{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_32572/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_32572","id":"gutenberg_32572","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32572","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's stories, Danish -- Translations into English","Fairy tales","Fairy tales -- Denmark"],"text":"Produced by Sharon Joiner, Emmy and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHans Andersen's Fairy Tales\n\nSecond Series\n\n\n_Edited by_ J. H. Stickney\n\n\nIllustrated by Edna F. Hart\n\n          Ginn and Company\n          Boston--New York--Chicago--London\n\n\n\n\n          COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY GINN AND COMPANY\n\n          ALL RIGHTS RESERVED\n\n          315.2\n\n          The Athenaeum Press\n\n          GINN AND COMPANY . PROPRIETORS\n          . BOSTON . U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nTHE present volume is the second of the selected stories from Hans\nAndersen. Together the books include what, out of a larger number, are\nthe best for children's use. The story-telling activity of this\ninimitable genius covered a period of more than forty years. Besides\nthese shorter juvenile tales, there are a few which deserve to survive.\n\"The Ice Maiden\" is a standard, if not a classic, and \"The Sandhills of\nJutland\" was pronounced by Ruskin the most perfect story that he knew.\n\nIt adds a charm to the little stories of these two volumes to know that\nthe genial author traveled widely for a man of his time and everywhere\nwas urged to tell the tales himself. This he did with equal charm in the\nkitchens of the humble and in the courts and palaces of nobles.\n\nAs was said in the preface to the first volume, wherever there are\nchildren to read, the stories of Hans Christian Andersen will be read\nand loved.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                  PAGE\n          THE FLAX                                   3\n          THE DAISY                                 12\n          THE PEA BLOSSOM                           21\n          THE STORKS                                29\n          THE WILD SWANS                            39\n          THE LAST DREAM OF THE OLD OAK             71\n          THE PORTUGUESE DUCK                       84\n          THE SNOW MAN                              96\n          THE FARMYARD COCK AND THE WEATHERCOCK    107\n          THE RED SHOES                            112\n          THE LITTLE MERMAID                       124\n          BUCKWHEAT                                170\n          WHAT HAPPENED TO THE THISTLE             174\n          THE PEN AND THE INKSTAND                 183\n          THE TEAPOT                               188\n          SOUP FROM A SAUSAGE SKEWER               192\n          WHAT THE GOODMAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT    220\n          THE OLD STREET LAMP                      232\n          THE SHEPHERDESS AND THE CHIMNEY SWEEP    246\n          THE DROP OF WATER                        256\n          THE SWINEHERD                            260\n          THE METAL PIG                            269\n          THE FLYING TRUNK                         290\n          THE BUTTERFLY                            303\n          THE GOBLIN AND THE HUCKSTER              309\n          EVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE            317\n          THE REAL PRINCESS                        333\n          THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES                336\n          GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS             345\n          NOTES                                    367\n\n\n\n\nHANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES\n\n[Illustration: They wanted to seen the paper burn....]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nHANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES\n\n\n\n\nTHE FLAX\n\n\nTHE flax was in full bloom; it had pretty little blue flowers, as\ndelicate as the wings of a moth. The sun shone on it and the showers\nwatered it; and this was as good for the flax as it is for little\nchildren to be washed and then kissed by their mothers. They look much\nprettier for it, and so did the flax.\n\n\"People say that I look exceedingly well,\" said the flax, \"and that I am\nso fine and long that I shall make a beautiful piece of linen. How\nfortunate I am! It makes me so happy to know that something can be made\nof me. How the sunshine cheers me, and how sweet and refreshing is the\nrain! My happiness overpowers me; no one in the world can feel happier\nthan I.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, no doubt,\" said the fern, \"but you do not know the world yet\nas well as I do, for my sticks are knotty\"; and then it sang quite\nmournfully:\n\n          \"Snip, snap, snurre,\n           Basse lurre.