,\" said Laura, in a coaxing voice.\n\n\"That cannot be done, dearest,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Why not?--why cannot I return with you?\"\n\n\"Because I have given my promise to the fairy, and a lady, my little\nLaura, never breaks her word.\"\n\nLaura knew that her mamma was not to be urged after speaking with so\nmuch decision; so she sank back on the cushions and tried to fall\nasleep. But her curiosity and anxiety were both aroused, and her eyelids\nwould not stay shut. Presently the carriage stopped.\n\n\"I can go no farther, my lady,\" said the coachman.\n\n\"Then we must walk,\" said Lady Idleways; and she bade Laura descend also\nfrom the carriage. \"You can turn the horses and unstrap Miss Laura's\ntrunk,\" she also said to the man; \"there will be some one coming for it\nvery soon, so have no hesitation in delivering it.\" The man bowed and\nobeyed, and Laura, with her mother's hand in hers, plunged into the\nforest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nIt was a new thing for Laura to find her self on foot in the woods, to\npush her way through the brambles, and assist her mother in finding a\npath, and she fretted considerably at the necessity; but her mother,\ntaking no notice of the child's complaints, went resolutely on, as if\ndetermined not to listen to anything that would make her unwilling to\ncomplete her errand. So, clambering over fallen trees green with moss,\nand slipping upon the pine needles, and occasionally getting a scratch\nfrom a brier, went Lady Idleways and Laura, until they came to an\nopening in the forest where the blue sky again was visible; but so,\nalso, was a great rock before them, too high for them to climb, and no\nway to get around it. Pausing a moment, Laura's mother picked up a\nlittle stick and rapped with it upon the rock. Instantly from under the\nhanging vines a door, which no one could have supposed was there, flew\nopen, and from it came forth a neat little old lady in black gown and\nwhite cap, leaning upon a gold-headed cane.\n\nShe courtesied pleasantly and bade Lady Idleways enter; but Lady\nIdleways declined, saying, \"I have brought my little daughter to you, my\nfriend, as I promised. Do all you can for me and for her. I have bidden\nher obey you, and I prefer leaving her now, lest my heart fail me.\nFarewell, little Laura, for a short time. You are in excellent hands,\nand must not be sad at parting. Give me a pleasant smile and a nice\ngood-bye kiss.\" And, clasping her in a close embrace, the mother\nwhispered more tender words in her ears, bade the old lady take good\ncare of her, and then turned hastily away, as if she feared to linger.\n\nLaura beheld all this in quiet astonishment; then, as her mother left\nher, she flung herself upon the ground and wept passionately. But she\nwas not allowed to do this very long, for the old lady, rapping her cane\nupon the rock, summoned to her assistance a funny old servant, as quaint\nand as curious as herself, a dwarf of kindly, smiling face, dressed in a\ngray blouse, with wooden shoes upon his feet, and a scarlet cap with a\nlong tassel on his head.\n\n\"Hey, little missy!\" said the old lady, \"this will not do at all. Grim,\npick her up and take her to her own little bedroom in my cottage. If she\nwishes to, she may lie there, but not here upon the ground.\"\n\nAs Grim approached and was about lifting her, Laura sprang up, and would\nhave run from him, but his arms were of an extraordinary length, and he\nhad her safely in them before she could get away; so she could only\nscream and sob to no purpose.\n\nGrim whispered to her not to fear, that his mistress was very kind and\ngood; and his own voice was so gentle, and she was so curious to see the\ninterior of so strange an abode, that in a little while she ceased\ncrying and looked about her.\n\nThey went in under the hidden doorway, which led to a winding path\nthrough the rocks. Here and there the sky could be seen through the\nfoliage above, but the path was nearly all under a shelving mass of\nstone. At last they came to a little cottage, not much more than a hut,\nbut it was neat and spotless; it looked as if it might be nothing but a\nbird's-nest built of grape-vines; but within were a tiled floor, a\nchimney-corner where hung a savory-smelling kettle of soup, and\ncuriously carved chairs and shelves were against the walls.\n\nGrim mounted a ladder in one corner, still with Laura in his arms, and\nplaced her in a tidy upper room, where were one window, a little stool,\nand a straw bed.\n\n\"There, child; now do be good, and don't trouble the Motherkin. She is\nused to children, and they all learn to love her; and if there is\nanything I can do for you, I am always ready; but no more of this angry\nsobbing, I beg of you.\"\n\nSo saying, Grim went off down the ladder, leaving Laura alone.\n\nThe child was bewildered. What could she do alone? Never had she been\nalone at home; the nurses were always beside her, except when she\npurposely wandered away from them to frighten them.\n\nShe looked about her--at the hard but white little bed, at the few pegs\non the wall, at the strip of scarlet wool by the bedside, at the bare\nboards of the floor, at the ebony cross over the head of the bed--and\nshe wondered if this humble little apartment was to be hers. Then she\nheard the rushing voice of a brook, and she leaned out of the window to\nsee it tumbling over the rocks in merry sport. Tired, homesick, and\nperplexed, she turned from the window and lay down upon the bed, still\nlistening to the brook, till sleep came and put an end to her\nwonderings.\n\nShe slept heavily a long while, but was wakened by a rapping on the\nfloor beneath.\n\n\"Come, child, come; it is time you were hungry. Wash your face outside\nin the brook, and we will have some dinner,\" called the Motherkin.\n\nShe did not dare disobey, but sullenly crept down the ladder and went\nout to the brook, as she had been told. The pure cold stream refreshed\nher, and she could have dabbled in it willingly a longer time, but again\ncame the call:\n\n\"Come, come; it is late. Grim has to go on a journey, or I should have\nasked you to set the table and help me prepare the dinner; but he was in\nhaste, and has done it all.\n\n\"What will you have, child?--brown bread and cheese, good sweet milk,\ncurds, and cream?\"\n\n\"Peasant fare,\" thought Laura; \"such as our cowherds at home have. I\nwill not eat;\" and she drew disdainfully off; but the Motherkin took no\nnotice of her disdain, and placed some food before her. She was too\nhungry long to refuse, but she almost choked over the coarse brown\nbread. It was good, however, and so was all the rest, and in spite of\nherself she ate abundantly.\n\nThe old lady smiled whimsically, and bade her, as soon as she had\nfinished her meal, tie on a long apron and assist her in putting things\nin order. This was really unbearable.\n\n\"No, I will not do it,\" said Laura, firmly.\n\n\"Oh, my little damsel, do not be ungracious,\" said the Motherkin. \"I\nshall have to ask your assistance in many things, for my good, faithful\nGrim has to be away; he has had to go in search of a wonderful herb\nwhich heals many ailments, and which is only found in a region far from\nhere; and as it is to relieve poor sick people, I cannot refuse to allow\nhim. His absence, however, obliges me to do his work, and I am sure you\nwill not see an old friend of your mother making unnecessary exertions\nthat a young pair of arms and legs can do so much better than old ones.\"\n\nAt this Laura opened her eyes in astonishment, and glancing down at her\ndress, murmured,\n\n\"I am not allowed at home to soil my clothes or my hands; they will get\ntoo coarse and rough, Nannette, my nurse, says.\"\n\n\"No matter for Nannette; you are too much of a lady not to assist me.\nCome, we will arrange about the clothes afterwards. I have some pretty\nlittle gingham gowns which will fit you, and we will lay aside these\nfine feathers.\"\n\nThus appealed to, though in a very novel manner, on the score of her\nladyhood, Laura tied on the apron and obeyed the Motherkin with less\nreluctance. She was awkward, and made mistakes. She placed cups where\nplates should go, and turned things upside down and downside up. And\nwhen the old lady told her she had done enough, she sat down and cried\nfor vexation, she had done so badly. Again came the whimsical little\nsmile on the Motherkin's face, and, opening the door, she said,\n\n\"Come, Laura, and see my cow and my pig, and let me show you my\ngarden.\"\n\nLaura rose, but scorned the amusement, and soon found herself admiring\nboth cow and pig, for both were white and clean as two roses; and when\nthe Motherkin showed her a corner which was to be her own garden, to dig\nin as she pleased, she no longer felt contemptuously as she had done.\nBut the novelty of having a garden and being allowed to dig in it did\nnot make her less homesick and dreary when bedtime came, and she had to\ncreep off alone to the clean but hard little bed. She slept, though,\nsoundly and well.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nThe rushing of the brook wakened Laura, and she gazed about her; slowly\nand dimly the sense of where she was came upon her, and she resolved\nthat she would stay in bed. There was no nurse to dress her, no elegant\ntoilet arrangements such as she was always in the habit of using: a\nlittle earthenware bowl and jug in the place of her luxurious bath, a\ngood coarse towel instead of the snowy damask linen, and over the foot\nof the bed a common print dress and a checked apron, both spotlessly\nclean, had been placed. She looked at them and buried her face in her\npillow. The Motherkin called her in vain. After waiting a long while,\nshe came up to her.\n\n\"Why are you not out of bed, my child?\" she asked, most kindly. \"It is\na bright, clear morning. Are you not well?\"\n\nLaura said nothing; ashamed of her own sulkiness, she yet was not\nprepared to acknowledge it.\n\n\"Come, shall I help you dress? Do you need assistance?\"\n\nStill no reply.\n\n\"Ah, what a pity you are ill!\" said the Motherkin. \"I had some nice\nchocolate ready for your breakfast, but I will have to go make some\ngruel. Poor child! poor child!\" And away she went, leaving Laura with\nher head still buried in her pillow. In a short time she returned,\nbearing a large cup of gruel and a slice of bread, which she placed\nbeside Laura. Then she bathed the child's face and brushed her hair,\nLaura submitting in silence. When she had rearranged the bed and made it\ncomfortable, she kissed her and left her.