{"collection":"folklore-oral-tradition","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_32226/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_32226","id":"gutenberg_32226","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32226","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Children's stories","Courtship -- Juvenile fiction","Fairy tales","Friendship -- Juvenile fiction","Mermaids -- Juvenile fiction","Princesses -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Emmy, and the Project Gutenberg Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images\ngenerously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries\n(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 32226-h.htm or 32226-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/32226/pg32226-images.html)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/32226/32226-h.zip)\n\n\n      Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive/American Libraries. See\n      http://www.archive.org/details/flowerprincess00brow\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FLOWER PRINCESS\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBy Abbie Farwell Brown\n\n          THE FLOWER PRINCESS. Illustrated. Sq. 12mo, $1.00.\n\n          THE CURIOUS BOOK OF BIRDS. Illustrated. Square\n            12mo, $1.10, _net_. Postpaid, $1.21.\n\n          A POCKETFUL OF POSIES. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.00,\n            _net_. Postpaid, $1.09.\n\n          IN THE DAYS OF GIANTS. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.10,\n            _net_. Postpaid, $1.21. _School edition_, 50\n            cents, _net_, postpaid.\n\n          THE BOOK OF SAINTS AND FRIENDLY BEASTS.\n            Illustrated, 12mo, $1.25.\n\n          THE LONESOMEST DOLL. Illustrated. Sq. 12mo, 85\n            cents, _net_. Postpaid, 95 cents.\n\n          HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.\n          BOSTON AND NEW YORK\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTHE FLOWER PRINCESS\n\n[Illustration: LET HIM PROVE IT]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nTHE FLOWER PRINCESS\n\nby\n\nABBIE FARWELL BROWN\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBoston and New York\nHoughton Mifflin and Company\n\nThe Riverside Press Cambridge\n1904\n\nCopyright 1904 by Abbie Farwell Brown\nAll Rights Reserved\n\nPublished September, 1904\n\n\n\n\n          _Oh, give me for a little space\n            To see with childlike eyes\n          This curious world, our dwelling-place\n            Of wonder and surprise. . . ._\n\n          _The long, long road from Day to Night\n            Winds on through constant change,\n          Whereon one hazards with delight\n            Adventures new and strange;_\n\n          _The wonders of the earth and sky!\n            The magic of the sea!\n          The mysteries of beast and fly,\n            Of bird and flower and tree!_\n\n          _One feels the breath of holy things\n            Unseen along the road,\n          The whispering of angel wings,\n            The neighboring of Good._\n\n          _And Beauty must be good and true,\n            One battles for her sake;\n          But Wickedness is foul to view,\n            So one cannot mistake. . . ._\n\n          _Ah, give me with the childlike sight\n            The simple tongue and clear\n          Wherewith to read the vision right\n            Unto a childish ear._\n\n          Acknowledgments are due the publishers of _The\n          Churchman_ for permission to reprint \"The Flower\n          Princess\" and \"The Little Friend;\" also to the\n          _Brown Book_ of Boston for permission to use \"The\n          Ten Blowers,\" which first appeared in that\n          magazine.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n          THE FLOWER PRINCESS           1\n\n          THE LITTLE FRIEND            45\n\n          THE MERMAID'S CHILD          67\n\n          THE TEN BLOWERS             103\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n          LET HIM PROVE IT (page 31)     _Frontispiece_\n\n          THE PRINCESS FLEURETTE                   10\n\n          UNTIL SHE CLAPPED HER HANDS FOR JOY      18\n\n          UNTIL HELP COMES                         56\n\n          YOU WILL BRING HIM BACK TO ME?           86\n\n          ONE MORE BLOW FOR OUR KING              124\n\n\n\n\nTHE FLOWER PRINCESS\n\n\nI\n\nONCE upon a time there was a beautiful Princess named Fleurette, who\nlived in a white marble palace on the top of a high hill. The Princess\nFleurette was very fond of flowers, and all around the palace, from the\nvery gates thereof, a fair garden, full of all kinds of wonderful\nplants, sloped down to the foot of the hill, where it was snugly\ninclosed with a high marble wall. Thus the hill was like a great nosegay\nrising up in the midst of the land, sending out sweet odors to perfume\nthe air for miles, bright with color in the sunshine, and musical with\nthe chorus of birds and the hum of millions of bees.\n\nOne part of the garden was laid out in walks and avenues, with little\nvine-clad bowers here and there, where the Princess could sit and read,\nor lie and dream. There were fountains and statues among the trees, and\neverything grand and stately to make a garden beautiful. Another part of\nthe garden was left wild and tangled, like a forest. Here all the shyest\nflowers grew in their own wild way; and here ran a little brook,\ngurgling over the pebbles in a race to the foot of the hill. There never\nwas seen a more complete and beautiful garden than this of the Princess\nFleurette.\n\nNow the fame of the Princess's beauty, like the fragrance of her garden,\nhad been wafted a long way, and many persons came to prove it. A\ncontinual procession of princes from lands near and far traveled the\nlong road that wound from the foot of the hill up and up and up to the\nentrance of the palace. They came upon their noble steeds, with gold and\njeweled harness most gorgeous to see, riding curiously up amid the\nflowers, whose perfume filled their hearts with happiness and hope. The\nfurther they rode the more they longed to tarry forever in this fair\nplace. And when each one at last dismounted at the palace gate, and,\ngoing into the great hall, saw the Princess herself, more fair than any\nflower, sitting on her golden throne, he invariably fell upon his knees\nwithout delay, and begged her to let him be her very ownest Prince.\n\nBut the Princess always smiled mischievously and shook her head,\nsaying,--\n\n\"I have no mind to exchange hearts, save with him who can find mine,\nwhere it is hidden among my flowers. Guess me my favorite flower, dear\nPrince, and I am yours.\"\n\nThis she said to every prince in turn. She did not greatly care to have\nany prince for her very ownest own, for she was happy enough among her\nflowers without one. But the Prince, whoever he might be, when he heard\nher strange words, would go out eagerly into the garden and wander,\nwander long among the flowers, searching to find the sweetest and most\nbeautiful, which must be his lady's favorite. And, of course, he\nselected his own favorite, whatever that was. It might be that he would\nchoose a great, wonderful rose. At the proper time he would kneel and\npresent it to the Princess, saying confidently,--\n\n\"O fair Princess, surely I have found the flower of your heart. See the\nbeautiful rose! Give it then to me to wear always, as your very ownest\nPrince.\"\n\nBut the Princess, glancing at the rose, would shake her head and say,--\n\n\"Nay! I love the roses, too. But my heart is not there, O Prince. You\nare not to be my lord, or you would have chosen better.\"\n\nThen she would retire into her chamber, to be no more seen while that\nPrince remained in the palace. Presently he would depart, riding\nsorrowfully down the hill on his gorgeous steed, amid the laughing\nflowers. And the Princess would be left to enjoy her garden in peace\nuntil the next prince should arrive.\n\nIt might be that this one would guess the glorious nodding poppy to be\nhis lady's choice. But he would be no nearer than the other. A later\ncomer would perhaps choose a gay tulip; another a fair and quiet lily;\nstill another earnest soul would select the passion-flower, noble and\nmysterious. But at all of these the Princess shook her head and denied\nthem. There had never yet come a prince to the hill who found her\nheart's true flower. And the Princess lived on among her posies, very\nhappy and very content, growing fairer and fairer, sweeter and sweeter,\nwith their bloom upon her cheek and their fragrance in her breath. There\nnever was seen a more beautiful princess than Fleurette.\n\nNow the Princess loved to rise very early in the morning, before any of\nher people were awake, and to steal down by a secret staircase into the\ngarden while it was yet bright with dew and newly wakened happiness. She\nloved to put on a gown of coarse green stuff, wherein she herself looked\nlike a dainty pink and white flower in its sheath, and with a little\ntrowel to dig in the fragrant mould at the roots of her plants, or train\nthe vines with her slender fingers.\n\nNo one suspected that she did this, and she would not have had them\nsuspect it for the world. For if the palace people had known, they\nwould have followed and annoyed her with attentions and suggestions.\nThey would have brought her gloves to protect her pretty hands, and a\nveil, and parasol, and a rug upon which to kneel--if kneel she\nmust--while weeding the flower-beds. Indeed, they would scarcely have\nallowed her to do anything at all. For were there not gardeners to\nattend to all this; and why should she bother herself to do anything but\nenjoy the blossoms when they were picked for her? They did not know,\npoor things, that the greatest joy in a flower is to watch and help it\ngrow from a funny little seed into a leaf, then a tall green stalk, then\na waking bud, until finally it keeps the promise of its first sprouting,\nand becomes a blossom. They did not guess that the happiest hours of the\nPrincess's life were those which she spent in the early morning tending\nher flower-babies, while her fond courtiers, and even the curious\nprinces on their way to woo her, were still wasting the best part of the\nday on lazy pillows. Many a time the Gardener declared that a fairy must\ntend the royal flowers, so wonderfully did they flourish, free from\nweed or worm or withering leaf. It even seemed to him sometimes that he\ncould trace a delicate perfumed touch which had blessed their leaves\nbefore his coming. When he told this to Fleurette she only smiled\nsweetly at him. But in her heart she laughed; for she was a merry\nPrincess.\n\nOne beautiful morning the Princess arose as usual, soon after sunrise,\nand, putting on her green flower-gown, stole down the secret staircase\ninto the garden. There it lay, all fresh and wonderful, sparkling with\ndiamond dewdrops. The Princess Fleurette walked up and down the paths,\nsmiling at the blossoms, which held up their pretty faces and seemed to\nsmile back at her, as if she were another flower. Sometimes she kneeled\ndown on her royal knees in the gravel, bending over to kiss the flowers\nwith her red lips. Sometimes she paused to punish a greedy worm, or a\nrude weed which had crowded in among the precious roots. Sometimes with\nher little golden scissors she snipped off a withered leaf or a faded\nflower of yesterday. Up and down the paths she passed, singing happily\nunder her breath, but seldom plucking a flower; for she loved best to\nsee them growing on their green stalks.\n\n[Illustration: THE PRINCESS FLEURETTE]\n\nShe came at last to a little summer-house, up which climbed\nmorning-glories, blue and pink and white--fairy flowers of early\nmorning, which few of her people ever saw, because they rose so late.\nFor by the time those lazy folk were abroad, the best part of the day\nwas spent; and the little morning-glories, having lived it happily, were\nready for their rest. They drowsed and nodded and curled up tight into a\nlong sleep, in which they missed nothing at all of the later day.\n\nWhen Fleurette spied the morning-glories she clapped her little hands,\nand, running up to the arbor, danced about on her tiptoes, whispering,--\n\n\"Good-morning, little dears! Good-morning, my beautiful ones. How fresh\nand sweet and fair you are!\" And, plucking a single blossom, a cup of\nthe frailest pink, she placed it in her yellow hair, her only\nornament. Then she danced toward the little arbor, for it was her\nfavorite early-morning bower. But when she came to the door, instead of\nentering, she started back with a scream. For through the morning-glory\nvines two bright eyes were peering at her.\n\n\"Peek-a-boo!\" said a merry voice. And out stepped a lad with a smiling,\nhandsome face. He was dressed all in green. By his side hung a sword,\nand over his shoulder he bore a little lute, such as minstrels use.\n\n\"Good-morning, merry maiden,\" he said, doffing his cap and bowing very\nlow. \"You, too, love flowers in the early morning. We have good taste,\nwe two, alone of all this place, it seems.\"\n\n\"You are not of this place. How came you here?\" asked the Princess,\nstepping back and frowning somewhat. \"Do you not know that this is the\ngarden of a Princess, who allows no one to visit it between dusk and the\nthird hour after sunrise?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried the youth, with a merry laugh. \"That I learned yesterday\ndown below there in the village. And a foolish law it is. If the\nPrincess knows no better than to forbid the sight of her garden when it\nis most beautiful, then the Princess deserves to be disobeyed. And for\nthat matter, pretty maiden, are not you, too, a trespasser at this early\nhour? Aha! Oho!\" The lad laughed, teasingly, shaking his finger at her.\n\nThe Princess bit her lip to keep from laughing. But she said as sternly\nas she could: \"You are rude, Sir Greencoat. I am one of the best friends\nthe Princess has. She allows me to come here at this hour, alone of all\nthe world.\"\n\n\"Ah, share the right with me, dear maiden, share it with me!\" exclaimed\nthe Stranger. \"Let me play with you here in the garden early in the\nmorning. Do not tell her of my fault; but let me repeat it again, and\nyet again, while I remain in this land.\"\n\nThe Princess hesitated, then answered him with a question. \"You are then\nof another country? You are soon to go away?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am of a far country. My name is Joyeuse, and I am a merry\nfellow,--a traveler, a minstrel, a swordsman, an herb-gatherer. I have\nearned my bread in many ways. I was passing through this country when\nthe fragrance of this wondrous garden met my flower-loving nose, guiding\nme hither. Ah, how beautiful it is! Because I wished to see it at its\nbest in early morning I stole through the gates at sundown, and spent\nthe night in yonder little arbor. I have been wandering ever since among\nthe flowers, until I heard your voice singing. Then I stole back here to\nhide, for I was too happy to risk being discovered and sent away.