\n           The song is ended.\"\n\n\"No, it is not ended,\" said the flax. \"To-morrow the sun will shine or\nthe rain descend. I feel that I am growing. I feel that I am in full\nblossom. I am the happiest of all creatures, for I may some day come to\nsomething.\"\n\nWell, one day some people came, who took hold of the flax and pulled it\nup by the roots, which was very painful. Then it was laid in water, as\nif it were to be drowned, and after that placed near a fire, as if it\nwere to be roasted. All this was very shocking.\n\n\"We cannot expect to be happy always,\" said the flax. \"By experiencing\nevil as well as good we become wise.\" And certainly there was plenty of\nevil in store for the flax. It was steeped, and roasted, and broken,\nand combed; indeed, it scarcely knew what was done to it. At last it was\nput on the spinning wheel. \"Whir, whir,\" went the wheel, so quickly that\nthe flax could not collect its thoughts.\n\n\"Well, I have been very happy,\" it thought in the midst of its pain,\n\"and must be contented with the past.\" And contented it remained, till\nit was put on the loom and became a beautiful piece of white linen. All\nthe flax, even to the last stalk, was used in making this one piece.\n\n\"Well, this is quite wonderful,\" said the flax. \"I could not have\nbelieved that I should be so favored by fortune. The fern was not wrong\nwhen it sang,\n\n          'Snip, snap, snurre,\n          Basse lurre.'\n\nBut the song is not ended yet, I am sure; it is only just beginning. How\nwonderful it is that, after all I have suffered, I am made something of\nat last! I am the luckiest person in the world--so strong and fine. And\nhow white and long I am! This is far better than being a mere plant and\nbearing flowers. Then I had no attention, nor any water unless it\nrained; now I am watched and cared for. Every morning the maid turns me\nover, and I have a shower bath from the watering-pot every evening. Yes,\nand the clergyman's wife noticed me and said I was the best piece of\nlinen in the whole parish. I cannot be happier than I am now.\"\n\nAfter some time the linen was taken into the house, and there cut with\nthe scissors and torn into pieces and then pricked with needles. This\ncertainly was not pleasant, but at last it was made into twelve garments\nof the kind that everybody wears. \"See now, then,\" said the flax, \"I\nhave become something of importance. This was my destiny; it is quite a\nblessing. Now I shall be of some use in the world, as every one ought to\nbe; it is the only way to be happy. I am now divided into twelve pieces,\nand yet the whole dozen is all one and the same. It is most\nextraordinary good fortune.\"\n\nYears passed away, and at last the linen was so worn it could scarcely\nhold together. \"It must end very soon,\" said the pieces to each other.\n\"We would gladly have held together a little longer, but it is useless\nto expect impossibilities.\" And at length they fell into rags and\ntatters and thought it was all over with them, for they were torn to\nshreds and steeped in water and made into a pulp and dried, and they\nknew not what besides, till all at once they found themselves beautiful\nwhite paper. \"Well, now, this is a surprise--a glorious surprise too,\"\nsaid the paper. \"Now I am finer than ever, and who can tell what fine\nthings I may have written upon me? This is wonderful luck!\" And so it\nwas, for the most beautiful stories and poetry were written upon it, and\nonly once was there a blot, which was remarkable good fortune. Then\npeople heard the stories and poetry read, and it made them wiser and\nbetter; for all that was written had a good and sensible meaning, and a\ngreat blessing was contained in it.\n\n\"I never imagined anything like this when I was only a little blue\nflower growing in the fields,\" said the paper. \"How could I know that I\nshould ever be the means of bringing knowledge and joy to men? I cannot\nunderstand it myself, and yet it is really so. Heaven knows that I have\ndone nothing myself but what I was obliged to do with my weak powers for\nmy own preservation; and yet I have been promoted from one joy and honor\nto another. Each time I think that the song is ended, and then something\nhigher and better begins for me. I suppose now I shall be sent out to\njourney about the world, so that people may read me. It cannot be\notherwise, for I have more splendid thoughts written upon me than I had\npretty flowers in olden times. I am happier than ever.\"\n\nBut the paper did not go on its travels. It was sent to the printer, and\nall the words written upon it were set up in type to make a book,--or\nrather many hundreds of books,--for many more persons could derive\npleasure and profit from a printed book than from the written paper; and\nif the paper had been sent about the world, it would have been worn out\nbefore it had half finished its journey.