\n\nAfter a while Laura tasted the gruel, making faces over it; but she\nemptied the cup. In the same way the bread disappeared; and then,\ngetting very tired of lying in bed, she rose and went to the window.\n\nWhat a day it was! so sunny and bright! And how merrily ran the brook,\nand how she longed to see its drops sparkle between her fingers as they\nhad done the day before! How velvety and soft was the grass, how yellow\nthe buttercups! and she was sure she saw a humming-bird dipping down\ninto the flowers in the Motherkin's garden.\n\nA new idea came to her. Why not dress and get out of the window,\nunderneath which was a shed, and so drop down into the garden? The\nclothes were slipped on hurriedly; her little fingers were so eager that\nthe buttons went in and out of their holes again. Then softly on tiptoe\nshe scrambled out. Her skirts caught, her fingers were scratched, the\nskin was peeled from a spot on one little knee; but, ah! how delicious\nthis liberty! Her feet no sooner touched the earth than she ran swiftly\nto the brook, and the shoes and stockings were left to themselves while\nshe waded in the clear, cool water. It was such an unknown delight,\nsuch happiness, that Laura forgot she was Laura and might have been any\nlittle wood-bird. Out of the brook and on to the grass, off the grass\nand into the woods. Flowers were here, and she gathered her hands and\napron full; berries, too--sweet, red, wild strawberries, with a perfume\nso rare, so aromatic. She stained her fingers and stained her lips.\nHark! what was that? A rabbit, and down went flowers and berries for a\nhunt over the stones and briers. Heeding nothing, she went after Bunny,\nwho suddenly popped into his burrow with a whisk of his little tail and\na kick of his little legs for good-bye. Then a loud chattering made her\naware of Mr. Squirrel's presence, and she watched him jumping from bough\nto bough. Wondering if he would come to her if she kept very still, she\nsat so motionless that by-and-by her little head began to nod, and,\nwearied with her unusual exercise, she fell fast asleep leaning against\na tree.\n\nWhen she awoke she was still in the same posture; but her knee smarted,\nher legs were stiff, and she was very hungry. Besides, she knew not\nwhich way to turn. She was lost--or thought herself so, which was nearly\nas bad.\n\nAfter all, it would be nice to see the Motherkin's kind face and hear\nher pleasant voice. But how should she explain her naughtiness, her\nmake-believe sickness; and how, above all, should she find her way back?\nA few tears of repentance and real sorrow rained down awhile, and then\nLaura, who was no coward, made up her mind that she would tell the\nMotherkin the truth, and that she was sorry and would try to do better.\n\n[Illustration: \"IT WAS ONE OF THE MOTHERKIN'S PIGS.\"]\n\nA rustling in the bushes startled her, but she hoped it might be Grim.\nIt was not, however; but it was one of the Motherkin's pigs; and,\nknowing that Monsieur Piggie had to go home some time or other, she\nthought the safest course would be to follow him.\n\nAlas! Mr. Pig was no gallant; he had not even common courtesy. He did\nnot so much as grunt agreeably, but squealed in the most piggish\nmanner; for he, too, was hungry, and he led poor Laura right through a\nswamp, covering her with mud.\n\nAs they emerged from the swamp, Laura thought she saw the cottage far\naway under the hill before them; and as Piggie ran squealing on, she\nkept up the pursuit. Into the woods again and out through the bushes,\ntill a nice hedge showed they were near home; and now Mr. Piggie ran off\nto his sty, and Laura, creeping through the hedge and up the garden-walk\nwith downcast face, went up to the open door, longing to throw herself\ninto the Motherkin's arms and ask her pardon for all her bad behavior.\n\nNo one was to be seen. Not a sound came from the cottage. The door stood\nopen, and on the table was a loaf of brown bread and a pitcher of milk.\n\nLaura knew not what to do. She was ravenously hungry, but she was in too\ndirty a condition to touch food. She looked in and out and around, but\nno one was there. She mounted the ladder in hopes yet of finding the\nMotherkin. Her room was as she had left it, with the exception of a\nnote pinned on the muslin curtain of the window. It read thus:\n\n     \"LITTLE LADY LAURA,--Necessary and urgent business compels me to\n     leave home for a day or two. My good, kind, faithful Grim has\n     fallen and lamed himself, and I must attend to various matters\n     which he always has done for me. You are quite safe here--no one\n     can molest you; but you will be obliged to prepare your own food,\n     feed the chickens and pigs, milk the cow, and keep the cottage\n     tidy. Do this bravely, little Laura, and you will be rewarded.\n     Remember that a lady is none the less a lady for being able to\n     take care of herself and others, and also remember that the\n     faithful creatures who are dependent upon you will suffer if you\n     neglect them. Animals they are, but God made them and requires us\n     to be kind to them.\"\n\nThis was all the note said, except that \"THE MOTHERKIN\" was written\nunderneath as signature.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nIf Laura had been astonished before, she was still more so now, and so\nmuch so that she really could not collect her thoughts. She felt like\ncrying, but she could not; she felt angry, but there was no way of\nventing anger; so she just sat still on the floor awhile and counted the\nnails in the boards. This had the happiest effect, for, after she had\ngone over and over the nails, a few quiet thoughts came to her.\n\nFirst she must make herself clean; so, dropping all her clothes, she\ngave herself, for the first time in her life, a good scrubbing. She made\na great splashing, and succeeded in getting the floor very wet; but she\nalso made herself very sweet and nice, and found plenty of clean clothes\nready for her hanging on the pegs. Then she went down below and ate a\nwhole loaf of bread and drank about a quart of milk. This also had a\ngood effect, for she began to face the situation, and determined to do\nher best. As she sat meditating, she heard a great noise among the\nfowls, and it reminded her of what she had to do. Going to the cupboard\nin search of food for them, she found a slip of paper and a key; on the\nslip of paper was written:\n\n     \"This key opens a door in the rock; there you will find food for\n     the chickens and pigs; hay and straw for the cow are in the barn.\n     The key-hole is just this side of the vine that hangs beside the\n     cottage door.\"\n\nHer doubts were now dispelled, and, doing as the paper directed, she\nopened the door into a large, cool, rock cellar, full of provisions of\nall kinds.\n\nOn the shelves were pots of butter and lard, pans of sweet milk and\ncurds, empty pans shining, all ready for fresh milk, a milking-pail and\nstool. Hams and tongues hung from the roof, with bunches of sweet\nherbs. Barrels of flour and sugar, vinegar and molasses, were in another\nroom off the large one. Opening a closet, she found jars of clear\njellies and delicious preserves. Every fruit that one could think of was\nhere, crystallized in the most inviting manner.\n\nNothing was wanting, not even cheeses or pickles, and on a shelf by\nitself was a chicken-pie as if for her immediate use when hungry.\n\nGrain for the fowls stood ready in huge bags, and she knew, because\nNannette had told her, that sour milk was good for the pigs. After\nsurveying all these goodly stores, she went out to the chickens, just in\ntime to drive away a great hawk which was creating much fear among them.\nThen Mr. Pig was attended to; but it was with much quaking that she\ncarried the milking-stool into the barn where waited the patient cow.\nNever in all her life had she attempted this. Once or twice she had\nwatched the cowherds at the castle, and she hardly dared to think of\nanything now in that dear home. Mooly was very quiet and good, and glad\nto be relieved; but poor little Laura's fingers ached when her duty was\nended, and she was very tired by the time she had emptied the milk into\nthe pans and locked the rock cellar. Then she sat herself down in the\ncottage doorway, and had a little homesick cry, and wondered if her\nmother was playing on her harp in the great parlor of the castle, and if\nshe longed to see her little daughter.\n\nThe twilight lingered, the stars peeped out, and weary little Laura\nstill sat, listening to the crickets, watching the fire-flies as they\nflashed their tiny lamps in her face, and half humming the refrain of a\nsong of her mother's which seemed to be in tune to the falling waters of\nthe cascade. Then to bed, and the sweetest slumber came to the lonely\nlittle maiden.\n\nThus passed two, three, four days. Laura all alone, busy as a bee,\nfinding always something to do, gathering berries, arranging flowers,\nliving like a wild bird on what she could find--for she did not dare try\nany cooking. But bread and milk, cheese, and cold chicken-pie, and a\ndip into the jelly jars occasionally were very good fare, and the roses\nhad come into her cheeks and a healthful glitter in her eyes. She was\nlonely, but she was not unhappy, and when, to her great surprise, the\nMotherkin walked in one evening with Grim hobbling behind, she gave a\ngreat shout of joy, and sprang into the Motherkin's arms.\n\n\"Well done, little Laura! Think you I have not known how charmingly you\nhave kept house for me?\"\n\n\"How could you, dear Motherkin? and how can you ever forgive me for\nrunning off as I did?\"\n\n\"Ah! we will let by-gones be by-gones; you have had all the punishment\nnecessary; now we must see what we can do to entertain our little guest.\nPoor Grim has his herbs, but he has also a sprained ankle which we must\nnurse. How have you liked being my maid?\"\n\nLaura hung her head as she replied: \"Truly, I have enjoyed it. Is it\nladylike for me to have done so?\"\n\n\"Surely it is, and, if you will have the patience to learn, I will make\nyou proficient in many other homely duties, such as knitting and\nspinning.\"\n\n\"But the peasants do those things.\"\n\n\"Well, the peasants are happy.\"\n\n\"But I shall not live as they do.