\"\n\n\"You are a bold, bad fellow, Joyeuse,\" said Fleurette, laughing; \"and I\nhave a mind to tell the Princess about you and your wanderings.\"\n\n\"Would she be so very angry?\" asked the Stranger. \"I will not pluck a\nsingle bud. I love them all too dearly, just as you do, dear maiden, for\nI have watched you. Ay, I could almost tell which is your favorite\nflower--\"\n\n\"Nay, that you cannot do,\" said the Princess hastily. \"No one knows\nthat.\"\n\n\"Aha!\" cried the lad. \"You make a secret of it, even as does your\nmistress, the Princess Fleurette. I have heard how she will choose for\nher Prince only him who finds the flower which holds her heart. I had\nthought one time to find that flower, and become her Prince.\"\n\n\"You!\" cried the Princess, starting with surprise.\n\n\"Ay, why not? I could fight for her, and defend her with my life, if\nneed be. I could sing and play to make her merry. I could teach her many\nthings to make her wise. I am skilled in herbs and lotions, and I could\nkeep her people in health and happiness. Moreover, I love flowers as\nwell as she,--better, since I love them at their best in this early\nmorning: even as you love them, fair maiden. I should not make so poor a\nprince for this garden. But now that I have seen you, little flower, I\nhave no longing to be a prince. I would not win the Princess if I\nmight. For you must be fairer than she--as you are fairer even than the\nflowers, your sisters. Ah, I have an idea! I believe that _you_ are that\nvery flower, the fairest one, whereon the Princess has set her heart.\nTell me, is it not so?\"\n\n\"Indeed no!\" cried the Princess, turning very pink at his flattery. \"How\nfoolishly you speak! But I must hasten back to the palace, or we shall\nbe discovered and some one will be punished.\"\n\n\"And shall I see you among the maidens of the Princess when I present\nmyself before her?\" asked Joyeuse eagerly.\n\n\"Oh, you must not do that!\" exclaimed Fleurette. \"You must not try to\nsee the Princess to-day. This is a bad time. Perhaps to-morrow--\" She\nhesitated.\n\n\"But you will come again to the garden?\" he begged.\n\nShe shook her head. \"No, not to-day, Joyeuse.\"\n\n\"Then to-morrow you will come? Promise that you will be here to-morrow\nmorning early, to play with me for a little while?\" he persisted.\n\nThe Princess laughed a silvery little laugh. \"Who knows whom you may\nfind if you are in the garden again to-morrow morning early.\" And\nwithout another word she slipped away before Joyeuse could tell which\nway she went. For she knew every turning of the paths and all the\nwindings between the hedges, which were puzzling to strangers.\n\n\nII\n\nThe next morning at the same hour Joyeuse was wandering through the\npaths of the garden, seeking his flower-maiden. He looked for her first\nnear the arbor of morning-glories, but Fleurette was not there. He had\nto search far and wide before he found her at last in quite another part\nof the garden, among the lilies. She wore a white lily in her yellow\nlocks.\n\n\"Ah!\" cried Joyeuse, when he spied her, \"it is a lily to-day. But\nyesterday I thought I guessed your favorite flower. Now I find that I\nwas wrong. Surely, this is your choice. So fair, so pure,--a Princess\nherself could choose no better.\"\n\nFleurette smiled brightly at him, shaking her hair from side to side in\na golden shower. \"One cannot so easily read my thoughts as he may\nsuppose,\" she cried saucily.\n\n\"Dear maiden,\" said Joyeuse, coming nearer and taking her hand, \"I have\nno wonderful garden like this where I can invite you to dwell as its\nlittle princess. But come with me, and we will make a tiny one of our\nvery own, where no one shall forbid us at any hour, and where we will\nplay at being Prince and Princess, as happy as two butterflies.\"\n\nBut Fleurette shook her head and said: \"No, I can never leave the garden\nand my Princess. She could not live without me. I shall dwell here\nalways and always, so long as the flowers and I are a-blooming.\"\n\n[Illustration: UNTIL SHE CLAPPED HER HANDS FOR JOY]\n\n\"Then I, too, must live here always and always!\" declared Joyeuse.\n\"Perhaps the Princess will take me for her minstrel, or her soldier, or\nher man of medicine,--anything that will keep me near you, so that we\ncan play together here in the garden. Would that please you, little\nflower?\"\n\nFleurette looked thoughtful. \"I should be sorry to have you go,\" she\nsaid; \"you love the flowers so dearly, it would be a pity.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed I love them!\" cried Joyeuse. \"Let us then go to the\nPrincess and ask her to keep me in her service.\"\n\nThe Princess looked long at Joyeuse, and at last she said: \"How do I\nknow what manner of minstrel you are? I cannot take you to her without\nsome promise of your skill, for she is a Princess who cares only for the\nbest. Come, let us go into the wilder part of the garden, where no one\ncan hear us, and I will listen to your music.\"\n\nSo they went into a wild part of the garden, and sat down under a tree\nbeside the little brook. And there he played and sang for her such sweet\nand beautiful music that she clapped her hands for joy. And when he had\nfinished he said,--\n\n\"Well, dear maiden, do you think I am worthy to be your lady's minstrel?\nHave I the skill to make her happy?\"\n\n\"Truly, Joyeuse, you have made _me_ very happy, and you are a Prince of\nMinstrels,\" she answered. \"Yet--I cannot tell. That is not enough. But\nhark! I hear the chapel bell. I must hasten back to the palace.\nTo-morrow I will come again and listen to another song. Meanwhile do not\ntry to see the Princess.\"\n\n\"I care not for the Princess, I,\" he called after her, \"so long as I may\nsee you, little flower!\" And for an answer her laughter came back to him\nover the flowers.\n\nSo that day went by; and early the next morning Joyeuse took his lute\nand sought the flower-maiden in the garden. This time he sought her long\nand long before he found her among the roses. There was a crimson rose\nin her hair, and one upon either cheek when she glanced up, hearing his\nfootsteps on the grass. There was also a crimson spot upon her white\nhand.\n\n\"See!\" she cried, \"a cruel thorn has pricked me. Let me test your skill\nin herbs, Sir Doctor.\"\n\nWith a sorry face, for it gave him pain to see her pain, Joyeuse ran to\nfind the leaf of a certain plant which he knew. Presently he returned,\nand, taking a bit of linen from his scrip, tenderly bound the leaf about\nthe poor wounded finger.\n\n\"Now will it be cured,\" he said. \"This is a remedy which never fails.\"\n\n\"How wise you are,\" murmured Fleurette, \"a very Prince of Doctors!\"\n\n\"Say, may I not then hope to be the doctor of the Princess?\" he asked\neagerly.\n\nBut Fleurette shook her head. \"We must see how the finger is to-morrow\nmorning. If it is quite healed then, perhaps-- But hark! That is the\nGardener's whistle. It is late, and I must return to the palace, or he\nwill find us trespassing.\" And away she ran, before Joyeuse had time to\nsay another word.\n\nNow when the morrow arrived, Joyeuse sought Fleurette in the garden,\nlong and long. But at last he found her among the lavender. Her finger\nindeed was healed, so that she smiled upon him, and she said,--\n\n\"Now you shall teach me to play the lute. The Princess, I know, would\nfain master the lute. But I must see first what sort of teacher you make\nbefore I take you to her.\"\n\nSo they sat down beside a marble fountain in the fairest part of the\ngarden; and there Joyeuse taught her how to pluck the lute and to make\nsweet music. He taught her so well, and they passed the time so\npleasantly, that they forgot how the hours were flying.\n\n\"Joyeuse, you are the very Prince of Teachers!\" said Fleurette.\n\nAt that moment a shadow fell upon the grass beside them, and lo! there\nstood the head Gardener, who had heard the sound of the music, and had\nhurried to see who might be in the Princess's garden at this forbidden\nhour. The Princess gave a little cry, and without a word slipped away\nthrough an opening in the hedge that she knew, before the Gardener had a\nchance to see her face.\n\n\"Huh!\" grunted the Gardener. \"She has escaped, whoever she is. But we\nshall soon know her name. You shall tell us that and other things, you\nminstrel fellow.\"\n\n\"That I will never tell you!\" cried Joyeuse.\n\n\"Huh! We shall see about that, too,\" retorted the Gardener surlily. \"You\nshall not escape, Sirrah. I will take you to my lady the Princess, and\nyou will have a chance to explain how you came to be here playing the\nlute in her garden at a forbidden hour. Come along!\" And he advanced to\nseize Joyeuse by the collar. He was a huge, burly fellow, almost a giant\nin size.\n\nBut Joyeuse laid his hand on his sword and said: \"Keep back, Gardener,\nand do not attempt to lay hands on me! I promise to follow wherever you\nmay lead, but you shall not touch me to make me prisoner.\"\n\n\"Huh! A valiant minstrel!\" sneered the Gardener. But he looked twice at\nthe Stranger's flashing eyes and at his strong right arm, and decided to\naccept his promise. At once he led the way through the winding paths of\nthe garden until they came to the palace gate. Now Joyeuse was shut into\na dark dungeon to wait the hour when the Princess was wont to hold\ncouncil, to listen to the prayers of her suitors and the wishes of her\npeople.\n\nPoor Joyeuse! \"This is the end of my happy time,\" he said to himself.\n\"The Princess will now dismiss me, if she does no worse. She will have\nno charity for a trespasser in her garden, of which she is so jealous. I\nmay not tell her how her fair maiden met me there and urged me to\nremain. I cannot tell; for that might bring trouble upon the\nflower-maiden, whom, alas, I may never see again!\"\n\nSo he mused, wondering wistfully that she should have left him without a\nword. But there was no blame for her in his heart; he loved her so very\ndearly.\n\n\nIII\n\nIt was afternoon when the Gardener opened the cell of Joyeuse and bade\nhim follow to the great hall of the palace where the Princess would hear\nhis crime and appoint his punishment.\n\nWith a heavy heart he followed down the white marble corridors on the\nheels of the giant Gardener, who muttered to himself as they went. Now\nand then he would turn to look at Joyeuse and shake his head, as though\nforeseeing for him some dreadful punishment. At last they came to a\ngreat hall, carpeted with green and ceiled with blue, while the walls\nwere of rosy pink. At the further end of the hall was a throne of gold;\nand upon it sat the Princess Fleurette. But Joyeuse dared not lift his\neyes to look at her.\n\nHe walked slowly down the hall after the Gardener, and they took their\nstand near the throne, but behind the first rank of people. These were\nthe gayly dressed attendants upon a great Prince, who had come that day\nto woo the Princess. Even at that moment the Herald was calling out his\nname and titles--\"Fortemain, Prince of Kalabria, Knight of the Silver\nFeather, Captain of a hundred spears!\" The Prince Fortemain himself\nbowed before the throne, while his attendants stood behind him, bearing\nmost wonderful gifts for the royal lady. There were caskets of jewels,\npieces of rich silks and ermine fur, singing birds in cages, little\nmonkeys, and other curious pets from far lands. There were never finer\npresents than those which the Prince Fortemain brought to the Princess\nFleurette.\n\nA chorus of \"Ohs!\" went up from the maids of honor when they saw the\nrichness of these gifts. But Joyeuse dared not even look up to see if\nhis flower-maiden were among the white-robed band. He feared to betray\nher to the fierce eyes of the Gardener, who was watching him closely.\n\nThe Prince Fortemain made his speech very prettily, offering the\nPrincess his heart and hand, and all his riches, as well as his kingdom\nbeyond the seas, to which he hoped to carry her.\n\nThen the Princess spoke in answer, very gently. And the sound of her\nvoice was like music in the hall.\n\n\"I have no wish to leave my own little kingdom of flowers,\" she said. \"I\nam happy and contented here. I have no wish to exchange hearts, save\nwith him who understands mine well. Let him find it where it is already\nbestowed, among my flowers. Choose my favorite flower, dear Prince, and\nI am yours.\"\n\nAt the sound of her voice Joyeuse started, and for the first time looked\nup. There she sat upon the golden throne,--his own dear flower-maiden,\nshe who had met him for three mornings in the garden! But now she wore\nno coarse gown of green. She was robed all in white, from her head to\nher little feet, which were shod with gold. A golden girdle she wore,\nand a golden band confined her golden hair. She glanced at Joyeuse as\nshe spoke the last words to the Prince, and Joyeuse was sure that her\neyes twinkled. Instantly a bold thought came into his head, for he was\na bold fellow. He had been brought to her as a trespasser, ready for\npunishment. He would remain as a suitor! This Princess was his little\nplaymate; he could not, would not lose her. Had she not thrice called\nhim a Prince? He would woo her, then, like any prince.\n\nBut now the Princess was speaking again, and this time she looked\nstraight at him. \"Whom have we here, good Gardener?\" she asked, trying\nto force a little frown.\n\n\"A trespasser, your Highness,\" answered the Gardener, in his gruff\nvoice, hustling Joyeuse to the foot of the throne, \"a trespasser whom I\nfound in your royal garden this morning at a disgustingly early hour,\nsitting with a fair maiden among the lavender, strumming on a lute. I\nsaw not the face of the girl, but I fancy she must be one of your own\nmaids of honor. She also should be punished for listening to the music\nof the wicked youth.\"\n\nA little cry of horror arose from the gay group about the Princess, as\nthey looked at one another, wondering who the shocking early-riser could\nbe. The Princess looked sharply at Joyeuse and said: \"Tell us the name\nof the maiden, Sirrah, and you shall be pardoned of your grievous\nfault.\"\n\nJoyeuse looked up at the Princess and said gently: \"Lady, I will tell\nher name to you, and to you alone, if you ask it; though I think that\nyou guess it already. But first, I pray you, hear my suit. For I also\nhave come hither as a suitor.\"\n\nAt these words the Princess started, and her cheek flushed. The Gardener\nseized Joyeuse by the arm to drag him away. But Fleurette made a sign\nfor him to stand back.\n\n\"Let the Stranger speak,\" she said, \"and let him show, if he can, why,\ninstead of being punished, he should be welcomed as one of our suitors.\"\n\nThen Joyeuse knelt on the lowest step of the throne and laid at his\nmaiden's feet his sword and his lute and the scrip, or little pocket,\nwhich he wore at his side.