\n\n\"Yes, this is certainly the wisest plan,\" said the written paper; \"I\nreally did not think of this. I shall remain at home and be held in\nhonor like some old grandfather, as I really am to all these new books.\nThey will do some good. I could not have wandered about as they can, yet\nhe who wrote all this has looked at me as every word flowed from his pen\nupon my surface. I am the most honored of all.\"\n\nThen the paper was tied in a bundle with other papers and thrown into a\ntub that stood in the washhouse.\n\n\"After work, it is well to rest,\" said the paper, \"and a very good\nopportunity to collect one's thoughts. Now I am able, for the first\ntime, to learn what is in me; and to know one's self is true progress.\nWhat will be done with me now, I wonder? No doubt I shall still go\nforward. I have always progressed hitherto, I know quite well.\"\n\nNow it happened one day that all the paper in the tub was taken out and\nlaid on the hearth to be burned. People said it could not be sold at the\nshop, to wrap up butter and sugar, because it had been written upon. The\nchildren in the house stood round the hearth to watch the blaze, for\npaper always flamed up so prettily, and afterwards, among the ashes,\nthere were so many red sparks to be seen running one after the other,\nhere and there, as quick as the wind. They called it seeing the children\ncome out of school, and the last spark, they said, was the schoolmaster.\nThey would often think the last spark had come, and one would cry,\n\"There goes the schoolmaster,\" but the next moment another spark would\nappear, bright and beautiful. How they wanted to know where all the\nsparks went to! Perhaps they will find out some day.\n\nThe whole bundle of paper had been placed on the fire and was soon\nburning. \"Ugh!\" cried the paper as it burst into a bright flame; \"ugh!\"\nIt was certainly not very pleasant to be burned. But when the whole was\nwrapped in flames, the sparks mounted up into the air, higher than the\nflax had ever been able to raise its little blue flowers, and they\nglistened as the white linen never could have glistened. All the written\nletters became quite red in a moment, and all the words and thoughts\nturned to fire.\n\n\"Now I am mounting straight up to the sun,\" said a voice in the flames;\nand it was as if a thousand voices echoed the words as the flames\ndarted up through the chimney and went out at the top. Then a number of\ntiny beings, as many as the flowers on the flax had been, and invisible\nto mortal eyes, floated above the children. They were even lighter and\nmore delicate than the blue flowers from which they were born; and as\nthe flames died out and nothing remained of the paper but black ashes,\nthese little beings danced upon it, and wherever they touched it, bright\nred sparks appeared.\n\n\"The children are all out of school, and the schoolmaster was the last\nof all,\" said the children. It was good fun, and they sang over the dead\nashes:\n\n          \"Snip, snap, snurre,\n           Basse lurre.\n           The song is ended.\"\n\nBut the little invisible beings said, \"The song is never ended; the most\nbeautiful is yet to come.\"\n\nBut the children could neither hear nor understand this; nor should\nthey, for children must not know everything.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE DAISY\n\n\nNOW listen. Out in the country, close by the roadside, stood a pleasant\nhouse; you have seen one like it, no doubt, very often. In front lay a\nlittle fenced-in garden, full of blooming flowers. Near the hedge, in\nthe soft green grass, grew a little daisy. The sun shone as brightly and\nwarmly upon her as upon the large and beautiful garden flowers, so the\ndaisy grew from hour to hour. Every morning she unfolded her little\nwhite petals, like shining rays round the little golden sun in the\ncenter of the flower. She never seemed to think that she was unseen down\nin the grass or that she was only a poor, insignificant flower. She felt\ntoo happy to care for that. Merrily she turned toward the warm sun,\nlooked up to the blue sky, and listened to the lark singing high in the\nair.\n\nOne day the little flower was as joyful as if it had been a great\nholiday, although it was only Monday. All the children were at school,\nand while they sat on their benches learning their lessons, she, on her\nlittle stem, learned also from the warm sun and from everything around\nher how good God is, and it made her happy to hear the lark expressing\nin his song her own glad feelings. The daisy admired the happy bird who\ncould warble so sweetly and fly so high, and she was not at all\nsorrowful because she could not do the same.\n\n\"I can see and hear,\" thought she; \"the sun shines upon me, and the wind\nkisses me; what else do I need to make me happy?