\"\n\n\"No matter; it is well you should understand all things; they may serve\nyou, they may not; they will teach you in many other ways. You will\nlearn to have sympathy for all; you will learn to be patient and\npainstaking.\"\n\n\"Then I will try.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"AFTER THIS SHE ASSISTED THE MOTHERKIN IN DRESSING GRIM'S\nANKLE.\"]\n\n\"That is all I ask. And now suppose I tell you all about these wonderful\nherbs?\" Picking up a sprig of each, the Motherkin related its qualities,\nwhile Laura, with a pencil and paper, wrote down her words; then she\nfastened each sprig in a slip of paper with its name attached. After\nthis she assisted the Motherkin in dressing Grim's ankle, carrying warm\nwater, and rolling the bandage, while Grim looked on with a funny face,\nholding his cap with its scarlet tassel in one hand, and with the other\nsupporting himself in his chair.\n\nThen the fire had to be lighted and tea made, and Laura no longer was\nawkward, but very alert, for now she had the willing spirit which makes\neverything so much easier to do than where there is reluctance.\n\nAfter tea, Grim said he would tell her what he had seen on his little\njourney, so, drawing near the chairs upon which he was resting, the\nMotherkin and Laura listened to the old man's tale.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\n\"I must explain to little Lady Laura,\" said Grim, with a wave of his\nhand towards the Motherkin, \"if you will allow me, madam, that we\nfairies have the power of making ourselves unseen whenever we wish,\nthough we seldom use the power except for some useful purpose.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" thought Laura, \"perhaps I was not so much alone in the Motherkin's\nabsence as I thought.\"\n\n\"And thus it is,\" continued the dwarf, \"that we see many strange things;\nbut I have nothing very remarkable at present to relate, for my journey\nwas an ordinary one but for my accident. I had to see the elves who had\ncharge of healing herbs, and gain their permission to cull them, for\nthey are very particular that they should be pulled in the right season,\nand they so cover their gardens up that one could easily think there\nwas not a bit of motherwort or hoarhound to be found when they choose to\nconceal them. To see the Chief Gardener Elf I had to go pretty far out\nof my way, for he was off superintending the planting of some tansy\nbeds, and had quite an army of elves at work. I wish Lady Laura could\nhave seen them. They are such an odd crew; but it is as well not to\ninterfere with them while they are at work, for sometimes they are very\ntroublesome; they have a spiteful way of scattering weed seed, right\nplump into a bed of roses or violets, that is very provoking. But they\nwere too busy to take much notice of me, and when I had gained the\npermission I wanted, and was about to leave them, I thought I heard a\nchild's cry. It attracted me at once, for, you know, my lady, we have an\nespecial interest in children.\n\n\"I listened, and again heard the cry; but the elves did not seem to hear\nit at all. Concluding that it was best not to attract their attention to\nit, for they are very teasing to little children, and often give them a\npinch which is supposed to come from a mosquito, and fearing that the\ncry might come from some little unhappy victim of their malevolence, I\nfollowed the sound until I came to a small house which looked as if it\nmight be a forester's--a forester, Lady Laura, you know, is one who\nplants and trims the trees, and sees that the brushwood is cut properly,\nand in every way keeps the forest in order. Well, as I said, the cry\ncame from this little cottage, and I made bold to enter invisibly. All\nalone on a little bed of straw was lying a young child; it looked to me\nas if it were a cripple, for its little feet were all drawn up and its\nlegs were bent. By its side was a stool on which had been some bread,\nfor I saw the crumbs; a tin cup was there also, but no milk, no water.\n'Crying from hunger,' said I to myself; and, pulling out my luncheon, I\nlaid a bit of bread beside the little creature. He did not see it at\nonce, and kept on his sad little cry; but when he did notice the food,\nhis eager grasp of it assured me I was right in my supposition. Ah, my\nLady Laura, it is a dreadful thing to be hungry--to feel that gnawing in\none's stomach, as if one could almost swallow stones to stop it. Well,\nthe child ceased crying a moment and turned its little white, pinched\nface towards me; it was a pitiful sight, it looked so old, so wan, so\nwizened; but while I looked at it a bright smile came over it, just as\nyou see a gleam of sunshine lighten up a cold, dark little pool of\nwater, so this smile danced over the child's features. I was vain enough\nfor an instant to think myself the cause of the little creature's\npleasure, but, remembering I was invisible, I turned at some slight\nsound and saw that another child had entered the door--a girl not larger\nthan yourself, Lady Laura, about eleven or twelve years of age, thin and\npoor-looking, but with the sweetest, tenderest of faces. Her hair was a\ndark chestnut brown, brushed away from her temples and braided neatly,\nher eyes were the same color, and her skin was very white, but the\nexpression of her face was its charm. She looked so calm, so resigned,\nso willing, so free from pettishness--but, oh! so much older and calmer\nthan her years. Coming in quickly, she lifted the little one from the\nbed and folded him in her arms, where he nestled as if he were a bird,\nand her embrace his warm, soft nest.\n\n\"'Ah, my little Fritz,' she said, 'how tired you must be, how weary and\nhungry! And does the little leg ache to-day? See, sister has a cake for\nthee,' drawing from her pocket one poor little cake made of meal.\n\n\"Her gentleness was exquisite, but it made my heart ache. I knew this\nwas all the food she had, and I was puzzled to know what to do. While I\nwas pondering the girl hushed the little one to sleep, after she had\nrubbed his legs with her poor thin little hands. Laying the child down,\nshe brought in a few fagots and made a little blaze on the hearth, and\nwith a handful of herbs brewed some sort of a tea from the water in the\npot which hung over the blaze. It was a sorry sight, this poverty and\nwretchedness, but it was a beautiful sight also to behold this sisterly\ncare and affection. Evidently she had long nursed this poor little\ncripple. How could I relieve her? was my perplexity. I had not seen any\nhouses near, no neighbors were at hand. I determined to try and enlist\nthe sympathy of the Chief Gardener Elf, and yet I also feared the\nresult. Just as I left the little hut I met a woodsman, and the happy\nthought came to me to whisper my wish in his ear; that is to say, I\nspoke in fairy fashion my plan of relief for these poor children,\nabandoned as they seemed to be by all human beings. I was rewarded by\nseeing the man enter the little abode. Resolving to return as soon as I\ncould, I was making my way through the forest when I fell, and was\nobliged to despatch the first Herb Elf who came in my way to gain\nassistance. To my great annoyance, the Chief Gardener Elf had gone to\nSouth America for seeds. I could not follow him, and I would not intrust\nthe lesser elves with a message to him, lest I should do the children\nmore harm than good. Relying, therefore, upon the little assistance\nwhich the poor woodsman I met would undoubtedly give after my\nsuggestion, I was obliged, my dear madam, to return to you.\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear Grim,\" cried Laura, \"how could you leave them to starve!\nLet us go, dear Motherkin--pray let us go to those poor little children.\nQuick! quick! they must be suffering so much.\"\n\nShe fell on her knees before the Motherkin in her great anxiety and\nexcitement, and the tears of pity rolled down from her blue eyes.\n\nGrim nodded his head with satisfaction.\n\n\"Ay, my lady, do go; do not wait for my lame leg to get well. The way is\nrough and fatiguing, but by all means let Lady Laura go and do what she\ncan for those suffering little ones.\"\n\nLaura did not want to wait a moment; she begged the Motherkin to start\nat once, that very night; but the old lady insisted upon the night's\nrest.\n\n\"But I cannot sleep, dear Motherkin-- I am sure I cannot sleep; pray let\nus go. I am so afraid they are suffering dreadfully.\"\n\n\"We have to arrange matters a little, Laura,\" urged the Motherkin,\npleased at the child's earnest desire to aid the little unfortunates. \"I\nwill go as early as we can to-morrow; and now let me see you show\nprudence as well as zeal by sleeping soundly, and so fitting yourself\nfor the fatigue of a journey. Come, dear, to bed, and hope that the good\nangels are caring for the little ones we are so sorry for.\"\n\nGrim, too, assured Laura that this plan was best, and that he felt\nconfident the woodsman would do all he could until they reached the\nlittle sufferers.\n\nSo Laura went to bed, her heart stirred with very new emotions, that\nwere both happy and painful; the desire to do good, the hope that she\nmight relieve the poor little objects of her pity, made her glad, while\nthe thought of their pain and poverty caused her real sorrow. Her bed no\nlonger seemed hard, nor her little room empty of any luxuries; and, as\nshe looked out at the stars glittering in the sky and listened to the\nrunning of the brook, she prayed that she might be of use to the poor\nchildren of the forest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\n\"I have decided not to go upon this journey, Laura,\" were the first\nwords the Motherkin spoke after she had given her a morning embrace, as\nthe child came briskly in haste to receive it, and hear the plans which\nshe supposed Grim and the Motherkin had made after she had gone to bed\nthe night previous.\n\n\"Oh, dear Motherkin,\" exclaimed Laura, \"how can you forget those poor\nlittle suffering creatures! My heart has ached for them even in my\ndreams. All night I have been climbing rocks and wading brooks to get to\nthem, and now you tell me I cannot go. Oh, it is too, too hard!\"\n\n\"Gently, gently, Lady Laura. I have not said _you_ could not go.\"\n\n\"Well, what do you mean, dear Motherkin? Is Grim to go?\"\n\n\"No, Grim cannot go either,\" said the Motherkin, with a peculiar little\nsmile upon her face; and Grim twisted the scarlet tassel of his cap\nmysteriously. Laura looked at one, then at the other: what did it mean?