\n\n\"Fair Princess,\" he said, \"I come with scanty gifts and with no\nattendants--poor and alone. But all that I have I offer you; my sword\nfor your protection, my music for your joy, my little learning for your\naid in sickness and in health. To atone for my boldness in forcing your\ngarden gate I offer the service of all these for as long as you will\nhave them. And withal I offer my merry heart, as true and faithful as\nthat of any prince in the world; but more loving than any.\"\n\nAt this saying the Prince Fortemain pushed forward indignantly. \"You\nshall not listen to these idle words, O Princess!\" he cried. \"This\nfellow has no right to speak thus to you. He is no prince; he is but a\nwandering minstrel and vagabond. Let him be flogged from the gates.\"\n\n\"Ay, let him be flogged away!\" echoed the Gardener and others, and they\njostled closer as if to seize him. But Joyeuse still knelt at the feet\nof his flower-maiden, not at all afraid. The Princess rose, and,\nstamping her little foot, angrily commanded her people to be quiet.\nThen she spoke to Joyeuse, and the anger was gone from her voice.\n\n\"It is true you are no prince,\" she said. \"What have you to say in reply\nto this Prince's word?\"\n\n\"Am I no prince?\" he answered, looking her straight in the eyes. \"The\nfairest Princess in the world has thrice named me Prince,--Prince of\nMinstrels, Prince of Doctors, Prince of Teachers. Does not that make me\na prince indeed?\"\n\nThere was a silence in the hall at this bold answer. Then Fleurette\nbeckoned to her the Wise Man of the court, a wise man dressed all in\nblack, with a long white beard and hair like silver thistledown.\n\n\"O Wise Man, if a princess gave him these titles, is he indeed a\nprince?\" she asked, and her voice was eager.\n\nThe Wise Man thought for a little time, then nodded gravely thrice. \"Ay,\nmy Princess, so it is written in the Book of True Chivalry. If he has\nbeen so honored, he is in deed and in degree a prince.\"\n\n\"Nay!\" cried the Prince Fortemain, \"I say nay! She has not also named\nhim the Prince of Courage. The Book of True Chivalry declares that he is\nno very prince who cannot do battle nobly for his lady's sake.\"\n\n\"That will I gladly do,\" said Joyeuse eagerly. \"I can wield sword as\nwell as any prince alive.\"\n\nThe cheeks of the Princess glowed brightly. \"Let him prove it, Prince\nFortemain,\" she cried. \"You shall punish him for his fault and for his\nboast if his words prove false. But if he bear himself the better man he\nshall be called a worthy suitor like yourself, and shall have an equal\nchance with you.\"\n\nFortemain grumbled and looked sulky, for he felt ashamed to fight with a\nwandering adventurer. But, since the Princess so commanded, there was\nnothing for him but to obey. He drew his jeweled sword, and Joyeuse\nlifted his plain one from where it lay on the step of the throne. The\ncourtiers made a ring around the two, and the bout began.\n\nOne--two! One--two! The bright blades flashed, and the two lads turned\none about the other, seeking each the advantage. They were both skillful\nfencers; but the watchers soon saw that Joyeuse was the better man.\nDextrously he thrust and warily he parried. At last, with a sudden jump\nand twist, he sent the weapon spinning from the hand of Fortemain. Away\nacross the hall it flew; and, with red face and scowling brow, the\nPrince was forced to seek it where it fell.\n\n\"Well done! Well done!\" cried the crowd, clapping their hands,\nforgetting the fault of Joyeuse in the wonder of his bravery. And \"Well\ndone!\" cried Fleurette. \"I, a Princess, name you in addition to your\nother titles the Prince of Courage. Arise, Prince Joyeuse. Your suit is\nanswered thus, as I answer every prince who does me the honor to seek my\nhand. If you be the very Prince for me you will know where to find my\nheart. Seek it where it is hidden in my garden. _My heart is with my\nfavorite flower._ Farewell, my Princes both. An hour before noontide\nto-morrow I will hold audience. Then he who is to be punished and he\nwho is to be rewarded shall learn their fate.\"\n\nSaying thus she rose and, stepping lightly down from the throne, passed\nout of the hall. Immediately all the lords and ladies followed her,\nleaving the two suitors alone together.\n\nThen the Prince Fortemain scowled at Joyeuse, and Joyeuse scowled back\nat him; and they went out of the hall by opposite doors. For they loved\nnot each other.\n\nJoyeuse was moving slowly away when the Gardener approached and touched\nhim on the shoulder. \"How now, must I return to the dungeon as a\ncriminal?\" asked Joyeuse, flushing red.\n\n\"Nay. Matters have changed, my Lord Prince,\" answered the Gardener\nsulkily. \"You seem no longer a trespasser, but a suitor. I do not\nunderstand how the seesaw has tilted so suddenly. But certainly you are\nto be lodged in no dungeon cell. My Lady has given orders that you be\nshown to a chamber as fine as that of the Prince Fortemain himself. Come\nwith me, if it please you.\"\n\nJoyeuse was then taken to a little chamber, not high, but very pleasant,\nlooking out upon the garden through a window latticed with vines.\n\n\"You are free to come and go, Master,\" said the Gardener, and left him\nwith a low bow.\n\nNow by the time all these things were finished it was late in the day,\nand Joyeuse said to himself: \"I will not search for the precious flower\nto-night. I know that my dear flower-maiden prefers the early morning\ngarden, and among the freshly opened buds which I have seen her caress\nso kindly must be the one she loves the best. I will now seek sleep, for\nI am very weary. But early will I waken to-morrow morning, to seek the\nflower which is most dear to her.\"\n\nSo Joyeuse lay down on his bed, and was soon asleep, dreaming sweetly of\nthe morrow. For he nothing doubted but that he should find the right and\nonly flower, since he loved the Princess so dearly that he must at last\nread her secret.\n\n\nIV\n\nBut the Prince Fortemain had no such peace of mind. He was wounded in\nhis princely pride because of having been defeated by the wandering\nMinstrel. He could not sleep; but, resolving to be beforehand with\nJoyeuse, went out into the garden by night and sought high and low for\nthe flower-favorite of the Princess. For he said to himself: \"The\nprecious time has been almost spent by that luckless fight. And by the\nhour when I arise to-morrow it will be time to present myself before the\nPrincess.\" (He was a lazy, loitering Prince; which was one reason for\nhis sour temper, I suppose.) \"I must, then, find the flower to-night,\nbefore that villain Minstrel does so.\"\n\nUp and down the flowery paths went Fortemain, in and out among the\nsleeping blossoms. Most of them had their eyes shut tightly, and he\ncould not see how beautiful they were. At last he came upon a white,\nheavy-scented tuberose gleaming in the moonlight, and it seemed to him\nthe fairest of all. \"Ha!\" he said, \"this is the sweetest blossom. Surely\nthis must be the favorite of the Princess Fleurette. I will pluck this,\nand to-morrow I will take it to her and claim her hand.\"\n\nHe gathered the tuberose and took it with him to his chamber. But even\nthen the Prince Fortemain could not rest. The odor of the flower was\nheavy and sickening, and it gave him troublous dreams. All night\nwretchedly he tossed and turned, and there was no refreshment in his\nsleep.\n\nJoyeuse woke in the morning fresh and happy and full of eagerness. He\nwoke very early--earlier even than usual, when he had been wont to join\nthe flower-maiden in her garden. He began to think of her, and how she\nhad looked at different times when he had thus seen her. He remembered\nher the day before among the lavender; and before that among the roses,\nwith their dangerous thorns; once among the lilies, herself as pure and\nwhite. \"Surely, surely,\" he said to himself, \"one of these three is her\nfavorite flower.\" And he lay staring up at the ceiling, trying to\nremember which of all her posies she had seemed most to love. \"Which one\nof them has her heart? How curiously she said it: '_My heart is with my\nfavorite flower._' Surely, she meant something more by the words than\nthe first thought which they bring. What did she mean?\"\n\nAt this moment Joyeuse glanced toward the window, where the morning\nsunlight streamed in gloriously. The vines about the lattice trembled in\na passing breeze. One of them, reaching out a slender tendril-finger,\nseemed to beckon him. He half rose in bed, smiling at the thought. Lo! a\nlittle pink and white flower nodded at him over the window sill. It was\na morning-glory. How pretty, how fresh, how fairy-like it was, with the\ndew in its cup, and with its little green leaves so graceful,--like\npointed hearts!\n\nSuddenly Joyeuse sat straight up in bed. Those heart-shaped leaves! The\nheart of the Princess Fleurette! Her favorite flower--was it not the\nmorning-glory? Now he remembered how he had first seen her peering in at\nthe little arbor, herself a pink and white flower on a green stem, with\nthe blossom in her hair. He remembered how she had kissed the little\ncups and called them her darlings. How could he ever have forgotten! How\ndull he had been!\n\nHe sprang from the bed and ran eagerly to the window. He stretched out\nhis hand to the blossom, not to pick it,--it was too early for\nthat,--but to caress it for his maiden's sake. Leaning out to do so, he\nheard a little laugh beneath his window, and, looking down, he saw the\ngreen flower-maiden with whom he had played in the mornings, standing at\nthe foot of the morning-glory vine, on which her hand rested lovingly.\nShe was looking up, but when she met his eyes she turned and ran away,\nlaughing softly as she disappeared from sight.\n\nThe time passed, all too slowly for Joyeuse. But at last came the hour\nfor the trial. The Herald blew his trumpet, \"Tan-tara-tara!\" and the\ncourtiers flocked to the hall to witness a ceremony the like of which\nthey had seen so many times before that they were bored at the very\nthought. But because Joyeuse had first come as a prisoner and was now a\nsuitor for their lady's hand, they were somewhat more interested than\nusual in the day's decision.\n\nWeary with a heavy night and with evil dreams, the Prince Fortemain\nstood on one side of the throne with his white tuberose in his hand. But\nalas! The flower was as faded and weary looking as himself. Plucked so\nearly before the trial, all its fragrance and beauty were gone; and\nFortemain's heart sank as he looked at it, wondering if, after all, it\ncould be the Princess's favorite flower. But it was now too late to\nselect another. Indeed, he had but just risen when he heard the great\nbell toll its warning to be ready for the trial. He showed a hasty\ntoilet, and a mind as ill-prepared.\n\nJoyeuse, on the other hand, was as bright and brisk as the sun whose\nrising he had seen. His suit of green velvet was fair to view, and his\neyes shone happily. In his hand he held a few inches of little vine,\nwith leaf and tendril and at the side a single pale pink blossom. The\ncourtiers eyed it curiously. Most of them had never before seen a\nmorning-glory; and they tittered to think one should suppose so simple a\nflower could be the choice of a royal Princess.\n\nNow the trumpet sounded again, and in came the Princess Fleurette,\ndressed in a beautiful robe of green silk, in which she looked more than\never like a wonderful flower. She mounted to her throne, looking down\nkindly upon her people, but merely glancing toward the two suitors who\nstood on either side of the dais.\n\n\"Now to the business of the day,\" she said. \"I will listen to the choice\nwhich my two suitors have made. And you first, Prince Fortemain--how\nhave you selected? Have you found the flower of my heart? Have you\nguessed my secret choice, and are you therefore to be my very ownest\nPrince?\"\n\nPrince Fortemain knelt at the foot of the throne and held out the\nwithered tuberose somewhat ruefully.\n\n\"This, my Princess, is your favorite flower, I think. All over the\ngarden I sought, and I deemed it best of all. This queen of the night is\nless beautiful by day; but in the moonlight it was very fair and sweet.\nI think your heart lies in this flower. Give it to me to wear alway,\ndear Princess.\" He spoke beseechingly, for indeed he loved her very\ndearly. But the Princess shook her head.\n\n\"Not so, O Prince,\" she said. \"This flower of the night is not my\ndearest one. It is sweet, but its breath is heavy and cloying; it takes\naway sleep and fills the brain with stupor. Nay, you have not chosen\nwisely, as your own haggard looks show. You are not to be my Prince. You\nknow not my heart. Farewell, Prince Fortemain.\"\n\nThen Fortemain rose and turned away, as so many princes had done before\nhim. He went out of the palace very sadly, and was nevermore seen in\nthat place.\n\nThe Princess turned next to Joyeuse. \"And what has our Prince of\nWanderers chosen?\" she asked. \"How well does Joyeuse know the heart of\nFleurette?\"\n\n\"I have chosen thus,\" said the lad, as he knelt at the feet of the\nflower-maiden and held out to her the bit of vine, with its frail\nblossom. \"The sweet and simple blossom of early morning; the favorite of\nthe early-riser. This has your heart, O my Princess--see, its\nheart-shaped leaf! Have I not guessed aright?\"\n\nThen the Princess went down the steps of the throne and took the vine\nfrom the hand of Joyeuse and placed its flower in her hair. But her hand\nholding the heart-shaped leaf she placed within that of Joyeuse, and she\nsaid: \"Prince Joyeuse, you have chosen well, because you know my heart,\nand because you love what I love. You have guessed my secret. You found\nmy heart among the morning-glories, and now it is yours forever. Take\nit, Prince Joyeuse, and with it my hand. I have yet to punish you for\nyour fault in entering my garden at a forbidden hour. Your punishment\nshall be this: you shall without reward for a year and a day be my\nminstrel, my soldier, my teacher, my doctor. But from thenceforth\nforever you shall be my very ownest Prince, sharer of my kingdom of\nflowers. This is the doom and the decree which I pronounce.\"\n\nThen she kissed him very sweetly, and, leading him up to the throne,\nthey sat down side by side upon the golden chairs.\n\n\"Sing to them, my Minstrel,\" said the Princess. And he sang as she\ncommanded, until the courtiers hugged one another for joy of his\nwondrous music. He sang a song of Fleurette and her heart like a flower.\nBut he sang not the story of the flower-maiden, for that was a secret\nbetween him and the Princess, while they lived happily ever after.\n\nFrom that time forward, each morning Joyeuse and Fleurette stole down\ninto the garden while the others were yet asleep and enjoyed the flowers\nat their fairest. And no one, not even the surly Gardener, suspected\nanything about it, which was the greatest fun of all to the merry pair.\nNor did any one ever hear aught of the tale until this day, when I tell\nit to you.\n\nBut it was a morning-glory which telephoned it to me this morning, very,\nvery early, while lazy folk were abed.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE FRIEND\n\n\nI\n\n\"OH! I am so cold, so cold!\" sobbed little Pierre, as he stumbled\nthrough the snow which was drifting deep upon the mountain side. \"Oh, I\nam so cold! The snow bites my face and blinds me, so that I cannot see\nthe road. Where are all the Christmas candle-lights? The people of the\nvillage must have forgotten. The little Jesus will lose His way\nto-night. I never forgot to set our window at home full of lights on\nChristmas Eve. But now it is Christmas Eve, and there is no home any\nmore. And I am so cold, so cold!\"\n\nLittle Pierre sobbed again and stumbled in the snow, which was drifting\ndeeper and deeper upon the mountain side. This was the stormiest\nChristmas Eve which had been seen for years, and all the little boys who\nhad good homes were hugging themselves close to the fire, glad that\nthey were not out in the bleak night. Every window was full of\nflickering tapers to light the expected Holy Child upon His way through\nthe village to the church. But little Pierre had strayed so far from the\nroad that he could not see these rows and rows of tiny earth-stars, any\nmore than he could see through the snow the far-off sky-stars which the\nangels had lighted along the streets of heaven.\n\nPierre was on his way to the village from the orphan boys' home at the\nAbbe's charity school. And that was not like a happy real home, for the\nlittle Brothers were rough and rude and far from loving one another. He\nhad started at dusk from the school, hoping to be at the village church\nbefore curfew. For Pierre had a sweet little voice, and he was to earn a\nfew pennies by singing in the choir on Christmas morning. But it was\ngrowing late. The church would be closed and the Cure gone home before\nPierre could reach it; and then what should he do?\n\nThe snow whirled faster and faster, and Pierre's legs found it harder\nand harder to move themselves through the great drifts. They seemed\nheavy and numb, and he was growing oh, so tired! If he could but lie\ndown to sleep until Christmas Day! But he knew that he must not do that.\nFor those who choose this kind of soft and tempting bed turn into\nice-people, and do not wake up in the morning. So he bent his head and\ntried to plough on through the drifts.\n\nWhish! A soft white thing flapped through the snow and struck Pierre in\nthe face, so that he staggered and almost lost his balance. The next\nmoment he had caught the thing as it fell and was holding it tenderly in\nhis numb hands. It was a beautiful dove, white as the snow from which it\nseemed to come. It had been whirled about by the storm until it had lost\nstrength to fly, and it now lay quite still, with closed eyes. Pierre\nstroked the ruffled feathers gently and blew upon its cold body, trying\nto bring it back to life.\n\n\"Poor bird!\" he said softly. \"You are lost in the snow, like me. I will\ntry to keep you warm, though I am myself a cold little body.\" He put the\nbird under his jacket, holding it close to his heart. Presently the dove\nopened its eyes and stirred feebly, giving a faint \"Coo!\"\n\n\"I wish I had something for you to eat, poor bird,\" said Pierre,\nforgetting his own cold and hunger. \"If I could but take you into my own\nhouse and feed you as I used to feed the birds upon Christmas Eve! But\nnow I have no home myself, and I can scarcely keep you warm.\"\n\nPierre shivered and tried to move forward. But the storm seemed to grow\neven fiercer, and the wind blew so keenly in his face that he could\nscarcely stand. \"I cannot go another step,\" he said, and down he sank in\nthe snow, which began to cover him with a downy blanket, pretending to\nbe a careful mother. He hugged the bird closer and began to feel afraid.\nHe knew that he was in great danger. \"Dear Dove,\" he whispered, \"I am\nsorry that I cannot save you. We shall turn into ice-images together.\nBut I will keep you warm as long as I can.\" Then he closed his eyes, for\nhe was very sleepy.\n\nIn a little while something made Pierre open his eyes. At first he could\nsee only the whirling snow, which seemed to be everywhere. But presently\nhe found that some one was bending over him, with face close to his;\nsome one chubby and rosy and young,--a child like himself, but more\nbeautiful than any child whom Pierre had ever seen. He stared hard at\nthe face which seemed to smile at him through the snow, not minding the\ncold.\n\n\"You have my dove inside your coat,\" said the Child, pointing. \"I lost\nher in the storm. Give her to me.\"\n\nPierre held his coat the closer. \"She was cold,\" he answered. \"She was\ndying in the snow. I am trying to keep her warm.\"\n\n\"But she is warm when she is with me, though I have no coat to wrap her\nin,\" said the Child. And, indeed, he was clad only in a little shirt,\nwith his rosy legs quite bare. Yet he looked not cold. A brightness\nglowed about him, and his breath seemed to warm the air. Pierre saw\nthat, though it was still snowing beyond them, there were no whirling\nflakes between him and the Child.\n\nThe little Stranger held out his hand once more. \"Please give me the\ndove,\" he begged. \"I must hasten on my way to the village yonder. The\ndove strayed from my bosom and was lost. You found her here, far from\nthe road. Thank you, little boy. Are you often so kind to poor lost\nbirds?\"\n\n\"Why, they are the Lord's own birds!\" cried little Pierre. \"How should\none not be kind and love them dearly? On the Lord's birthday eve, too!\nIt is little that I could do for this one,--I who have saved and fed so\nmany on other Christmas Eves. Alas, I wish I was back in those good old\ndays of the wheat-sheaf and the full pan of milk and the bright warm\nfire!\" Pierre's eyes filled with tears.\n\n\"What! Did you set a sheaf of wheat for the birds on Christmas Eve?\"\nasked the Child, drawing closer and bending kindly eyes upon Pierre.\n\nNow the boy saw that where the Stranger stood the snow had melted all\naway, so that they were inclosed in a little space like a downy nest,\nwhich seemed almost warm to his limbs.\n\n\"Yes, I set out a wheat-sheaf,\" said Pierre simply. \"Why not? I love all\nthe little creatures whom our Lord Himself so dearly loved, and to whom\nHe bade us be kind. On Christmas Eve especially I always tried to make\nhappy those which He sent in my way,--poor little wanderers as well as\nour own friends at home.\"\n\nThe Child drew yet closer and sat down in the snow beside Pierre. His\nbeautiful eyes shone like stars, and his voice was like sweet music.\n\"What,\" he said, \"you are the boy who stood in the doorway with a pan of\nbread and milk,--part of your own supper,--and called the hungry kitten\nto feast? You are the same who tossed a bone to the limping dog and made\nhim a bed in the stable? You stroked the noses of the ox and the ass and\nsaid gentle things to them, because they were the first friends of the\nlittle Jesus? You set the sheaf of wheat for the snowbirds, and they\nlighted upon your hands and shoulders and kissed your lips in gratitude?\nYou are that boy, friend of God's friends. No wonder that my white dove\nflew to you out of the storm. She knew, she knew!\"\n\nThe Child bent near and kissed Pierre on the cheeks, so that they grew\nrosy, and the warm blood went tingling through his little cold limbs.\nSitting up, he said: \"Yes, I am that boy who last year was so happy\nbecause he could do these pleasant things. But how do you know, little\nStranger? How did you see?\"\n\n\"Oh, I know, I saw!\" cried the Child, gleefully clapping his hands as a\nchild will. \"I was there. I passed through the village last Christmas\nEve, and I saw it all. But tell me now, how do you come here, dear boy?\nWhy are you not in that happy home this stormy night, once more making\nthe Lord's creatures happy?\"\n\nPierre told all to the Child: how his dear father and mother had died\nand left him alone in the world; how the home had been sold, and now he\nlived in the charity school kept by the good Abbe; how he had learned of\nthe chance to earn a few pennies by singing on Christmas Day in the\nneighboring village church, which lacked a voice among the choir-boys;\nhow he was on his way thither when the storm had hidden the road, and he\nhad grown so cold, so cold!\n\n\"Then your dove came to me, little Stranger,\" Pierre concluded. \"She\ncame, and I folded her in my jacket to keep her warm. But, do you know,\nit must be that she has kept _me_ warm. Although I could walk no\nfurther, I am not cold at all, nor frightened, and no longer hungry. Sit\nclose to me, little Stranger. You shall share my jacket, too, and we\nwill all three warm one another.\"\n\nThe Child laughed again, a low, soft, silvery laugh, like a happy brook\nslipping over the pebbles. \"I am not cold,\" he said. \"I cannot stay with\nyou. I must go yonder.\" And he pointed through the snow.\n\n[Illustration: UNTIL HELP COMES]\n\n\"Whither, oh, whither?\" cried Pierre eagerly. \"Let me go with you. I am\nlost; but if you know the way we can go together, hand in hand.\"\n\nThe Child shook his head. \"Not so,\" he said. \"I do not follow the path,\nand your feet would stumble. I shall find a way without sinking in the\nsnow. I must go alone. But there is a better way for you. I leave my\ndove with you: she will keep you warm until help comes. Farewell, friend\nof the Lord's friends.\" Stooping the Child kissed Pierre once more, upon\nthe forehead. Then, before the boy saw how he went, he had vanished from\nthe little nest of snow, without leaving a footprint behind.\n\nNow the dove, clasped close to Pierre's heart, seemed to warm him like a\nlittle fire within; and the Child's kiss on his forehead made him so\nhappy, but withal so drowsy, that he smiled as he closed his eyes once\nmore repeating, \"'Until help comes.' 'There is a better way' for me.\"\n\n\nII\n\nOn the side of the mountain, away from the village street, perched the\nlittle hut of Grandfather Viaud. And here, on Christmas Eve, sat the old\nman and his wife, looking very sad and lonely. For there was no sound of\nchildish laughter in the little hut, no patter of small feet, no\nwhispering of Christmas secrets. The little Viauds had long since grown\nup and flown away to build nests of their own in far-off countries. Poor\nJosef Viaud and old Bettine were quite alone this Christmas Eve, save\nfor the Saint Bernard dog who was stretched out before the fire,\ncovering half the floor with his huge bulk, like a furry rug. He was the\nvery Prince of dogs, as his name betokened, and he was very good to\nGrandfather and Grandmother, who loved him dearly. But on Christmas Eve\neven the littlest cottage, crowded with the biggest tenants, seems\nlonely unless there are children in the corners.\n\nThe Viauds sat silently gazing into the fire, with scarcely a word for\neach other, scarcely a caress for faithful Prince. Indeed, the great dog\nhimself seemed to know that something was lacking, and every once in a\nwhile would lift his head and whine wistfully.\n\nIn each of the two small windows burned a row of candles, flickering in\nthe draught that blew down the great chimney and swept through the\nlittle chamber. And these, with the crackling blaze upon the hearth,\nsent queer shadows quivering up the smoky walls.\n\nGrandfather Viaud looked over his shoulder as a great gust blew the\nashes into the room. \"Hey!\" he cried. \"I almost fancied the shadow of\none looking in at the window. Ha, ha! What foolishness! Eh! but it is a\nfearsome storm. Pray the good Lord that there may be no poor creatures\nwandering on the mountain this night.\"\n\n\"The Lord's birthday, too!\" said Grandmother Bettine. \"The dear little\nChild has a cold way to come. Even He might become confused and be\ndriven to wander by such a whirl of snow. I am glad that we set the\ntapers there, Josef, even though we be so far from the village street\ndown which they say He passes. How pleasant to think that one might give\nlight to His blessed feet if they were wandering from the way,--the dear\nlittle Child's feet, so rosy and soft and tender!\" And good Grandmother\nViaud dropped a tear upon her knitting; for she remembered many such\nlittle feet that had once pattered about the cottage floor. Prince\nlifted his head and seemed to listen, then whined as he had done before.\n\n\"You are lonely, old fellow, are you not?\" quavered old Josef. \"You are\nwaiting for the children to come back and make it merry, as it used to\nbe in the old days when you were a pup. Heigho! Those were pleasant\ndays, but they will never come again, Prince. We are all growing old, we\nthree together.\"\n\n\"Ah, peace, Josef, peace!\" cried old Bettine, wiping her eyes again. \"It\nis lonely enough and sad enough, God knows, without speaking of it.\nWhat use to sigh for that which cannot be? If the good Lord wished us to\nhave a comforter in our old age, doubtless He would send us one. He\nknows how we have longed and prayed that a child's feet might echo\nthrough our house once more: how we have hoped from year to year that\none of the grandchildren might return to bless us with his little\npresence.\" At this moment Prince jumped to his feet with a low bark, and\nstood trembling, with pointed ears.\n\n\"What dost thou hear, old dog?\" asked the Grandfather carelessly. \"There\nis naught human abroad this night, I warrant you. All wise folk are\nhugging the fire like us. Only those bad spirits of Christmas Eve are\nhowling about for mischief, they say. Best keep away from the door, old\nPrince, lest they nip your toes or bite your nose for spite.\"\n\n\"Hush!\" cried the Grandmother, laying her hand upon his arm. \"You\nforget: there is the Other One abroad. It may be that He--\"\n\nShe was interrupted by Prince, who ran eagerly to the door and began\nsniffing at the latch in great excitement. Then he gave a long, low\nhowl. At the same moment the latch rattled, and the Viauds distinctly\nheard a little voice cry, \"Open, open, good people!\"\n\nThe old couple looked at each other; the cheeks of one flushed, and the\nother's paled. At the same moment they rose stiffly from their chairs by\nthe fire. But Grandmother Bettine was first at the door. She lifted the\nlatch, the door blew open violently, and with a loud bark Prince dashed\nout into the storm.\n\n\"What is it? Who is there?\" cried Josef Viaud, peering over his wife's\nshoulder. But no one answered save the rough storm, which fiercely blew\ninto the faces of the old couple, whirling and screaming about their\nheads. \"H'm! It was only a fancy,\" muttered the old man. \"Come in,\nMother. Come, Prince!\" and he whistled out into the storm. But the wind\nwhistled too, drowning his voice, and Prince did not return. \"He is\ngone!