\n\n\"Are you sure you wish to befriend those children, Laura?\" asked the old\nlady.\n\nStill more surprised, and not a little indignant, Laura answered,\nquickly, \"Indeed I do; I long to aid them.\"\n\n\"And you are willing to make some sacrifice, some unusual effort, to do\nthis?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" again answered Laura, very quickly.\n\n\"Then, my child, you must go alone to their relief.\"\n\nLaura's eyes opened very wide at this.\n\n\"How can I? I do not know the way.\"\n\n\"We will guide you, if you have resolution enough to undertake it.\"\n\nPerplexed, Laura knew not what to say. How could she go alone? All sorts\nof dangers rose before her--great gloomy forests to traverse, wild\nbeasts to meet, perhaps. She stood irresolute, her hand on the\nMotherkin's shoulder.\n\nThe old lady took her hand in hers as she said, \"I do not compel it,\nLaura.\"\n\n\"But the poor little children--how can I be of service to them? I do not\nknow how.\"\n\n\"I will instruct you; I will aid you. All I ask is for you to go alone:\nwill you, or will you not?\"\n\nA vision of the little lonely hut and the suffering child and the\nministering sister rose before Laura.\n\n\"I will go,\" she said, no longer irresolute.\n\n\"The blessing of the poor be upon you!\" said Grim, and the Motherkin\nkissed her brow.\n\n\"Now, my child, have a good breakfast, and then I will tell you what you\nare to do.\"\n\nLaura obeyed very willingly, no longer disdaining good substantial food\nor the simple manner of its preparation. After breakfast the Motherkin\nopened her closets and chose a few garments for the poor children.\nThese, with a small flask of wine and some oat-cakes, were packed in a\nbasket which had leather straps attached to go over Laura's shoulder.\nThen she was arrayed in a flannel costume that her kind mother had sent\nwith all her fineries. It was blue, with delicate traceries of silver,\nsilver buttons, and a silver belt, from which depended a pocket, a\nfruit-knife, and a little drinking-cup. In the pocket the Motherkin\nplaced a few coins, and then assured Laura that there was but one thing\nneeded.\n\n\"And what is that, dear Motherkin?\" asked Laura.\n\n\"I will show you,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Grim! Grim!\" called the Motherkin to the dwarf, who was sunning himself\nout-of-doors.\n\n\"Yes, madam,\" said Grim, hurriedly stirring himself.\n\n\"Do you think you can cut me a good stout staff for Lady Laura, without\nany injury to your lame ankle?\"\n\n\"Of course, madam, of course. What wood shall it be?\"\n\n\"Of wood that shall serve her well--you know their qualities even better\nthan I; and whether it be ash or birch, you can get the elves to charm\nit, that it may have the power to guide her aright.\"\n\nGrim hobbled off in haste, and was soon seen emerging from the forest\nwith the charmed staff in his hand. It was a light, pretty stick, and\nthe Motherkin bade Laura be very careful not to lose it, as it could not\nbe replaced by any ordinary wood.\n\n\"And now, my child, you are ready. I will conduct you to the path on\nwhich you set forth. You are to follow it all day, wherever it may lead;\nat night you are to sleep beneath the canopy of heaven; but have no\nfears: we guard you. In the morning place your staff in your hand,\npenetrate the forest by which you will be surrounded, and the staff\nwill guide you to the bed of a mountain stream; follow it patiently\nuntil the rocks become precipitous, then climb the bank towards which\nyour staff will incline; this will bring you to the summit of the hills,\nin one of the valleys of which dwell the children you seek. Constantly\nallow yourself to be guided by your staff; it will very gently but very\nsurely determine your path. Let no song of birds or murmur of bees, no\nfragrance of flowers nor music of brooks, detain you; do not linger.\nHasten on, and you shall be guided going and coming.\"\n\n\"And the children--what am I to do for them?\" asked Laura.\n\n\"Give them the clothes, food, and wine, and such assistance as your\nheart may suggest.\"\n\n\"But am I to leave them alone to suffer again when that which I carry to\nthem is gone?\"\n\n\"No; you are to do all in your power for the present, and leave the\nfuture to me.\"\n\n\"Ah, how I wish I could take them to my home in the castle, and share\nall my comforts and pleasures with them! I would teach them, and they\nshould teach me, and we should be so happy together. Ah, please, dear\nMotherkin, let me; urge my mamma, beg her to let me take the little\norphans home.\"\n\n\"Patience, dear child,\" said the Motherkin, pleased at Laura's kind\nwish.\n\n\"Yes, patience,\" reiterated Grim, twirling his tassel, and looking the\npicture of delight.\n\n\"She does you credit, dear lady,\" said Grim, as Laura, after embracing\nthe Motherkin, and pressing both Grim's hands in her own, started out\nwith her staff in hand.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the old lady, \"I am well pleased.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"SHE TURNED FROM TIME TO TIME AND THREW KISSES TO THEM.\"]\n\nThey watched the child's retreating form, as she turned from time to\ntime and threw kisses to them, till at last the glittering figure of\nsilver and blue was merged in the green of the forest foliage.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nLaura's step was light and brisk, for she carried a light heart, she was\nanimated by a new purpose; the pleasure of doing good, or of only having\nthe wish to do good, was a new happiness to her, and as she walked she\ntrolled out a merry little song she had heard Nannette sing in the\nnursery. When she grew weary, she sat down and made a wreath for her\nhat; when she was thirsty, she drank from the little cup at her girdle,\nfor there was always a stream at hand, first on one side of the road,\nthen on the other, and the babbling of the brook was like a pleasant\nvoice telling her sweet stories. It seemed to whisper to her how glad\nher mother would be to hear that she was getting to be a better child.\nThen again it sang to her of the woods and the mosses, the wild-flowers\nand the birds, and of its own busy life--how much it had to do to keep\nall these pretty things refreshed and alive, and how it suffered when\nthe drought came, and the sun was scorching, and the little leaflets\nwithered on its brink; and as its voice became sad, and tears welled in\nthe child's eyes, it would suddenly seem to burst into a foam of\nlaughter and toss itself in tiny cascades over the pebbles. Then Laura\nwould laugh too, and forget all sadness. Then she would take off her\nshoes and stockings and wade, and watch the flies dart hither and\nthither as she dashed the drops apart. So the day went on. Her path grew\nwilder, the woods more difficult to go through. Great masses of tangled\nvines interlaced and hung low, reaching out their tendrils as if to\nhinder her. Clouds gathered, and the skies were dark. A storm seemed\ncoming. The birds ceased twittering. Low mutterings of thunder, far\naway, broke the stillness.\n\nLaura's feet were aching, and her heart oppressed. Doubts troubled her.\nWhy had they let her come alone on this long journey? It was cruel. She\nforgot the poor children, and, throwing herself down, she thought she\nwould go no farther. Her staff was still in her hand, and as she fell it\nseemed to draw her gently up again, just as a magnet picks up a needle;\nit led her to a little cave or grotto, merely a nook under great rocks,\nbut in it was a heap of leaves which would serve her as a place of\nrepose, and she would be sheltered from the approaching storm, which,\nnow that the wind had arisen, was swaying the trees violently. Crouching\nin a corner, she listened to the crashing of boughs, the peals of\nthunder, and the dash of the rain. But she was safe and unharmed.\nGradually the wind decreased, the vivid gleam of lightning stopped\nflashing in her frightened eyes, the thunder rolled farther and farther\naway; the birds began chirping softly; there was but a gentle plash of\ndrops from the dripping leaves; long rays of sunshine stole in between\nthe branches. The storm was over.\n\nLaura took courage, ate her dinner, and started forth again.\n\nShe was not so merry as in the early morning; Nannette's song was\nforgotten; but in her graver face was an expression of determination.\nThe poor children came again to her recollection, and she renewed her\nzeal.\n\nOn and on she went, sometimes nearly falling, but her staff maintained\nher, and prevented that. She climbed, she waded, she slipped, she\nscrambled. Sometimes on dizzy heights she looked down into chasms; then\nshe would cross peaceful and lovely valleys; then the road would wind up\nto some high summit again, giving her pictures of mountain-peaks and\nclouds and all their many charms; and while on the crest of a high hill,\nwith all the heavens in a glow, she saw the sun sink beneath the\nhorizon, and knew that darkness would soon surround her. Hurriedly\ndescending, her staff led her to a group of oak-trees, whose wide and\nshadowy boughs seemed to offer her the protection of which she was in\nneed. Farther and farther sank the sun, leaving clouds of purple and\ngold to fade into the soft shades of twilight. The hush of evening fell\nupon nature; stars peeped out. Laura watched the waning light until, too\ntired to keep her eyes open, she laid her head upon her little knapsack,\nand was soon in a deep slumber. Whether or not wild beasts came prowling\nabout, or owls hooted, or the night winds sighed in the tree-tops, Laura\nknew not; she slept as soundly and as safely as if in her own carefully\nwatched nest in the castle. When she awoke, the sun was rising, birds\nwere singing, and every blade of grass twinkled with dew-drops. After\nher morning prayer of thanks for the night's rest, a dip into the brook\nclose by, and a little shake and jump by way of dressing, she sat down\nto her breakfast of oat-cake.\n\n[Illustration: \"SHE SAW A QUEER LITTLE FIGURE MAKING GRIMACES AT HER.\"]\n\nAs she munched it in leisurely fashion, wishing for some honey, she\nthought she saw a queer little figure making grimaces at her. It was an\nodd little creature, with a rabbit-skin so thrown over him that she\nfancied it might, after all, be only a bunny out in search of breakfast.\n\n\"Good-morning, my dear, good-morning! So you wish you had some honey, do\nyou?\" said the queer little creature.