\" cried Josef impatiently. \"It is some evil spirit's work.\"\n\n\"Nay, Father!\" and, as she spoke, the door banged violently in Josef's\nface, as if to emphasize the good wife's rebuke. \"It was a little child;\nI heard it,\" insisted Bettine, as they staggered back to the fire and\nsank weakly into their chairs. \"Perhaps it was the Holy Child Himself,\nwho knows? But why would He not enter? Why, Josef? Oh, I fear we were\nnot good enough!\"\n\n\"I only know that we have perhaps lost our good dog. Why did you open\nthe door, Bettine?\" grumbled Josef sleepily.\n\n\"Prince is not lost. For what was he bred a snow-dog upon the mountains\nif a storm like this be danger to him? He is of the race that rescues,\nthat finds and is never lost. Mayhap the Holy Child had work for him\nthis night. Ah, the Little One! If I could but have seen Him for one\nmoment!\" And good Bettine's head nodded drowsily on her chair-back.\nPresently the old couple were fast asleep.\n\nNow when they had been dreaming strange things for some time, there came\na scratching at the door, and a loud bark which woke them suddenly.\n\n\"What was that?\" exclaimed Grandfather, starting nervously. \"Ho, Prince!\nAre you without there?\" and he ran to the door, while Grandmother was\nstill rubbing from her eyes the happy dream which had made them\nmoist,--the dream of a rosy, radiant Child who was to be the care and\ncomfort of a lonely cottage. And then, before she had fairly wakened\nfrom the dream, Prince bounded into the room and laid before the fire at\nher feet a soft, snow-wrapped bundle, from which hung a pale little face\nwith golden hair.\n\n\"It is the Child of my dream!\" cried Bettine. \"The Holy One has come\nback to us.\"\n\n\"Nay, this is no dream-child, mother. This is a little human fellow,\nnearly frozen to death,\" exclaimed Josef Viaud, pulling the bundle\ntoward the fire. \"Come, Bettine, let us take off his snow-stiff clothes\nand get some little garments from the chests yonder. I will give him a\ndraught of something warm, and rub the life into his poor little hands\nand feet. We have both been dreaming, it seems. But certainly this is no\ndream!\"\n\n\"Look! The dove!\" cried Grandmother, taking the bird from the child's\nbosom, where it still nestled, warm and warming. \"Josef! I believe it is\nindeed the Holy Child Himself,\" she whispered. \"He bears a dove in his\nbosom, like the image in the Church.\" But even as she spoke the dove\nfluttered in her fingers, then, with a gentle \"Coo-roo!\" whirled once\nabout the little chamber and darted out at the door, which they had\nforgotten quite to close. With that the child opened his eyes.\n\n\"The dove is gone!\" he cried. \"Yet I am warm. Why--has the little\nStranger come once more?\" Then he saw the kind old faces bent over him,\nand felt Prince's warm kisses on his hands and cheeks, with the fire\nflickering pleasantly beyond.\n\n\"It is like coming home again!\" he murmured, and with his head on\nBettine's shoulder dropped comfortably to sleep.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn the morrow all the village went to see the image of the Christ Child\nlying in a manger near the high altar of the church. It was a sweet\nlittle Child in a white shirt, clasping in his hands a dove. They\nbelieved him to have come in the stormy night down the village street.\nAnd they were glad that their pious candles in the windows had guided\nHim safely on the road. But little Pierre, while he sang in the choir,\nand his adopted parents, the Viauds, kneeling happily below, had sweet\nthoughts of a dream which had brought them all together.\n\nWho knows but that Prince at home happily guarding Pierre's snow-wet old\nshoes--who knows but that Prince was dreaming the happiest dream of all?\nFor only Prince knew how and where and under what guidance he had found\nthe little friend of the Lord's friends sleeping in the snow, with but a\nwhite dove in his bosom to keep him from becoming a boy of ice.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MERMAID'S CHILD\n\n\nIN the rocks on the seashore, left bare by the tide, one often finds\ntiny pools of water fringed with seaweed and padded with curious moss.\nThese are the cradles which the Mermaids have trimmed prettily for the\nsea-babies, and where they leave the little ones when they have to go\naway on other business, as Mermaids do. But one never spies the\nsea-children in their cradles, for they are taught to tumble out and\nslip away into the sea if a human step should approach. You see, the\nfishes have told the Mer-folk cruel tales of the Land-people with their\nnets and hooks and lines.\n\nIn the softest, prettiest little cradle of all a Sea-child lay one\nafternoon crying to himself. He cried because he was lonesome. His\nmother did not love him as a baby's mother should; for she was the\nsilliest and the vainest of all the Mermaids. Her best friend was her\nlooking-glass of polished pearl, and her only care was to remain young\nand girlish. Indeed, she bore her thousand-odd years well, even for a\nMermaid. She liked the Sea-baby well enough, but she was ashamed to have\nhim follow her about as he loved to do, because she imagined it made her\nseem old to be called \"Mer-mother\" by his lisping lips. She never had\ntime to caress or play with him; and finally she forbade him ever to\nspeak to her unless she spoke first. Sometimes she seemed to forget him\naltogether, as she left him to take care of himself, while she sat on\nthe rocks combing her long green hair, or playing with the giddy Mermen\nin the caves below the sea.\n\nSo while the other sea-people sported or slept and were happy, her poor\nlittle Sea-child lay and cried in the green pool where the sea-anemones\ntickled his cheek with their soft fingers, seeking to make him laugh,\nand the sea-fringe curled about the scaly little tail which, like a\nfish, he had in place of legs. On this particular afternoon he was\nparticularly lonesome.\n\n\"Ahoo!\" he sobbed. \"I am so unhappy! Ahoo! I want some one to love me\nvery much!\"\n\nNow a kind old Stork was sitting on a rock above the baby's head,\npreening his feathers in a looking-glass pool. He heard the Sea-child's\nwords, and he spoke in his kind, gruff voice.\n\n\"What is the matter, little one?\" he asked.\n\nAt first the Sea-child was surprised to be addressed by a land bird. But\nhe soon saw that this creature was friendly, and told him all his\ntrouble, as babies do. \"Tut tut!\" said the Stork, frowning. \"Your\nMer-mother needs a lesson sadly.\"\n\n\"What is a lesson?\" lisped the Sea-child.\n\nBut the Stork was busy thinking and did not reply at once. \"How would\nyou like a change?\" he asked after a time.\n\n\"What is a change?\" asked the baby, for he was very young and ignorant.\n\n\"You shall see,\" answered the Stork, \"if you will take my advice; for I\nam your friend. Now listen. When next you hear a step upon the rocks do\nnot stir from your cradle, but wait and see what will happen.\" Without\nanother word the Stork flapped away, leaving the baby to stare up at the\nblue sky with the tears still wet upon his cheeks, wondering what the\nStork could have meant.\n\n\"I will not stir,\" he said to himself. \"Whatever happens I will wait and\nsee.\"\n\nIt was the Stork's business to bring babies to the homes where babies\nwere needed; and sometimes it was very hard to find babies enough. Even\nnow he knew of a house upon the hill where a boy was longing for a\nlittle brother to play with. Every night Gil mentioned the matter in his\nprayers; every night he begged the Stork to bring him a playmate. But\nthough the Stork had hunted far and wide through all the land he could\nnot find a human baby to spare for the cottage on the hill. Now he had a\nhappy idea.\n\nWith his long legs dangling he flew swiftly up towards the hill; and\nhalfway there he met the boy wandering about sulkily all alone. The\nStork had never before spoken to this boy, because he well knew what Gil\nwanted, and he hated to be teased for what he could not give. So,\nthough he had listened sadly to the boy's prayers, by day he had kept\ncarefully out of sight. But now he came close overhead, and settling\ndown stood upon one leg directly in Gil's path.\n\n\"Good-afternoon,\" he said. \"I think I have heard you say that you wanted\na little brother.\"\n\nGil was surprised to have a Stork address him like this, but he was\nstill more pleased at the happy word. \"I do! Oh, I do indeed!\" he cried.\n\n\"Would you make a good brother to him?\" asked the Stork.\n\n\"Oh yes!\" answered the boy eagerly. \"A very good brother I should be.\"\n\n\"H'm,\" said the Stork. \"One never can tell about these boys. I think you\nare selfish and jealous. But a little brother may be a good thing for\nyou. In any case, there is little for him to lose. Will you be so good\nas to come with me?\"\n\nWithout another word the Stork flew up and away toward the beach,\nleaving Gil staring. This certainly was a most extraordinary bird! But\nGil soon decided to follow him and see what would happen, for who could\ntell what the Stork's mysterious words might mean?\n\nPresently, lying in his little cradle, the Sea-child heard the sound of\nfeet scrambling up the rocks,--the sound he had been taught to fear more\nthan anything in the world. It was his first thought to flop out of the\ncradle, over into the sea below; and he half turned to do so. But in a\nmoment he remembered the Stork's last words, and although he was\ntrembling with fear he remained where he was.\n\nSoon over the top of the rock peered the face of the boy, Gil of the\nhill cottage, looking straight down into the pool where the Sea-baby lay\nsnugly on the seaweed.\n\n\"Oh!\" cried the boy, with round black eyes fixed upon the baby's round\nblue ones. \"Oh!\" cried the Sea-child. And it would be hard to say which\nof the two was more astonished. For to a Sea-child the sight of a\nclothed, two-legged land-boy is quite as strange as a naked little\nfish-tailed infant is to a human. But after the first look neither felt\nafraid, in spite of the terrible tales which each had heard of the\nother's kind. They stared wistfully at each other, not knowing what to\ndo next, until the Stork came forward and spoke wise words.\n\n\"You, land-boy Gil,\" he said, \"you want a little brother, do you not?\"\nGil nodded. \"And you, Sea-child, want some one to love you? I think I\ncan manage to please you both. But first you must kiss each other.\"\n\nGil hesitated. He was a big boy of five or six, too old for kissing.\nMoreover the Sea-child looked cold and wet and somewhat fishy. But\nalready the red lips of the little fellow were pouted into a round O,\nand the sad blue eyes were looking up at him so pleadingly that Gil bent\nlow over the watery cradle. Then two little soft arms went about his\nneck, and Gil felt the heart of the Sea-child thump happily against his\nown.\n\n\"Very good,\" said the Stork approvingly.\n\nThe Sea-child could not stand, on account of having no feet, but he lay\nin his pool holding Gil's hand.\n\n\"Now the change is coming,\" went on the Stork, and as he spoke the baby\nbegan to fall asleep. \"In twelve hours,\" he said to Gil, \"he will become\na tiny human child, and I shall carry him to the house on the hill,\nwhere he will find a loving family awaiting him. Look! Already he is\nlosing the uniform of the sea,\" and he pointed at the Sea-child's fishy\ntail. Sure enough, the scales were falling away one by one, and already\nthe shape of two little chubby legs could be seen under the skin, which\nwas shrinking as a tadpole's does before he becomes a frog. \"When this\ntail is wholly gone,\" declared the Stork, \"he will forget what we have\nsaid to-night. He will forget his sea-home and the caves of the\nMer-people. He will forget that he was once a Sea-child; and no one will\never remind him. For only you, Gil, and I shall know the secret.\"\n\n\"And I shall never tell,\" declared Gil.\n\n\"No, surely you will never tell,\" answered the Stork gravely, \"for if\nyou tell that will be the end of all. You will lose the little brother,\nand you will be sorry all the rest of your life. Do not forget, Gil. Do\nnot forget.\"\n\n\"I shall not forget,\" said Gil.\n\nAgain they looked at the Sea-child, and he had fallen sound asleep,\nstill holding Gil's hand. Now there was scarcely anything of the fish\nleft about his little pink body; he was growing younger and younger,\nsmaller and smaller.\n\n\"You must go home now, Gil,\" said the Stork. \"Go home and go to bed. And\nto-morrow when you wake there will be a little brother in the house, and\nyou ought to be a very good boy because you have your wish.\"\n\nGil gently loosened the Sea-child's hand and ran home as the Stork bade\nhim, but said no word of all this to any one.\n\nNow early in the morning the Stork came to the house on the hill,\nbringing a rosy little new baby which he laid on the bed beside Gil's\nmother, and then flew away. What a hullabaloo there was then, to be\nsure! What a welcome for the little stranger! Gil was not the only one\nwho had longed for a new baby in the house, and this was the prettiest\nlittle fellow ever seen. Loudest of all cheered Gil when he saw the\npresent which the Stork had brought. \"Hurrah for my little new brother!\"\nhe cried. \"Now I shall have some one to play with.\" That was Gil's chief\nthought: now he would have some one to play with.\n\nThey called the baby's name Jan. And from the first little Jan was very\nhappy in his new home. He was happy all day in his mother's arms; happy\nwhen his foster-father came home at night and tossed him high to the\nceiling; happiest of all when Gil held him close and begged him to hurry\nand grow up, so that they could play together.\n\nLittle Jan did hurry to grow up, as fast as health and strength and\nhappiness could make a baby grow. He grew bigger and bigger, handsomer\nand handsomer, the finest baby in the village, and his family loved him\ndearly. Every day he became more of a playmate for Gil, whom he admired\nmore than any one in the world. Gil petted and teased the little fellow,\nwho, as soon as he could walk, began to follow him about like a faithful\ndog. Grand times the brothers had together then. They dug in the sand on\nthe seashore, and scrambled about the cliffs. They rowed out in the\nharbor boats with hooks and lines, and played at being fishermen like\ntheir father, who sailed away early and came home late. They grew bigger\nand sturdier and handsomer, and their parents were very proud of them\nboth, the finest lads in all the country round.\n\nThe years went by, and during all this time Jan never dreamed the truth\nwhich only Gil and the Stork knew about the bargain made at the sea-pool\ncradle. To Jan, indeed, the sea was full of strange thoughts which were\nnot memories but were like them. He loved to look and listen alone upon\nthe water, or in the water, or by the water. Gil often caught him\nstaring down into the blue waves, and when he raised his head there\nwould be a puzzled look in the little fellow's blue eyes, as though he\nwere trying to solve a riddle. Then Gil would laugh; whereat the wrinkle\nwould smooth itself from Jan's forehead, and a smile would come about\nhis mouth. He would throw his arm about his brother's shoulder,\nsaying,--\n\n\"What strange thing is it, brother, that the old sea does to me? I think\nsometimes that I am bewitched.\" But Gil would only laugh again, thinking\nhis own thoughts. It gave him a pleasant important feeling to know that\nhe was the keeper of Jan's secret.\n\nMeantime what had become of the Sea-baby's forgotten mother? What was\nthe pretty Mermaid doing in her home under the waves? She was learning\nthe lesson which the Stork had meant to teach.\n\nAt first she had not greatly missed the Sea-baby, having other things to\ninterest her in the lovely world where she lived. But as the sea-days\nwent by she began to find the grotto which had been their pretty home a\nvery lonely place indeed. She missed the little fellow playing with the\nshells and starfish on the floor of shining sand. She longed to see him\nteasing the crabs in the crevices of the rocks, or tickling the\nsea-anemones to make them draw in their waving fingers. She missed the\nround blue eyes which used to look at her so admiringly, and the little\nhands which had once wearied her with their caresses. She even missed\nthe mischievous tricks which the baby sometimes used to play upon his\nmother, and she would have been glad once more to see him running away\nwith her pearly mirror, or with the golden comb with which she combed\nher long green hair.\n\nAs she watched the other sea-children playing merrily with the fishes\nthe lonely Mermaid grew very sad, for she knew that her own baby had\nbeen the prettiest of them all, and she wondered how she could ever have\nbeen ashamed of him. The other mothers were proud of their darlings, and\nnow they scorned her because she had no little one to hold her mirror\nwhen she made her toilet, or to run her errands when she was busy at\nplay. But the poor Mermaid was too sad to play nowadays. She no longer\ntook any pleasure in the gay life which the Mer-folk lived beneath the\nwaves. She wandered instead here and there, up and down the sea,\ncalling, calling for her lost baby. The sound of her sobbing came from\nthe sea at morning, noon, and night.\n\nShe did not know her child's fate, but she feared that he had been\ncaptured by the dreadful Men-folk, who, so her people said, were ever\nseeking to snare the sea-creatures in their wicked nets. Day after day\nthe unhappy Mermaid swam along the shore trying to see the places where\nthe Men-folk dwelt, hoping that she might catch a glimpse of her lost\ndarling. But that good hap never befell her. Indeed, even if she had\nseen Jan, she would not have known her baby in the sturdy boy dressed\nall in blue, like the other fisher-lads. Nor would Jan have known his\nmother in this beautiful creature of the sea. For he had quite forgotten\nthe Mermaid who had neglected him, and if he thought of the Mer-folk at\nall it was as humans do, with wonder and with longing, and yet with\nfear.\n\nNow the good old Stork who had first meddled in these matters kept one\neye upon the doings in that neighborhood, and he had seen the sorrowful\nMermaid wandering lonely up and down the shore. He knew it must be the\nSea-child's mother, sorry at last for her long carelessness. As the\nyears passed he began to pity the poor creature; but when he found\nhimself growing too soft-hearted he would shake his head firmly and say\nto himself,--\n\n\"It will not do. She is not yet punished enough, for she was very cruel.\nIf now she could have her baby again she would soon be as thoughtless as\never. Besides, there is my promise to Gil. So long as he keeps the\nsecret so must I.\"\n\nBut one day, several years later, when the Stork was flying over the\nharbor, he spied the Mermaid lying upon a rock over which the waves\ndashed merrily, and she was weeping bitterly, tearing her lovely green\nhair. She looked so pretty and so forlorn that the bird's kind heart was\ntouched, and he could not help stopping to comfort her a bit. Flying\nclose to her head he said gently,--\n\n\"Poor Mermaid! What is the matter?\"\n\n\"Oh, oh!\" wailed the Mermaid. \"Long, long ago I lost my pretty little\nSea-child, and he is not to be found anywhere, anywhere in the whole\nsea, for I have looked. I have been from ocean to ocean, from pole to\npole. Oh, what shall I do? He is on the land, I know he is, and the\nwicked humans are ill-treating him.\"\n\nThe Stork spoke slowly and gravely. \"Was he so happy, then, in his\nsea-home? Did you love him and care for him very dearly?\"\n\n\"No, no!\" sobbed the Mermaid. \"I did not love him enough. I did not make\nhim happy. I neglected him and found him in the way, till one day he\ndisappeared, and I shall never see him again. Oh, my baby, my little\nSea-child!\"\n\nThe Stork wiped a tear from his eye. \"It is very sad,\" he said. \"But\nperhaps it will comfort you to know that he is not far away.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried the Mermaid, clasping her hands. \"You know where he is? You\nwill bring him back to me? Dear, dear Stork! I will give you a necklace\nof pearls and a necklace of coral if you will bring my baby to me\nagain.\"\n\nThe Stork smiled grimly, looking down at his long neck. \"A necklace of\npearls and a necklace of coral!\" he repeated. \"How becoming they would\nbe!\" Then he grew grave once more and said: \"I cannot return your child\nto you, but I can tell you something of him. He is indeed among the\nhumans, but he is very happy there. They love him and he loves them, and\nall is well--so far.\"\n\n\"Oh, show him to me that I may take him away!\" cried the Mermaid.\n\n[Illustration: YOU WILL BRING HIM BACK TO ME?]\n\nBut the Stork shook his head. \"No, no, for you deserted him,\" he said\nsolemnly; \"now he has another mother in yonder village who loves him\nbetter than you did. He has a brother, also, whom he loves best of all.\nYou cannot claim him so long as he is happy there.\"\n\n\"Then shall I never see him again, wise Bird?\" asked the Mermaid sadly.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" answered the Stork. \"If he should become unhappy, or if the\nsecret should be betrayed.\"\n\n\"Ah, then I must be again a cruel mother and hope that he may become\nunhappy,\" sobbed the Mermaid. \"I shall look for him every day in the\nharbor near the village, and when his face is sad I shall claim him for\nmy own.\"\n\n\"You will not know him,\" cried the Stork, rising on his wings and\nflapping away. \"He wears a disguise. He is like a human,--like any other\nfisher-boy; and he bears a human name.\"\n\n\"Oh, tell me that name!\" begged the Mermaid.\n\nBut the Stork only cried, \"I must not tell. I have told too much\nalready,\" and he was gone.\n\n\"Oh, then I will love all fisher-boys for his sake,\" sobbed the\nMermaid as she dived down into the sea. \"And some day, some day I shall\nfind him out; for my baby is sure to be the finest of them all.\"\n\nNow the years went by, and the parents of Gil and Jan were dead. The two\nbrothers were tall and sturdy and stout, the finest lads in the whole\ncountry. But as their shadows grew taller and broader when they walked\ntogether across the sand, so another shadow which had begun to fall\nbetween them grew and grew. It was the shadow of Gil's selfishness and\njealousy. So long as Jan was smaller and weaker than he, Gil was quite\ncontent, and never ceased to be grateful for the little brother who had\ncome to be his playmate. But suddenly, as it seemed, he found that Jan\nwas almost as big as himself; for the boy had thriven wondrously, though\nthere were still several years which Jan could never make up. Gil was\nstill the leader, but Jan was not far behind; and Jan himself led all\nthe other boys when his brother was not by. Every one loved Jan, for he\nwas kind and merry, while Gil was often gloomy and disagreeable. Gil\nwanted to be first in everything, but there began to be some things that\nJan could do better than he. It made Gil angry to hear his brother\npraised; it made him sulky and malicious, and sometimes he spoke\nunkindly to Jan, which caused the blue eyes to fill with tears. For, big\nfellow though he was, Jan was five years younger, and he was a sensitive\nlad, loving Gil more than anything else in the world. Gil's unkindness\nhurt Jan deeply, but could not make him love his brother less.\n\nBoth boys were famous swimmers. Gil was still the stronger of the two,\nand he could outswim any lad in town. As for Jan, the fishermen declared\nthat he took to the water like a fish. No one in all the village could\nturn and twist, dive and glide and play such graceful pranks, flashing\nwhitely through the waves, as did Jan. This was a great trouble to Gil,\nwho wished to be foremost in this as in everything else. He was a\nselfish fellow; he had wanted a playmate to follow and admire him. He\nhad not bargained for a comrade who might become a rival. And he seemed\nto love his brother less and less as the days went by.\n\nOne beautiful summer day Gil and Jan called together the other boys, the\nbest swimmers in the village, and they all went down to the bay to swim.\nThey played all sorts of water-games, in which the two brothers were\nleaders. They dived and floated and chased one another like fishes\nthrough the water. Jan, especially, won shouts of applause for his\nwonderful diving, for the other boys liked him, and were proud of him,\nglad to see him win. This again made Gil jealous and angry. Jan dived\nonce more and remained under water so long that the boys began to fear\nthat he would never come up; and in his wicked heart Gil half hoped that\nit was to be so. For it had come about that Gil began to wish he had no\nbrother at all. So different was he from the boy who made the eager\nbargain with the good old Stork.\n\nAt last Jan's head came out of the water, bubbling and blowing, and the\nboys set up a cheer. Never before had any one in the village performed\nsuch a feat as that. But Jan did not answer their cheers with his usual\nmerry laugh. Something was troubling him which made him look strange to\nthe others. As soon as he reached the shore he ran up to Gil and\nwhispered in his brother's ear a curious story.\n\n\"Oh, Gil!\" he cried. \"Such a strange feeling I have had! Down below\nthere as I was swimming along I seemed to hear a strange sound like a\ncry, and then, surely, I felt something cling close to me, like soft\narms. Gil, Gil, what could it have been? I have heard tell of the\nMermaidens who are said to live in these waters. Some even say that they\nhave seen them afar off on the rocks where the spray dashed highest.\nGil, could it have been a Mermaid who touched me and seemed to pull me\ndown as if to keep me under the water forever? I could hardly draw away,\nGil. Tell me what you think it means?\"\n\nGil was too angry at Jan's success to answer kindly. He sneered,\nremembering the secret which only he and the Stork knew.\n\n\"There are slimy folk, half fish and half human, people say. The less\none has to do with them the better. I think you are half fish yourself,\nJan. It is no credit to you that you are able to swim!\" So spoke Gil,\nbreaking the promise which he had once given.\n\nOn the minute came a hoarse cry overhead, and a great Stork flapped down\nthe sky, fixing his sharp eyes upon Gil, as if in warning.\n\n\"Why, how strangely the Stork acts!\" cried Jan.\n\nGil bit his lip and said no more, but from that moment he hated his\nbrother wickedly, knowing that the Stork was still watching over the\nchild whom he had taken from the sea.\n\nBut Jan had no time to ask Gil what he meant by the strange words which\nhe had just spoken, for at that moment several of the boys came running\nup to them. \"Ho, Gil! Ho, Jan!\" they cried. \"Let us have a race! Come,\nlet us swim out to the Round Rock and back. And the winner of this race\nshall be champion of the village. Come, boys, make ready for the race!\"\n\nGil's face brightened, for he had ever been the strongest swimmer on the\nbay, and now he could afford to be kind to poor Jan, whose blue eyes\nwere clouded and unhappy, because of Gil's former harsh words and\nmanner.\n\n\"Ho! The race, the race!\" cried Gil. \"Come, Jan, you can dive like a\nfish. Now let us see how you can swim. One, two, three! We are off!\"\n\nThe boys sprang, laughing, into the water. Jan needed but a kind word\nfrom his brother to make him happy again. Off they started for the Round\nRock, where the spray was dashing high.\n\nThe black heads bobbed up and down in the waves, drawing nearer and\nnearer to the rock. Gradually they separated, and some fell behind. The\nlads could not all keep up the gay strokes with which they had begun the\nrace. Four held the lead; Boise and Cadoc, the lighthouse-keeper's sons,\nGil, and Jan.\n\nAlmost abreast they rounded the rock, and began the long stretch back to\nthe beach. Soon Boise began to fall behind. In a little while Cadoc's\nstrength failed also. They shouted, laughingly, that they were fairly\nbeaten, and those who were on shore began to cry encouragement to the\ntwo brothers, who alone were left in the race.\n\n\"Gil! Jan! Oh, Gil! Oh, Jan! Hasten, lads, for one of you is the\nchampion. Hurrah! Hurrah!\"\n\nGil was in high spirits, for he was still in the lead. \"Hurry, little\nbrother,\" he cried, \"or I shall beat you badly. Oho! You can dive, but\nthat is scarcely swimming, my fine lad. You had better hurry, or I win.\"\n\nAnd Jan did hurry. He put forth all his strength as he had never done\nbefore. Soon the black heads bobbed side by side in the water, and Gil\nceased to laugh and jest, for it was now a struggle in good earnest. He\nshut his teeth angrily, straining forward with all his might. But push\nas he would, Jan kept close beside. At last, when within a few yards of\nthe beach, Jan gave a little laughing shout and shot through the water\nlike a flash. He had been saving his strength for this,--and he had won!\n\nThe other boys dragged him up the beach with shouts and cheers of\nwelcome to the new champion, while Gil, who had borne that title for so\nlong, crawled ashore unaided.\n\n\"Hurrah for Jan!\" they cried, tossing their caps and dancing happily,\nfor Jan was a great favorite. \"Hurrah for the little brother! Now Gil\nmust take the second place. You are the big brother now!\" And they\nlaughed and jeered at Gil,--not maliciously, but because they were\npleased with Jan.\n\nJan ran to Gil and held out his hand for his brother's congratulations,\nbut Gil thrust it aside. \"It was not a fair race!\" he sputtered.\n\"Unfair, unfair, I vow!\"\n\nThe others gathered around, surprised to see Gil so angry and with such\nwild eyes.\n\n\"Gil, oh, Gil! What do you mean?\" cried Jan, turning very pale. \"Why was\nit not a fair race, brother?