\n\nLaura laughed out in surprise. \"How do you know?\" she asked.\n\n\"How do I know anything, Miss Rudeness? By my wits, to be sure.\"\n\n\"Oh, I beg your pardon,\" said Laura, conscious at once of having\noffended; \"but I did not know I had spoken aloud.\"\n\n\"Nor did I; we people of the woods do not wait to be spoken to--we are\nwiser than you. But do you really want some honey? If so, come with me\nand I will show you where you can find it.\"\n\n\"But who are you? I never saw you before,\" said Laura, forgetting that\nthe little creature had already shown himself to be easily angered.\n\n\"Who am I? What difference is that to you?\" said the queer little\nobject. \"Honey is honey; if you want some, come with me; if you don't,\nstay where you are.\"\n\n\"Oh, really,\" said Laura; \"you are very kind. I do like honey, and it\nwould be very nice with my dry oat-cake;\" and, forgetting her staff, she\nfollowed the elf into the woods. He led her to a hollow tree, and,\nflinging his rabbit-skin away, clambered into the cavity, and came out\nwith a great mass of glistening honey dripping from its white comb.\n\n\"Here; now let me see you eat it,\" said the elf, putting on his\nrabbit-skin again, and laying the honey-comb on a broad leaf at her\nfeet. Laura sat down and dipped her oat-cake into the honey.\n\n\"It is delicious,\" said Laura. \"Won't you have some?\"\n\n\"I? No, indeed,\" said the elf, standing off and gazing at her curiously\nfrom beneath his bushy little eyebrows.\n\n\"Don't you care for it?\"\n\n\"No; I'd rather sharpen my teeth on an acorn.\"\n\n\"But that is so bitter.\"\n\n\"It suits my digestion. I am a planter of bitter herbs.\"\n\n\"Are you? Oh, then you must know my good friend Grim?\"\n\n\"To be sure I do! He came to see me a few days ago.\"\n\nLaura thought Grim must be mistaken in his belief that the elves were\nfond of teasing children, for surely this one had been kind to her, when\nsuddenly she remembered that she had not her staff with her. She jumped\nup hastily, crying out:\n\n\"Oh, my staff! my staff! I must go back and find it.\"\n\n\"Ha! ha!\" laughed the elf, evidently amused at her alarm.\n\n\"Which way must I go?\" asked Laura, anxiously.\n\n\"Any way you please, my dear. Is not the honey so good as it was?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, yes, it is just as nice, and I thank you ever so much for it.\nNow, please, dear Mr. Elf, let me go for my staff.\"\n\n\"I am not keeping you, am I?\" laughed the elf, beginning a strange sort\nof dance, rubbing his hands together, and giving a series of jerks to\nthe rabbit-skin.\n\nLaura was ready to cry with vexation and alarm, but something seemed to\ntell her that she must control herself and not let this mischievous\ncreature know how she felt; so, springing to her feet, she said, \"I,\ntoo, can dance--see,\" and she waltzed away as if she were in a\nball-room.\n\n\"Hurrah!\" shouted the elf; \"that is capital.\"\n\n\"Shall I teach you how to do it?\" asked Laura, stopping to get breath.\n\n\"Yes; let me see the steps; go slowly. Oh, your feet are so big and\nclumsy I cannot copy you.\"\n\n\"But, Mr. Elf, you do it beautifully--really you do. Now show me,\nplease, where the oak-trees are, that I may find my staff.\"\n\nAt this anxious request the elf started on a run, whooping and\nhallooing. Laura could do nothing else than follow him, but she found it\ndifficult, he was so small and sprightly. Nimbly he leaped over the\nrocks, turning occasionally to make a queer grimace at poor Laura's\nefforts to keep pace with him. When it pleased him, he stopped and\nwaited for her to come up.\n\nA happy thought came to Laura. \"Mr. Elf,\" said she, \"I have a fine knife\nhere. You could use it for almost anything. See, it is nearly as long as\nyour arm, and it has a very curiously ornamented case, all of silver.\"\n\n\"Let me see it closer,\" said the elf, reaching up for it.\n\nLaura held it high out of his reach, but his eyes evidently danced with\neagerness to get it.\n\n\"A little closer--a little closer,\" said the elf.\n\n\"Not till I have my staff: give me that, and you shall have this,\" said\nLaura, shutting the knife and holding it still over his head.\n\n\"You have no fun in you. What do you want of your staff? Stay here in\nthe woods, and you'll not need one. But you have not told me where you\nare going.\"\n\nAll the time he was speaking, the elf had his eyes on the knife; but\nLaura was guarded.\n\n\"I am going on an errand of charity, and I need my staff; please give it\nme. Look what a knife this is\"--and she sprung the blade open again;\nthen, assuming to be weary of waiting, she said, \"Well, I must go\nwithout my staff, I suppose. I have lost too much time already.\nGood-morning, Mr. Elf. Your honey was very nice; I am much obliged.\nGood-morning;\" and she turned as if to go.\n\n\"Hoity-toity! you _are_ in haste. Well, if you must go, good-bye. Your\nstaff is on your left-hand side, beneath the very trees before you. But\nhow will I get the knife now?\"\n\n\"Here,\" said Laura, only too glad to regain her precious staff; and\ngiving the knife a toss on the grass, she ran for her stick. The elf\nshouted and danced again, and, shouldering the knife as if it had been a\ngreat bludgeon, he disappeared in the forest, the rabbit-skin dangling\nbehind his back.\n\nLaura was greatly relieved, and started on her tramp with the resolve\nthat nothing should hinder or detain her again. All day she kept in the\nbed of the brook, as the Motherkin had told her to do, and as it grew\nafternoon and the rocks became precipitous it seemed to her that she\ncould not go farther; but thoughts of the children inspired fresh\ncourage. Her feet were aching, but as she reached the top of the high\nbank which bordered the stream, she espied a little thin curl of blue\nsmoke rising probably from the very cottage of which she was in search.\nPushing on through brambles and bushes, led by the gentle guidance of\nher valuable staff, she at last came to the cottage door, and, with her\nheart beating rapidly from excitement and fatigue, gently knocked for\nadmittance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nNo answer coming to her knock, Laura pushed the door open, and saw just\nthe same poor little room Grim had described. There were fagots burning\non the hearth; but though it was so poor and bare, it had an air of\nneatness and order as if unused. Even the forlorn little bed of straw\nlooked as if no one had slept on it. Laura was so disappointed that she\nknew not what to do; but, too tired to make any search, she was about\nturning away when a light footfall arrested her, and she saw the figure\nof a weeping child coming towards the hut. Evidently this was the elder\nof the two children, for she had the same brown hair Grim had spoken of,\nbut she was so much overcome by sorrow that she did not see Laura until\nshe came quite to the door, and then she started as if with painful\nsurprise.\n\n\"Do not be alarmed,\" said Laura. \"I have been walking a long way, and am\nvery tired: can you let me rest here for the night?\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" said the girl, with a sweet, sad smile. \"I am very lonely now,\nbut\"--and she hesitated, glancing at Laura's embroidered dress--\"I fear\nI cannot offer you anything so nice as you are used to having. I am very\npoor.\"\n\n\"But see, I have enough for both of us,\" said Laura, showing her flask\nof wine and her oat-cakes; \"and I have nice warm clothing, too, which a\nkind friend sent to you. But where is little Fritz?\"\n\nA look of such deep pain came in the girl's pale face that Laura was\nsorry she had asked.\n\n\"How did you know anything about my little Fritz?\" responded the girl,\nin a low tone.\n\n\"I will explain very soon,\" replied Laura; \"but first tell me your\nname--mine is Laura.\"\n\n\"And mine is Kathinka, or Kathie.\"\n\n\"Now we can get along nicely; but shall we not have more fire and some\ntea before I tell you my story?\" said Laura.\n\n\"I have no tea, and since little Fritz has been gone I have not cared to\neat,\" said Kathie, with the dulness of sorrow.\n\n\"Then I will make the fire burn better,\" said Laura, \"and make tea, too,\nfor I am sure the Motherkin packed some.\"\n\n\"But your hands are too fine and white--no, I will do it,\" said Kathie,\nmore aroused; and she went out for a while, and came back with some\nsticks. Presently there was a good blaze, and Laura got out the tea and\nsugar and cakes, and set them down on the hearth, for there was no\ntable. Laura was hungry, and glad to eat, and, after looking somewhat\ncuriously at her, Kathie, too, joined in the simple repast.\n\nThen Laura told her all about herself, beginning at her mother's leaving\nher with the Motherkin, all about her new and strange experiences, about\nGrim, and lastly about her adventures in the woods coming to Kathie's\nrelief. Kathie became so interested that she forgot for a moment her\nsorrow; but when Laura related Grim's account of little Fritz, and\nKathie's own kindness to her young brother, about Grim's whisper to the\nwoodsman, and his regret at leaving the children alone, and Laura's\nresolve to come to them, she could keep quiet no longer, but fell into\nsuch sobbing as Laura had never heard nor seen before. Though she had\nnot seen the like, she knew by intuition that tenderness and patience\nwould subdue it; so she drew Kathie's head on her own shoulder, and\nsoftly smoothed the child's brown hair; then she bathed the poor tired\neyes with her handkerchief, and forced a little wine upon the sorrowful\ngirl, and at last Kathie fell asleep.\n\nOutside the wind was rising, the moonlight glittering; within, by the\nfew smouldering brands, sat the two children. Laura held Kathie until\nher own head began to droop, and then, in each other's arms still\nresting, they slept the sound sleep of childhood.\n\nWhen the bright beams of morning penetrated the little hut, Kathie\nawakened first, and rekindled the little fire.\n\nLaura still slept; unaccustomed to so much fatigue, she needed the long\nrest, and as Kathie looked at the pretty silver and blue of her dress,\nand at the golden hair and healthful flush of her young companion's fair\nface, she seemed to her an angel of mercy sent to comfort her in her\nloneliness. For little Fritz was gone to the better land; hunger and\nwant had been more than his poor little crippled body could bear, and\nKathie's kindness could not keep life any longer in so feeble a frame.