\"\n\n\"Brother! You are no brother of mine!\" shouted Gil, beside himself with\nrage. \"You are a changeling,--half fish, half sea-monster. You were\nhelped in this race by the sea-people; you cannot deny it. I saw one\npush you to the shore. You could not have beaten me else. Every one\nknows that I am the better swimmer, though I am no fish.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" cried Boise, clapping Gil on the shoulder with a laugh. \"You\ntalk foolishness, Gil. There are no sea-folk in these waters; those are\nold women's tales. It was a fair race, I say, and Jan is our champion.\"\n\nBut Jan heeded only the cruel words which his brother had spoken. \"Gil,\nwhat do you mean?\" he asked again, trembling with a new fear. \"I was not\nhelped by any one.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" cried Gil, pointing at him fiercely, \"see him tremble, see his\nguilty looks! He knows that I speak true. The Mermaid helped him. He is\nhalf fish. He came out of the sea and was no real brother of mine, but a\nMerbaby. A Mermaid was his mother!\"\n\nAt these words a whirring sound was heard in the air overhead, and a\nsecond time the Stork appeared, flapping across the scene out to sea,\nwhere he alighted upon the Round Rock. But Gil was too angry even to\nnotice him.\n\n\"Gil, Gil, tell me how this can be?\" begged Jan, going up to his brother\nand laying a pleading hand upon his arm.\n\nBut Gil shook him off, crying, \"It is true! He is half fish and the\nsea-folk helped him. It was not a fair race. Let us try it again.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" cried the other boys indignantly. \"It was a fair race. Jan\nneed not try again, for he is our champion. We will have it so.\"\n\nBut Jan was looking at Gil strangely, and the light was gone out of his\neyes. His face was very white. \"I did not know that you cared so much to\nwin,\" he said to Gil in a low voice. Then he turned to the others. \"If\nmy brother thinks it was not a fair race let us two try again. Let us\nswim once more to the Round Rock and back; and the winner shall be\ndeclared the village champion.\" For Jan meant this time to let his\nbrother beat. What did he care about anything now, since Gil hated him\nso much that he could tell that story?\n\n\"Well, let them try the race again, since Jan will have it so,\" cried\nthe boys, grumbling and casting scornful looks at Gil, who had never\nbeen so unpopular with them as at this moment.\n\nOnce more the two sprang into the waves and started for the Round Rock,\nwhere the spray was dashing merrily over the plumage of the Stork as he\nstood there upon one leg, trying not to mind the wetness which he hated.\nFor he was talking earnestly with a pretty Mermaid who sat on the rock\nin the surf, wringing her hands.\n\n\"It is he! It is he!\" she cried. \"I know him now. It is the lad whom\nthey call _Jan_, the finest swimmer of them all. Oh, he dives like a\nfish! He swims like a true Sea-child. He is my own baby, my little one!\nI followed, I watched him. I could hardly keep my hands from him. Tell\nme, dear Stork, is he not indeed my own?\"\n\nThe Stork looked at her gravely. \"It is no longer a secret,\" he said,\n\"for Jan has been betrayed. He who is now Jan the unhappy mortal boy was\nonce your unhappy Sea-baby.\"\n\n\"Unhappy! Oh, is he unhappy?\" cried the Mermaid. \"Then at last I may\nclaim him as you promised. I may take him home once more to our fair\nsea-home, to cherish him and make him happier than he ever was in all\nhis little life. But tell me, dear Stork, will he not be my own little\nSea-child again? I would not have him in his strange, ugly human guise,\nbut as my own little fish-tailed baby.\"\n\n\"When you kiss him,\" said the Stork, \"when you throw your arms about his\nneck and speak to him in the sea-language, he will become a Sea-child\nonce more, as he was when I found him in his cradle on the rocks. But\nlook! Yonder he comes. A second race has begun, and they swim this way.\nWait until they have turned the rock, and then it will be your turn. Ah,\nGil! You have ill kept your promise to me!\"\n\nYes, the race between the brothers was two thirds over. Side by side as\nbefore the two black heads pushed through the waves. Both faces were\nwhite and drawn, and there was no joy in either. Gil's was pale with\nanger, Jan's only with sadness. He loved his brother still, but he knew\nthat Gil loved him no more.\n\nThey were nearing the shore where the boys waited breathlessly for the\nend of this strange contest. Suddenly Jan turned his face towards Gil\nand gave him one look. \"You will win, brother,\" he breathed brokenly,\n\"my strength is failing. You are the better swimmer, after all. Tell the\nlads that I confess it. Go on and come in as the champion.\"\n\nHe thought that Gil might turn to see whether he needed aid. But Gil\nmade no sign save to quicken his strokes, which had begun to lag, for in\ntruth he was very weary. He pushed on with only a desire to win the\nshore and to triumph over his younger brother. With a sigh Jan saw him\nshoot ahead, then turning over on his back he began to float\ncarelessly. He would not make another effort. It was then that he saw\nthe Stork circling close over his head; and it did not seem so very\nstrange when the Stork said to him,--\n\n\"Swim, Jan! You are the better swimmer; you can beat him yet.\"\n\n\"I know; but I do not wish to beat,\" said Jan wearily. \"He would only\nhate me the more.\"\n\n\"There is one who loves you more than ever he did,\" said the Stork\ngently. \"Will you go home to your sea-mother, the beautiful Mermaid?\"\n\n\"The Mermaid!\" cried Jan; \"then it is true. My real home is not upon the\nshore?\"\n\n\"Your real home is here, in the waves. Beneath them your mother waits.\"\n\n\"Then I need not go back to that other home,\" said Jan, \"that home where\nI am hated?\"\n\n\"Ah, you will be loved in this sea-home,\" said the Stork. \"You will be\nvery happy there. Come, come, Mermaid! Kiss your child and take him\nhome.\"\n\nThen Jan felt two soft arms come around his neck and two soft lips\npressed upon his own. \"Dear child!\" whispered a soft voice, \"come with\nme to your beautiful sea-home and be happy always.\" A strange, drowsy\nfeeling came over him, and he forgot how to be sad. He felt himself\ngrowing younger and younger. The world beyond the waves looked unreal\nand odd. He forgot why he was there; he forgot the race, the boys, Gil,\nand all his trouble. But instead he began to remember things of a\nwonderful dream. He closed his eyes; the sea rocked him gently, as in a\ncradle, and slowly, slowly, with the soft arms of the Mermaid about him,\nand her green hair twining through his fingers, he sank down through the\nwater. As he sank the likeness of a human boy faded from him, and he\nbecame once more a fresh, fair little Sea-child, with a scaly tail and\nplump, merry face. The Mer-folk came to greet him. The fishes darted\nabout him playfully. The sea-anemones beckoned him with enticing\nfingers. The Sea-child was at home again, and the sea was kind.\n\nSo Gil became the champion; but that was little pleasure to him, as you\ncan fancy. For he remembered, he remembered, and he could not forget. He\nthought, like all the village, that Jan had been drowned through his\nbrother's selfishness and jealousy. He forgave himself less even than\nthe whole village could forgive him for the loss of their favorite; for\nhe knew better than they how much more he was to blame, because he had\nbroken the promise which kept Jan by him. If he had known how happy the\nSea-child now was in the home from which he had come to be Gil's\nbrother, perhaps Gil would not have lived thereafter so sad a life. The\nStork might have told him the truth. But the wise old Stork would not.\nThat was to be Gil's punishment,--to remember and regret and to reproach\nhimself always for the selfishness and jealousy which had cost him a\nloving brother.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TEN BLOWERS\n\n\nI\n\nONCE upon a time there was a fat Miller who lived in the Land of\nWindmills. Now that is a queer country, where the people look queer,\ntalk and live and dress queerly, and where queer things are likely to\nhappen at any time. So you must not be surprised if this should be a\nqueer tale of the Miller and his mill and his family; but you must take\nmy queer word for it that the happenings were all queerly true as I\nshall tell them.\n\nThe Miller was a thoughtful fellow, as the folk of the Land of Windmills\nare apt to be; and he had ideas. When his first son was born he sat down\nand thought for a long time. His baby had fine lungs; he cried louder\nand longer than any baby of whom the Miller had ever heard, so that the\nfather had to go out of doors to think.\n\n\"He is a very remarkable child!\" said the Miller to himself. \"His\ntalents in the way of lung-power are extraordinary; they must be\ndeveloped. I believe in deciding as soon as possible what a child shall\nbe, according to his earliest inclinations. With his fine lungs he must\nbecome a Blower of some kind; a Musician,--perhaps a Corneter or a\nFlutist. But that we can decide later. I shall begin to train him\nimmediately.\"\n\nSo the Miller trained the lungs of his son. His first gift to the baby\nwas an ivory whistle, and the little fellow soon learned to blow it so\nthat his mother was nearly deafened. When he grew stronger he had a\npenny trumpet, and then there was a racket, to be sure! But the more\nnoise he made the more were the Miller and his good wife delighted. For\nthey said to each other: \"What wonderful talents has our son! Surely he\nwill become a great blowing Musician in the days that are to be.\"\n\nBefore he was a year old Hans could blow a little bugle so loudly that\nall the dogs of the neighborhood would rush to the house and surround\nit, barking. But he made no tunes on the bugle; only noise.\n\nNot long after this came a little brother for Hans; and this baby showed\nthe same talents as the first one, by day and by night filling the\ncottage with his sturdy bellows. You might think that this would have\ndisturbed the peace of the Miller and his wife, who could get no sleep\nat all. But no, indeed! They were twice delighted.\n\n\"Look now!\" they said, \"we shall have two little Blowers in the\nfamily,--perhaps a flute and a trombone; perhaps a cornet and a\nfife,--who knows?\" And they began to put Piet through the same training\nthat Hans had received; which was very pleasant for the little brothers,\nas you can imagine. There was no crying of \"Oh, children! Don't make\nsuch a racket!\" in that house. There was no hiding of whistles and\ntrumpets and bugles. When one noisy toy wore out they were immediately\ngiven a new one, for fear that they should forget how to blow. And they\nplayed at nothing else all day long but blowing, and blowing, and\nblowing. The house was so noisy that the neighbors did not often visit\nthe Miller's wife. But she cared nothing at all for that.\n\nThen another baby came; and as the years went by more little brothers\nblessed the Miller's cottage, each with the same wonderful lung-power,\nthe same puffy cheeks, the same fondness for blowing. Till before the\nMiller fairly had counted them all, he found himself sitting at the head\nof a table around which ten little Blowers kicked their heels and blew\non their porridge to cool it.\n\nNow ten little Blowers, each blowing all day long for dear life, have\nten big appetites; and the Miller had hard work to supply them with\nfood. The children were not helping him by earning money. Oh no! They\nwere too busy blowing,--practicing on the flutes, trombones, trumpets,\nbugles, fifes, horns, oboes, cornets, bassoons, and piccolos which their\nfather had bought them, hoping that they would be Musicians. But it was\nvery strange; although they were becoming skillful indeed in making a\nloud noise, they had never yet made any music. The more they practiced\nthe further they seemed to be from any tune. When they all got together\nand blew their instruments as hard as they could, you cannot imagine a\nmore wonderful noise than that which they produced! They could blow the\npanes out of the windows and the leaves from the trees, but they could\nnot make the least little tune to save their lives.\n\nAt last the poor Miller saw that they never would make any tune, because\nthere was no music in them, not in one of them. They could never be\nMusicians, though they were wonderful Blowers. You see, unless they\ncould blow tunes on their instruments no one would ever pay merely to\nhear them blow; indeed, nowadays folk seldom ventured near the mill, the\nfamily made such a din. And this blew trade away, even on windy days.\nThe Miller was growing poorer and poorer, and it seemed unlikely that\nhis children would ever help him to earn their bread, for they had been\nbrought up to blow, and that was all they knew how to do.\n\nOne morning the Miller went out to grind some grain which Farmer Huss\nhad left the night before. Huss, who was stone deaf, was the only\nneighbor who cared nowadays to come to the noisy mill, and naturally the\nMiller was anxious to please him. But when he looked up at the cloudless\nsky he saw that there would be no grinding done that morning. There was\nno breeze anywhere, and the mill was sound asleep. The windmill was\nlazy, like all its race, and unless an urging wind was blowing it would\nnot work at all. On breezeless days the mill slept from morning until\nnight, and then the farmers who had brought their grain grumbled and\nwere angry with the poor Miller; which, of course, was very\nunreasonable. Farmer Huss had vowed that if his grain was not ground\nbefore noon he would never come near the Miller again; and that would be\nbad indeed, for, deaf though he was, he remained the Miller's best\ncustomer. Worst of all, there was not a crust in the house, not a penny\nto buy bread. And although the children were now so busy blowing that\nthey had forgotten to be hungry, before night they would be crying for\nfood. What was to be done?\n\nHollow-eyed with hunger and anxiety, the Miller sat down and stared at\nthe motionless mill. Something must be done! Unless the children could\nhelp him earn a penny he must sell their flutes, trombones, trumpets,\nbugles, fifes, horns, oboes, cornets, bassoons, and piccolos; but what\nthen would become of their wonderful talents for blowing?\n\n\"Must all their practice be wasted?\" thought the Miller. \"They have\nblown, they have blown until their breath is as strong as the wind. Ha!\nI have an idea!\" And jumping up he ran as fast as his legs would carry\nhim to gather his little flock. \"It is an ill babe that blows no good!\"\nsaid the Miller to himself.