\nThe woodsman had made a little grave in the forest for him, and there\npoor Kathie had gone every day, and was but returning from it the\nevening previous when she found Laura waiting for her.\n\n[Illustration: \"WITH LAURA'S HAND CLASPED OVER HERS, SHE FELT NO LONGER\nALONE.\"]\n\nAs soon as Laura had wakened, and the two children had eaten, Kathie led\nLaura to the place where her brother had been laid. Birds were singing\ngayly in the trees over his head, and Kathie had made wreaths of\nwild-flowers and garlands of grasses and placed them over the spot so\ndear to her. Together they stood silently listening to the birds' clear\nnotes, and the morning was so bright and beautiful that Kathie could not\ngrieve as she had done the night before. With Laura's hand clasped over\nhers, she felt that she was no longer alone; and when Laura said, \"Now\nwe will both go back to the dear Motherkin,\" she did not refuse, but\nturned away to make her little preparations. This was soon done, and\nguided by Laura's staff, they started out for their long tramp through\nthe woods.\n\n\"Now, Kathie,\" said Laura, after they had walked far enough to need a\nlittle rest, \"let us sit on this nice mossy rock, and you tell me,\nplease, how you came to be living all alone here in the woods.\"\n\nKathie sat down, and, pushing back her hair, said to Laura, \"It is\nall so sad and sorrowful that I wonder you care to hear about it.\"\n\n\"But I do--really I do; only if it makes you unhappy to tell me, perhaps\nyou had better not.\"\n\n\"It is not much to tell: we have not been long alone. I do not remember\nmy mother; my father was a wood-cutter, and we were very happy till the\nwar came, and he had to be a soldier, and leave little Fritz and me all\nalone.\"\n\n\"Your father a soldier! so is mine. How nice!\" said Laura.\n\n\"Ah, but your father is an officer, of course, and can do almost as he\npleases, while my poor father had hardly time to bid us good-bye when he\nwent away; and I do not know whether he is alive or has been killed in\nsome dreadful battle.\"\n\n\"Then we'll think he is alive and well, and soon coming home,\" said\nLaura, springing up and dragging Kathie with her for a race. \"Come, we\nwill not talk any more, for your eyes are full of tears, and this is\ntoo lovely a day for us to be unhappy, my poor, poor Kathie. Come! I am\nsorry I asked you anything.\"\n\nThe day was indeed lovely, and the soft, sweet air was full of delicious\nodors from the many buds and blossoms.\n\nSoon the children forgot their sad talk, and were chasing butterflies,\nwhen again Laura, in her glee, threw down her staff, and could not\nrecollect the spot where it had fallen.\n\n\"Oh, Kathie, my staff! my staff is lost again! where did I put it?\" she\nexclaimed, when a little mocking voice was heard repeating her words,\nand skipping over the rocks was seen the well-remembered rabbit-skin of\nthe Herb Elf.\n\nLaura was very much provoked at her own carelessness, and annoyed at\nagain seeing her teasing acquaintance of the woods reappear; but she had\ngained a little wisdom from her former encounter, and took care not to\nshow her vexation.\n\nBut Kathie was very much alarmed, and clung close to Laura. The Herb\nElf, seeing this, brandished his bludgeon, and executed a fantastic\nseries of capers.\n\n\"Afraid, are you?--ho! ho! he! he! A great big girl afraid of me!\" he\nsung.\n\n\"I am not afraid, Mr. Elf,\" said Laura. \"You and I have met before, and\nwhat nice honey you gave me! I am sure Kathie would like some, and are\nyou too busy to help me find my staff?\"\n\n\"Lost it again, have you? Oh, you're a nice one! I am busy pruning\nwitch-hazels, and your knife has been very useful.\"\n\n\"So much the more reason why you should find my staff again for me.\nPlease, Mr. Elf, do be as kind as you were before.\"\n\n\"Let me see you dance again.\"\n\nLaura took Kathie's hand and whirled her away in a waltz till they were\nboth breathless, while Kathie whispered, \"What shall we do to get away\nfrom this strange little creature?\"\n\n\"He will find my staff if we are good-natured,\" replied Laura, in a\nwhisper, \"and we never could get back to the Motherkin without it.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"THE HERB ELF CAME UP BEHIND KATHIE AND GAVE A TWITCH TO\nONE OF HER BROWN BRAIDS.\"]\n\nSuddenly the Herb Elf came up behind Kathie, and, jumping up vigorously,\ngave a twitch to one of her brown braids.\n\n\"They don't come off, then?\" he said, as Kathie winced.\n\n\"No, they are not meant to,\" said Laura, in some haste, fearing he might\nbe disposed to cut one.\n\n\"I was in China once, and saw all the men with pigtails--how do you\nthink I would look with one?\"\n\n\"Queer,\" answered Laura, still fearing he might covet Kathie's beautiful\nhair.\n\n\"Not at all queer,\" said the elf, angrily, stamping his foot and\nhitching his rabbit-skin from shoulder to shoulder.\n\nA bright thought just then came to Kathie, but fearing to speak to the\nHerb Elf, she whispered it to Laura.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Elf,\" said Laura, \"Kathie thinks you would be grand with a\ngreat long Chinese queue, and she says she is sure she could make one\nfor you.\"\n\nAt this the elf looked greatly pleased, and cut a very curious caper.\n\n\"But,\" continued Laura, \"she needs some flax to make it of, for her\ndark brown hair would not be at all becoming to you.\"\n\nThe elf frowned at this, and asked, \"Why not?\"\n\n\"Oh, it would be really ridiculous; instead of looking like a Chinese\nmandarin, a splendid, elegant Chinese, you would be exactly like an ugly\nold Indian who had scalped somebody--indeed, it would not be nice,\" said\nLaura, very earnestly, so afraid was she that the elf would insist upon\nhaving one of Kathie's beautiful braids. \"But if you would get us some\nlovely yellow flax, Kathie would plait it, and we would fasten it on for\nyou, and then you would find my staff for me, and we would be your\nfriends forever.\"\n\n\"Ho! ho! he! he!\" laughed the elf. \"Well, I'll get the flax;\" and away\nhe went, leaving the two girls again alone.\n\nLaura squeezed Kathie, and told her she was a jewel for thinking of the\nflax, for she certainly would have had to cut off her hair had she not\nbeen so shrewd.\n\nBy this time they were hungry; so, opening their basket, they sat down\nto their dinner. Birds hopped tamely near them for the crumbs, and\nsquirrels leaped, chattering, from bough to bough. They finished their\nlunch, but still the elf did not return; they did not dare to go from\nthe spot where he had left them, and their little hearts were full of\nanxiety, for if he should not return, how could they ever find their way\nthrough the woods without the precious staff? Laura blamed herself for\nher giddiness, and wondered how she could for a moment have been so\nforgetful. Kathie tried to comfort her, and suggested that if they found\nit again it would be well to tie or fasten it in some way to her\ngirdle.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nJust as the girls were thinking what they should do for the night in\ncase they were obliged to remain in this place, they heard a little\nshout, and their eyes were gladdened by the welcome sight of the\nrabbit-skin, and trailing behind the elf was a large bunch of flax.\n\nHe came slowly towards them, and flung the flax at their feet, saying,\n\"I have had hard work to get this, I can tell you; this is something we\nhave nothing to do with, and I have robbed a garden for it.\"\n\n\"Oh, how could you be so wicked?\" exclaimed Laura.\n\nThe elf made one of his strange grimaces, and stood on his head a\nmoment.\n\n\"So you call that wicked, do you?\"\n\n\"Yes; robbing is very wicked.\"\n\n\"If I planted ever so much catnip in its place, what do you call that?\"\n\n\"Oh, that was all fair, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Well, don't suppose anything more about it, but just go to work, if you\nwant your stick.\"\n\nAt this Kathie began to plait most diligently, and Laura, finding a bit\nof blue ribbon somewhere about her dress, tied the end of the long braid\nwith it. The elf watched them closely--his little black beady eyes\nfollowing every movement of Kathie's dexterous fingers, while Laura held\nthe flax. When it was finished, Laura proposed fastening it in the elf's\ncap as the easiest way for him to wear it, and then when he chose he\ncould lay it aside. This suited exactly, and the little furry rabbit's\nhead was soon adorned with this peculiar ornament. When the elf put it\non he gave a shout of glee, but afterwards became very grave--whether\nthe weight oppressed him, or whether he remembered that Chinese\nsedateness and dignity would be appropriate, cannot be determined; but\nLaura and Kathie both assured him he looked very grand.\n\n\"And now,\" said Laura, \"please be so good, Mr. Elf, as to give me my\nstaff, for we have a long way to go, and have lost much time.\"\n\nThe elf at this request began his queer capers again, but finding the\nlong queue very much in his way, stopped short, and asked Laura why she\ncould not stay awhile in the woods with him, and said that he would get\nher more honey, and find her the prettiest red cup-moss and maidenhair\nferns she had ever seen. Laura declined very resolutely, saying that the\nMotherkin and Grim had charged her not to delay.\n\nThen the elf made hideous faces, and blew a shrill whistle through his\nfingers, whereat a swarm of mosquitoes buzzed around the children most\nuncomfortably.\n\n\"Really, Mr. Elf,\" said Laura, brandishing her handkerchief wildly about\nto keep off the stinging insects, \"I thought you were more of a\ngentleman than this. A Chinese mandarin would not vex us in this way.\nI have a pretty turquoise ring on my hand, which, if my staff were here,\nI might give you-- But, oh! oh! how these things do bite! Come, Kathie,\nlet us run,\" she added; and, seizing Kathie's hand, she started off.\n\n\"Hey! not so fast. Here is your staff. The ring! the ring! where is it?\"\ncalled the elf.\n\n\"I cannot stay in that swarm of mosquitoes,\" replied Laura, still\nrunning; but the elf was quicker than she, and, leaping before her,\nthrew her staff across her path. \"Here is the ring,\" replied Laura; \"and\nnext time you meet any children, I hope you will be kinder to them than\nyou have been to us.\"\n\n\"Oh, you are too stupid to have any fun. Just a little joke like that\nwas nothing at all.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"THEY BATHED THEIR SWOLLEN AND DISFIGURED FACES.\"]\n\nLaura made no answer, but, seizing her staff, she and Kathie hurried\ninto the woods in search of a brook where they could bathe their swollen\nand disfigured faces. When they began their walk again, nothing was seen\nof the elf.\n\n\"I do hope we shall now have no more to hinder us, Kathie. See, I have\ntied my stick to my wrist.\"\n\n\"And we had better keep very quiet the rest of the way; for if we talk,\nthe elves may hear us, and contrive something new to stop us.\"\n\n\"Quite right, Kathie. We'll play we are hunters in search of game, and\nnot speak a word.\"\n\nSo on they went till again the twilight made it necessary for them to\nseek a place of repose for the night. An overhanging rock surrounded by\nlow bushes seemed an inviting spot, especially as the staff did not\nwithhold them from it. Kathie, more learned in woodland ways than Laura,\nbroke down branches of hemlock, and made a fragrant and spicy bed; and\nthen, too tired to do more than say their prayers, they both were asleep\nin a few moments.\n\nIt seemed to Laura that she had not been long asleep when something\nwakened her. What it was she knew not. There was a soft stir in the\ntree-tops, as if a light breeze were blowing--an occasional chirp from\nsome bird which had been disturbed, perhaps by a dream that its eggs\nwere broken; but otherwise all was still. Kathie was sleeping soundly,\nand Laura closed her own eyes again, but again was aroused, and this\ntime by a cold something poking in her hand.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nThe cold little nose of an animal it seemed; for it was followed by the\nlapping of a warm little tongue, and the cuddling of a muffy, furry\nlittle body against Laura. Still Kathie slept soundly, and Laura was too\nfrightened to waken her. Every moment she expected to hear a growl, and\nhave an angry bite from a set of savage teeth; but no bite or growl\ncoming, and the cuddling of the little creature seeming to be kindly,\nshe became less fearful, and her heart stopped its hurried beating.\n\n\"Kathie!\" she whispered--\"Kathie!\" But Kathie slept, and would not\nwaken.\n\n[Illustration: \"KATHIE GAZED AT LAURA, SLEEPING WITH ONE HAND ON THE\nNECK OF A YOUNG BEAR CUB.\"]\n\nAn owl hooted dismally, and Laura shivered, which only made the little\nfurry creature crowd nearer, as if for protection. She put out her\nhand and felt of the soft warm fur; again the warm tongue touched her\nhand, and reminded her of her spaniel Fido. She patted the head,\nwondering if it were a dog. Fido she knew it could not be, for his head\nwas smaller, and he was every way more slender than this strange\ncreature. As her fears abated, and she became more reconciled to the\npresence of this new-comer, she became drowsy again, and before long\nfell as soundly asleep as was Kathie; and when morning came, with its\nbird-calls and tender flush of dawn, Kathie was the first to waken; and\nshe gazed with astonishment, not unmixed with fear, at Laura, sleeping\nwith one hand resting on the neck of a young bear cub.\n\nKathie had witnessed such strange and novel things in Laura's company\nthat she began to think Laura too was a fairy, and had something in\ncommon with all the inhabitants of the woods; but so lovely was she in\nKathie's eyes, and so welcome had been her kindness and gentle sympathy,\nthat Kathie was disposed to think all that was good of Laura, and that\nif she were a fairy, she was a very charming one. When Laura aroused,\nhowever, her start of surprise and look of wonder at the little animal\nbeside her, and then her dimly remembered experience of the night coming\nto her recollection taking off the edge of her fear, showed Kathie that\nshe was quite as much a human child as herself.\n\nThe little bear had snuggled himself so close beside Laura that she\ncould not move without disturbing him. As yet he showed no signs of\nwaking; his eyes were tightly shut, and he was almost a ball in shape.\n\n\"It's a real baby bear, Kathie. Where do you suppose he came from?\"\n\n\"I cannot imagine,\" answered Kathie. \"But,\" she added, \"I think we had\nbetter hurry away, for fear its mother may come in search of it.\"\n\n\"Oh, Kathie, no; he is too cunning and pretty. I cannot give him up. See\nhow he nestles up to me, and how affectionate he is.\"\n\n\"But the mother, Laura, would be very cruel to us. I have heard\nterrible tales of children hugged to death by bears.\"\n\n\"I don't believe he has a mother,\" said Laura, eagerly. \"I think his\nmother has probably been killed, and that he has come to us to be taken\ncare of. You need not look so doubtful, Kathie. Perhaps this was his\nhome, this very nook of ours where we have been sleeping, and he has\ncome seeking his mother, poor little cub, and not finding her, has lain\ndown here for warmth and comfort. I mean to keep him and take him home\nwith me. Now, Kathie, be good and help me, and you shall see what a dear\npet he will make. I think he is just as cunning and pretty as he can be,\nand we will train him to do all sorts of funny things.\"\n\nStill Kathie looked anxious; but the cub wakened and whined, and ate\nsome oat-cake from Laura's hand, and when they rose to begin their walk\nhe trotted after them, as if afraid they were about leaving him. But\nLaura was too delighted with the idea of a new pet to think of leaving\nhim, and Kathie and she took turns in carrying the little creature when\nit appeared to be tired; for, now they were nearing home, Laura's steps\nwere quicker, and the way seemed far less difficult.\n\n\"How glad I shall be to see the dear Motherkin again!\" said Laura, as\nthey rested for a while in the cool shadow of a great tree at whose\nroots babbled a clear brook.\n\nKathie looked sad and weary and homesick.\n\n\"And how glad she will be to see you, Kathie dear!\"\n\n\"Do you think so, Laura? I am so unused to strange faces, and so afraid,\nthat I almost wish you had left me in the woods.\"\n\n\"Ah, don't speak that way, Kathie; you might have starved there all\nalone.\"\n\n\"I am not ungrateful, dear Laura.\"\n\n\"No, I know you are not, Kathie; you only miss little Fritz; but I am\ngoing to find your father for you, and then, if you want to, you shall\ngo back to your own home, and my mamma and I will give you a great many\nnice things, and we will make it pleasant and comfortable for you.\"\n\nKathie's face brightened at these kind words.\n\n\"And what can I do for you?\" she asked.\n\n\"Oh, you shall teach me to spin and knit and plait, and do all sorts of\nthings.\"\n\nAnd then they went on again, still followed by the little cub, around\nwhose neck Laura had hung a wreath of wild flowers, from which he\nmunched occasionally, and which she had as frequently to renew.\n\nThey had no more strange adventures, for the staff guided them safely on\ntheir way, and as the sun lowered, and the afternoon became cool, and\nthe birds were less noisy, Laura suddenly espied the gray figure and\nscarlet cap of Grim, waiting on the edge of the wood to welcome the\nlittle wayfarers. When he saw them, he tossed his cap high in the air as\na signal to the Motherkin, whose pleasant face quickly appeared, and in\na few moments Laura was in her embrace. Then followed the welcome to\nKathie, and even the cub came in for his share of attention; but as\nthey neared the cottage, to Laura's greater astonishment, her own dear\nmamma came out and took her in her arms.\n\n\"My child! my own dear Laura!\" exclaimed her mother, tenderly, \"how\naltered you are! how you have grown! and what a fine healthy brown is\nupon your cheeks! and, best of all, my dear friend tells me of the\nloving pilgrimage you have just finished, and what a good girl my Laura\nhas become.\" And the mother kissed and clasped Laura, while tears of joy\nfell from her eyes.\n\nNever had there been so charming a feast seen as the Motherkin had\nprepared for the little pilgrims. All about the cottage in the trees\nwere hung colored lanterns, which, as the evening grew darker, gave out\nbrilliant sparkles of light; on the little lawn was a table laden with\nfruits and creams and cakes, and the white cloth was festooned with pink\nroses; rustic seats, dressed with flowers and canopied with boughs, were\narranged on a carpet of richly woven colors; vases and jars of\nsweet-scented flowers adorned the tables, where glittered silver\npitchers and crystal cups.\n\nLovely white dresses of thinnest muslin and coronets of white blossoms\nhad been prepared for the children, who, having bathed and refreshed\nthemselves, were led by Grim to their seats beside Lady Idleways and the\nMotherkin, who listened with attention to Laura's account of her\njourney.\n\nGrim listened, too, chuckling with pleasure as he moved about, waiting\nupon his mistress and her guests.\n\n\"Now, my dear Lady Idleways,\" said the Motherkin, \"I can let Laura\nreturn to you with great satisfaction, for I am quite sure she has been\nmuch benefited by her visit to us. She came to me a spoiled, too much\nindulged child; she goes back to you a sensible, intelligent being, with\na desire to be useful, and with sympathy for her fellow-creatures.\"\n\n\"But, my dear Motherkin,\" said Laura, with tears, \"am I to go home and\nnever, never see you again, or Grim, or Kathie, or my dear little bear,\nor have any more happy days in the woods?\"\n\n\"Why, no, my dear Laura,\" said her mother, quickly. \"You shall take\nKathie home with you, and your dear little bear, and all that you love;\nand you shall see the Motherkin very often--as often as she will let you\ncome to the Forest of Pines; and we will spend all our days in the woods\nif you wish, for I shall want you to go about with me among the\ncottages, and see what we can do for the poor people in them; besides,\nyou forget that we are to find Kathie's father for her, and make her\nhome a happy one again.\"\n\n\"And after all, dear Laura, you need never suffer for want of my\ncompany,\" said the Motherkin; \"for though I asked your mother not to\nreveal my name before you came to me, I have no wish to make it any\nlonger a secret. I am the fairy Industry. Be industrious, dear child,\nand I am always at your service.