\n\nThe Miller found his boys in the mill yard blowing on their ten\ninstruments. Hans the eldest, who was head and shoulders taller than his\nfather, had the huge bassoon, and the baby, who was just able to toddle,\ngrasped a piccolo. All the other brothers big and little, tall and\nshort, were tootling upon their various instruments with their cheeks\nbulging out like balloons; and the noise was so deafening that the bugs\nand beetles burrowed down into the ground to escape it, while even the\nfishes in the well turned over on their backs and fainted from the\nvibrations. Whenever they were hungry the Miller's sons always blew\nhardest, because then they forgot about their empty stomachs. Although\nit was a still day,--so still that the windmill's arms were quite\nmotionless,--when the children blew the notes from their instruments the\nsmoke about the cottage chimney huddled itself together and scudded\nhorizontally away. The trees swayed as if blown by a tempest, and the\nwaters of the duck-pond became humpy with waves; so that the ducks were\nin danger of drowning. When the Miller saw all this he was delighted,\nand his face beamed like the sun after a shower.\n\n\"Good, my children, good!\" he cried. \"You are wonderful little Blowers,\nand you shall make my fortune yet, though there is not one note of music\nin the ten of you. But look now; I have an idea! Gather around me and I\nwill tell you.\"\n\nThe ten children dropped their instruments and crowded eagerly about the\nMiller, for they hoped that he was going to tell them some way to get a\ndinner. But instead of this, he led them in a procession straight to the\nwindmill, where it stood lazily holding out its arms for the breeze\nwhich did not come.\n\n\"Look at that lazy windmill!\" said the Miller. \"He has ground no meal\nfor a whole day, and we have no money to buy food. Now, children, open\nyour mouths and blow, _blow_, as hard as you know how, to see whether\nyou cannot blow wind into his sails and make him go.\"\n\nSo the ten boys stood in a row, and at a signal took in a deep breath.\nWhen the Miller counted \"One--two--_three_!\" they made round mouths and\nblew out a long breath, straight towards the windmill's nearest arm. And\nlo! Instantly the sails filled, and the great windmill spun around like\nmad, whether it would or no. The Miller's idea was wonderful! The\nchildren jumped up and down, clapping their hands. Why had they never\nthought of this before? This was better than blowing instruments!\n\nThe Miller told the children to keep on blowing, and ran into the mill\nto fill the hopper with grain. The white flour went sifting into the\nbags till their sides were plump and firm. In a few moments all the\ngrain was ground, and the Miller was on his way to deliver the bags to\nneighbor Huss. And deaf old Huss was so pleased to have his meal ready\nbefore he expected it that he paid the Miller double, promising to call\nagain very soon. So now the Miller had money to buy bread for his\nchildren; and a fine supper they enjoyed that night, you may be sure.\n\nBest of it all was that their good luck had come to stay. The children\ngave up their flutes, trombones, trumpets, bugles, fifes, horns, oboes,\ncornets, bassoons, and piccolos, because they had decided not to be\nmusicians, but mill-blowers instead,--which was a blow to music. After\nall, they said, their new profession was a more distinguished one. For\nwith practice any one can blow a blast on a trombone, but few families\nof ten have lungs so mighty that they can blow a windmill when it wants\nto stand still.\n\nThey practiced and they practiced, before and after school. And they\ngrew so skillful that the Miller declared them to be better than any\nbreeze, for they were always ready when he wanted them. On days when no\nbreeze was blowing and all the other windmills in the land were as quiet\nas the market on Sunday,--then the neighbors flocked to the Miller of\nthe wonderful blowing family, and at his mill they were sure of having\ntheir grain ground quickly and well. The Miller was fast growing rich.\nHe charged double price, always; and, indeed, folk thought it was worth\npaying a double price to see the Miller's Ten Blowers at their work.\n\nThey had neat little uniforms of blue and white, like figures on a\ntile,--blue trousers and white millers' smocks, and wooden shoes. And\nthey were trained to stand in an orderly row, with big Hans at the head\nand chubby baby Tod at the foot, all puff-cheeked, ruddy, and\nbroad-chested from much blowing. And they blew all together,--one--_two!_\none--_two!_ one--_two!_--with a sound like a great wind in the chimney\non a January night, while the windmill whirled around like a mad thing\nand seemed ready to blow to pieces. But the on-lookers had to be careful\nto put a rock in their pockets, or to hold on to something steady, lest\nthey be blown from their feet by the blast which the children blew.\n\nStories of the Miller's wonderful family spread far and wide, and many\nfolk came to see the little Blowers at their work. They were often asked\nto show their skill in various ways. Hans might easily have earned his\nliving as a blacksmith's bellows, could his father have spared him from\nthe mill. The village children often coaxed the younger Blowers to blow\ntheir kites up into the sky or their sailboats down the canals. Even\nthe baby earned many a penny by blowing the soot out of the cottage\nchimneys and the dust from corners in the goodwives' spandy floors. But\nthe Miller himself did not encourage all this. \"Best stick to your home\nmill, my sons,\" he said, \"and good will come of it. Do not waste your\nbreath in blowing small things, and one day your breath shall blow us\ninto fortune.\" And this seemed likely to be true; for every day they\nwere becoming more famous and more rich. And all the other millers in\nthe land were so jealous that they could not sleep o' nights.\n\n\nII\n\nThere came a time when the Miller was kept busy indeed, and proudly so.\nFor he had been commanded by the King himself to grind one thousand\nsacks of flour for the wedding-cookery of the young Prince, his son. The\nPrince was to cross the sea to be married to the daughter of the proud\nKing of Outland; and when he had brought his fair bride home there was\nto be great rejoicing,--feasting and merrymaking at the capital of the\nLand of Windmills. And the Miller's flour was to make the huge\nwedding-cake and a little cake for each of the guests. For his share in\nall this preparation the Miller was to receive a great price,--a bag of\ngold. So he hurried about, and the children blew, and the windmill\nwhirled, and dusty flour went pouring into the King's sacks, until all\nwas done. Then the Miller sat proudly at the head of his table,\nsurrounded by his proud family, and with the sack of gold in the middle\nof the board for them to admire.\n\nThey were eating their goodly supper and drinking the health of the\nPrince and his bride, for the morrow was to be the wedding-day. Every\none was talking and laughing under his breath--for they dared not laugh\naloud nowadays, for fear of blowing out all the lights. Suddenly there\ncame the galloping of horses' hoofs along the highway and a thundering\nknock at the door.\n\n\"Open!\" cried a voice. \"A messenger of the King!\"\n\nThe fat Miller ran to the door and undid the bolts as fast as he could,\nwhile his children crowded around to hear the King's message. But they\nheld their breaths, lest the message be blown away as soon as spoken.\n\nThere sat a rider on a great black horse; and behind him eleven grooms\nheld eleven horses, of different sizes, the smallest one being the\nprettiest, tiniest white pony you ever saw.\n\n\"Ho! Miller!\" shouted the messenger. \"I bring the King's command that\nyou and your family of Blowers mount and ride with me to the Capital,\nfor the King has need of you. I bring steeds for all; lose no time in\nobeying the King's message.\"\n\nThe Miller and his sons were startled and amazed; they could not guess\nwhether for joy or for sorrow they were thus called to court. But of\ncourse there was nothing for them but to obey the King. Quickly they\nmounted the eleven steeds which the eleven grooms had brought. The fat\nMiller went first, on a fat little brown horse which looked like him;\nand behind him came long, lanky Hans on a long-limbed bay. After him\nfollowed Piet on a gallant chestnut, behind whom galloped all the other\nbrothers, with Tod the baby on the tiny white pony bringing up the rear.\nBut the Miller's poor wife was left behind, not knowing whether to be\nsorry or glad because of the King's summons to her family.\n\nNearly all night they galloped, thud-thud! over the quiet roads, past\nshut-eyed houses and dozy windmills, drowsy canals and dreaming\nvillages. And at early dawn they came to the Capital City. Here the\ntired King himself rode out to meet them, accompanied by a crowd of\nsleepy soldiers and cross-looking nobles. The Miller and his ten boys\nslipped from their saddles and knelt in a row before the King, awaiting\nhis commands. But he had no time for ceremony this morning.\n\n\"Rise!\" he cried impatiently. \"Do not kneel there when time is so\nprecious! Rise and hasten to the seashore, Miller. I have heard what\nwonderful Blowers your children are. It is for this reason I have sent\nfor you. Out yonder on the sea lies the ship of my son, the Prince, who\nhas sailed for Outland to bring home a bride. Yesterday morn he started;\nbut he has not gone far. My telescopes show that the ship still lies\nhelpless, as she has lain for twelve hours, becalmed between the\nWindless Headlands in the Bay of Calms. The wedding was to have been\nthis morning at ten in the Outland King's cathedral. Hasten, Miller! He\nhas yet many leagues to go. You and your children must blow the Prince\ninto port in season for the ceremony, or his life is lost. For if he be\nlate, even by five minutes, the Outland King has bargained that he must\ndie. He is a proud father; she is a proud Princess, and must be kept\nwaiting by no one. My word is pledged; my son is in danger! Save the\nPrince, Miller, and you shall be made a Duke, and all your children\nEarls.\"\n\nThe King ceased speaking, and the crowd of nobles hustled the Miller and\nhis family down to the shore, whence, far off against the dawn, sharp\neyes could dimly see the Prince's ship lying on the water, like a leaf\non the surface of a calm well. The Miller ranged his Ten Blowers in a\nrow, as they always stood when about to make the windmill whirl; and\nthey were a flight of steps, one above the other, good to see. Then the\nMiller cried,--\n\n\"Blow, my children! Blow with all your might, when I speak the word; for\na great matter is at stake. Now; one, two, _three_!\"\n\nThe boys drew in a long breath, puffed their cheeks, let out their\nbreath, expanded their chests, and at the third count blew with all\ntheir might, till their eyes bulged and they were purple in the face.\nThe trees bent to the ground, and the birds flew out of their nests,\nchirping wildly. And soon after this the watchmen on the palace wall,\nwho were spying at the Prince's ship with their telescopes, gave a great\ncheer. The sails had filled with wind, and the vessel was moving ever so\nslowly towards Outland.\n\n\"Again, my babes!\" roared the Miller. \"One, two, _three_!\" and once more\na blast blew from the shore, so mighty that the hats of the nobles went\nflying off into the sea, and the King himself nearly lost his crown of\npearls and rubies; which would have been a scandalous thing! Once more\nthe lookouts on the battlements cheered. The Prince's ship was moving\nsteadily forward past the Windless Headlands, out of the Bay of Calms.\n\n\"Once more!\" shouted the Miller, encouraged by the King's nod of\ndelight. \"One more blow for our King and Prince, my children!\" And a\nthird time the Ten filled their lungs and puffed their cheeks in the\ngood cause.\n\nThis time the watchers danced wildly on the palace walls, and waved a\ngolden banner to the King, which was the signal that all was well. For\nthe Prince's ship had scudded clean out of sight, straight towards\nOutland and the Bride. Once in the open gulf the ship was in no further\ndanger of being becalmed.\n\n[Illustration: ONE MORE BLOW FOR OUR KING]\n\nThis is how the Miller and his Ten saved the life of the Prince of the\nLand of Windmills, and became very dear to their King. For, aided by the\nbreath of the Miller's sons, the Prince reached Outland in time,--yes,\neven with time to spare; the Princess was not ready for him! And her\nfather was so pleased by this promptness of the bridegroom that, when\nthe newly married pair left Outland after the grand wedding, they took\nwith them as a gift from the King one hundred buckets of silver and one\nhundred buckets of gold and one hundred buckets of shining jewels, the\nmost beautiful that ever were seen. So that when the Prince reached the\nLand of Windmills he was able to give fine presents to all who had done\nservices for him. And you may be sure that the Miller and his boys were\nnot among the last of this number.\n\nThe Miller was made Duke of Millwind, and he received one of the one\nhundred buckets of jewels; while each of the Earls, his sons, had one of\nthe buckets of gold. And the Miller's wife received one of the\nbuckets of silver; though she had done nothing at all but stay at home\nand worry.\n\nAfter that there was no longer any need for the Miller and his family to\nweaken themselves with work. They were rich and noble; and now it was\nfair to give the other millers in the land a chance. But no other Miller\nhad so talented a family, you see. The best thing of all was that the\nPrince and Princess, who, upon the old King's death, themselves became\nKing and Queen, lived to have ten daughters, each more beautiful than\nthe others. And when they were grown up, the King their father married\nthem to the ten young Earls, the sons of the Duke of Millwind, in token\nof his gratitude to that fine fat gentleman who was once a Miller. And\nHans the eldest son, who married the eldest Princess,--he who had first\nshown his talent as a Blower,--Hans himself became in time King of the\nLand of Windmills; which was great fortune for the Miller's son, as I\nthink you must agree. So the Miller's saying proved true, that they\nwould \"blow themselves into fortune.\"\n\nNow it was in the reign of this illustrious pair that two wonderful\ninventions were made,--squeaker-balloons and soap-bubbles. They were\ninvented at the command of King Hans in honor of his first infant, who\nwas born with a perfectly wonderful talent for blowing.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Riverside Press\n_Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.\nCambridge, Mass., U. S. A._\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nEach chapter title was printed on a separate page and then repeated on\nthe page where the chapter began. In this e-book chapter titles are\nused only once to avoid unnecessary repetition.\n\nPage 26, \"See\" changed to \"She\" (She glanced at Joyeuse)","title":"The Flower Princess","tradition":"folklore-oral-tradition","translated_text":null,"word_count":21519}