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nNothing more beautiful could well have been imagined than the day Lady\nIdleways, Laura, and Kathie started for Idleways Castle. Towards morning\nthere had been a shower, which freshened every leaf, and gave a\nglittering touch to every flower. It was a joyous, glad day, when even\nthe birds seemed to be happier; and when Laura bade farewell to her kind\nfriends, sorry as she was to leave them, she could not be unhappy.\n\nThe Motherkin and Grim escorted them through their woods and beyond the\ndoor in the rock where Laura had first seen the fairy. At this point\nthey exchanged good wishes and made their final adieux, the Motherkin\nnever venturing out of the confines of the Forest of Pines--at least to\nmortal vision she never went farther.\n\n[Illustration: \"LAURA THOUGHT SHE SAW A FAMILIAR OBJECT BEHIND A BUSH OF\nSWEETBRIER.\"]\n\nAs they reached the limit of the woods, where Lady Idleways's carriage\nwas waiting, Laura thought she saw a familiar object partly hiding\nbehind a bush of sweetbrier. Kathie's eyes also turned in the same\ndirection, and she whispered to Laura, \"Is that the Herb Elf, or is it\nonly a rabbit?\"\n\n\"It is the elf. Look at his queue. I wonder what he wants? He seems to\nbe afraid of being noticed. Look! he is waving his cap to us, and then\nhe retreats behind the bush again.\"\n\n\"What is it detains you, children?\" asked Lady Idleways; for both Kathie\nand Laura lingered a little.\n\n\"The Herb Elf, mamma,\" whispered Laura.\n\n\"I see nothing but a rabbit, my dear.\"\n\n\"But it _is_ the elf, mamma. May I go speak to him? He may want to say\ngood-bye.\"\n\n\"Are you not afraid of his mischievous tricks?\"\n\n\"He would not dare do any harm to me with you so near, mamma.\"\n\n\"Go, then; but do not let him urge you away out of my sight.\" Laura ran\nto the bush of sweetbrier behind which the elf was hiding, at which he\ncapered and frisked about as if highly pleased.\n\n\"So you are going home, are you?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes, I am going, and Kathie is going with me. How could you let those\nmosquitoes torment us so? The bites hurt yet. Look!\" and she held out a\nswollen finger.\n\nAt this the elf fumbled in his pockets, and drew out a peculiar-looking\nring. It seemed to be cut out of coral.\n\n\"There,\" said he, \"this will make you believe me somewhat your friend.\nLet me put it on that finger. See, the swelling goes down. While you\nwear this, no insect can ever trouble you. Had you been ugly with me, I\nshould not have given you this. But you can have your choice between it\nand your own blue ring. Which do you prefer?\"\n\n\"Oh, yours, Mr. Elf, of course. Why, it's a real treasure.\"\n\n\"Of course it is; it came from China. Will you ever come to these woods\nagain?\"\n\n\"I hope so. Good-bye, Mr. Elf, good-bye.\"\n\n\"Good-bye. You are a real little lady. Good-bye.\" And with any number of\ntwists and jerks and queer contortions, the rabbit-skin and its owner\ndisappeared in the forest.\n\nLady Idleways and Kathie looked at the elf's gift, and pronounced it a\nvery useful and pretty trinket. Then they all got in the carriage, and\nturned their thoughts towards home.\n\nIt was late when they reached the castle; for the coachman lost his way,\nand they were detained. Lights were gleaming from all the windows, and\nas they neared the broad steps a delightful strain of music welcomed\ntheir approach. Servants were waiting to greet them, and Laura was quite\noverwhelmed with all their kind attentions. She could not but remember\nhow coldly and indifferently she had been in the habit of receiving\nkindness before she left home; for, child that she was, she had learned\nto think and reflect. Thrown upon her own efforts to make herself\ncomfortable and happy, and even to sustain her own life, she had grown\nout of the listless, dissatisfied, unhappy child into a rational and\nuseful being, grateful and disposed to make others happy.\n\n\"Oh, Miss Laura, what a tall, lovely girl you are!\" exclaimed Nannette,\nlooking at her affectionately and turning her around. \"Who dresses\nyou, dear? and who brushes your beautiful hair? I have been lost without\nyou.\"\n\n\"I am my own maid, Nannette, and you will have to wait upon mamma in\nfuture, or knit stockings for all the poor people. Do I not look well\ndressed? Ah! here is my dear Fido. What a great big creature he has\nbecome! And, oh! my dear Nannette, how are all the birds? and where is\nPolly?\n\n\"Welcome! welcome!\" screamed Polly, in reply.\n\nLaura took Kathie about from room to room till the child was almost\nbewildered; but so modest and refined was she by nature, that the\ngrandeur did not dazzle her. She was just the same simple, quiet child\nof the woods, with a heart-sick and homesick longing to return to her\nown poor home; and it was not many days before Laura and Lady Idleways\nsaw that the little wood-violet was drooping.\n\nKathie had been allowed a room next to Laura's, and each day Lady\nIdleways gave them lessons together. They walked, they rode, they\ngathered flowers. Kathie was teaching Laura to knit, and Laura was\nteaching Kathie many little nice ways about herself; and Laura was all\nbrightness and energy--a veritable sunbeam, as all in the castle said;\nbut Kathie grew quieter and sadder, and one day Laura found her unable\nto rise from her bed. In alarm she went to her mother.\n\n\"Mamma, Kathie is ill; her head is hot, and she says strange things to\nme, and she moans as if in pain.\"\n\nLady Idleways found the child truly ill, and she had to forbid Laura's\neven seeing her, for she knew not but that her fever might prove to be\ncontagious.\n\nNannette shook her head wisely, and took her place at the bedside, as if\nnow she had indeed some thing to occupy her.\n\nLaura was lost without her companion, but made fresh bouquets and sent\nthem in every morning to her, and was always ready at the end of the\nlong hall to wait upon Nannette, that she might not leave her charge a\nmoment. Lady Idleways sent for a physician, and his face looked grave\nwhen he came from Kathie's bedside.\n\n\"What is it, mamma?\" asked Laura, as, with her books and Fido, she sat\nin the embrasure of the large hall window, waiting for the doctor's\ndecision.\n\n\"It is a low fever, my darling, and we must do something to cheer the\nchild and make her hopeful. I am going now to write to your papa, to see\nif he can get permission for Kathie's father to return. Meanwhile we\nwill get their cottage in order, cleaned, and made comfortable with all\nthat they need, and then we will take the little wild bird back to its\nnest. These woodland creatures cannot live away from their haunts. Do\nyou understand, my Laura?\"\n\n\"Yes, mamma; but I am so sorry.\"\n\n\"So am I, dear child.\"\n\nSo it was decided. The letter was written, and a favorable answer came.\nDay after day went by, and yet Kathie could only take a little soup and\na little wine, and Laura was allowed to go beneath her window and talk\nto her a while. And Lady Idleways was very busy, driving out to the\nforest every day with a donkey-cart laden with many useful goods, going\nand returning with work-people, and coming home to bid Laura hope that\nKathie would soon be very well and happy again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\n[Illustration: \"SHE WAS NOW ALLOWED TO SIT BESIDE KATHIE AND READ A\nLITTLE TO HER.\"]\n\nAt last Kathie was pronounced able to leave her room. The summer had\nripened into autumn, and the leaves, which had turned crisp and brown,\nhad fallen, making the branches bare. The air was sharp and frosty.\nGreat logs burned in the fireplaces, delighting Laura with their\ncheerful blaze, and keeping her busy in the twilight finding pictures in\nthe flames. She was now allowed to sit beside Kathie and read a little\nto her, a few verses, a hymn, or a Bible story. And to Laura was given\nthe pleasant task of telling Kathie she was soon to see her father. It\nhappened this way. Kathie had been carried out for fresh air in\nNannette's arms, and was resting on cushions; it was the middle of the\nday, and the sunlight streamed through the broad windows. Laura was\nroasting chestnuts, and as she drew them from the ashes she said,\n\n\"Kathie, if I were a fairy and you had a wish, what should I turn this\nnut into for you?--a pot of gold?\"\n\n\"No, dear Laura. I do not want a pot of gold.\"\n\n\"But I know what you do want, and what you shall have.\"\n\n\"Ah, Laura, you are too good to me, and I am ashamed to say I want\nanything.\"\n\n\"But it is not _anything_, it is _somebody_, you want; and there is\nmamma at the window, all wrapped up in a shawl, beckoning me out to see\na soldier who has just gotten down from a horse, and he looks enough\nlike you, Kathie, to be your father.\" With which rather sudden\nannouncement Laura ran out of the room, and soon came back ushering in a\ntall man with bronzed cheeks and heavy mustache and a kind eye like\nKathie's; and Kathie was next in his arms, and her face hidden on his\nbreast.\n\nNot many days after, with grateful words and kindest thanks, the soldier\nand his little girl went to their home in the woods. The forester had\nreceived his discharge from the army through Laura's papa.\n\nLaura often went to visit Kathie in her own home, which Lady Idleways\nhad made bright and sweet; and Kathie could never do enough for Laura to\nprove her gratitude. Stockings of softest and whitest wool knit by\nKathie, with delicious cheeses and cakes she had made, were sent to the\ncastle. The forester carved beautiful toys and footstools and\npicture-frames and crosses for the kind friends of his little girl.\n\nAs a parting gift Laura had bestowed upon Kathie the young bear she had\nbefriended in the woods, and which, chained in the stable-yard, had\ngrown large and fat and tame. Laura had found it a rather awkward pet,\nless tractable to her teachings than she had supposed it would be; but\nthe forester promised that the animal should have the best of care, and\nbe taught all that a tame bear ought to know.\n\nSo many people settled in the villages near, and so many houses and\nfactories were to be found after a while, that the good fairy and Grim\nhad to take their departure. The elves, too, disappeared, leaving behind\nthem only their garden beds of bitter herbs.\n\nLaura, however, lost none of the good lessons the fairy had taught her,\nand was never happier than when doing some kind act for those who had\nless to make them comfortable and thankful than had the Princess\nIdleways.\n\n\nTHE END.","title":"The Princess Idleways: A Fairy Story","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":16652}