\"\n\nWithin the garden grew a number of aristocratic flowers; the less scent\nthey had the more they flaunted. The peonies considered it a grand thing\nto be so large, and puffed themselves out to be larger than the roses.\nThe tulips knew that they were marked with beautiful colors, and held\nthemselves bolt upright so that they might be seen more plainly.\n\nThey did not notice the little daisy outside, but she looked at them\nand thought: \"How rich and beautiful they are! No wonder the pretty bird\nflies down to visit them. How glad I am that I grow so near them, that I\nmay admire their beauty!\"\n\nJust at this moment the lark flew down, crying \"Tweet,\" but he did not\ngo to the tall peonies and tulips; he hopped into the grass near the\nlowly daisy. She trembled for joy and hardly knew what to think. The\nlittle bird hopped round the daisy, singing, \"Oh, what sweet, soft\ngrass, and what a lovely little flower, with gold in its heart and\nsilver on its dress!\" For the yellow center in the daisy looked like\ngold, and the leaves around were glittering white, like silver.\n\nHow happy the little daisy felt, no one can describe. The bird kissed\nher with his beak, sang to her, and then flew up again into the blue air\nabove. It was at least a quarter of an hour before the daisy could\nrecover herself. Half ashamed, yet happy in herself, she glanced at the\nother flowers; they must have seen the honor she had received, and would\nunderstand her delight and pleasure.\n\nBut the tulips looked prouder than ever; indeed, they were evidently\nquite vexed about it. The peonies were disgusted, and could they have\nspoken, the poor little daisy would no doubt have received a good\nscolding. She could see they were all out of temper, and it made her\nvery sorry.\n\nAt this moment there came into the garden a girl with a large,\nglittering knife in her hand. She went straight to the tulips and cut\noff several of them.\n\n\"O dear,\" sighed the daisy, \"how shocking! It is all over with them\nnow.\" The girl carried the tulips away, and the daisy felt very glad to\ngrow outside in the grass and to be only a poor little flower. When the\nsun set, she folded up her leaves and went to sleep. She dreamed the\nwhole night long of the warm sun and the pretty little bird.\n\nThe next morning, when she joyfully stretched out her white leaves once\nmore to the warm air and the light, she recognized the voice of the\nbird, but his song sounded mournful and sad.\n\nAlas! he had good reason to be sad: he had been caught and made a\nprisoner in a cage that hung close by the open window. He sang of the\nhappy time when he could fly in the air, joyous and free; of the young\ngreen corn in the fields, from which he would spring higher and higher\nto sing his glorious song--but now he was a prisoner in a cage.\n\nThe little daisy wished very much to help him. But what could she do? In\nher anxiety she forgot all the beautiful things around her, the warm\nsunshine, and her own pretty, shining, white leaves. Alas! she could\nthink of nothing but the captive bird and her own inability to help him.\n\nTwo boys came out of the garden; one of them carried a sharp knife in\nhis hand, like the one with which the girl had cut the tulips. They went\nstraight to the little daisy, who could not think what they were going\nto do.\n\n\"We can cut out a nice piece of turf for the lark here,\" said one of the\nboys; and he began to cut a square piece round the daisy, so that she\nstood just in the center.\n\n[Illustration: So the daisy remained, and was put with the turf in the\nlark's cage.]\n\n\"Pull up the flower,\" said the other boy; and the daisy trembled with\nfear, for to pluck her up would destroy her life and she wished so\nmuch to live and to be taken to the captive lark in his cage.\n\n\"No, let it stay where it is,\" said the boy, \"it looks so pretty.\" So\nthe daisy remained, and was put with the turf in the lark's cage. The\npoor bird was complaining loudly about his lost freedom, beating his\nwings against the iron bars of his prison. The little daisy could make\nno sign and utter no word to console him, as she would gladly have done.\nThe whole morning passed in this manner.\n\n\"There is no water here,\" said the captive lark; \"they have all gone out\nand have forgotten to give me a drop to drink. My throat is hot and dry;\nI feel as if I had fire and ice within me, and the air is so heavy.\nAlas! I must die. I must bid farewell to the warm sunshine, the fresh\ngreen, and all the beautiful things which God has created.\" And then he\nthrust his beak into the cool turf to refresh himself a little with the\nfresh grass, and, as he did so, his eye fell upon the daisy. The bird\nnodded to her and kissed her with his beak and said: \"You also will\nwither here, you poor little flower! They have given you to me, with\nthe little patch of green grass on which you grow, in exchange for the\nwhole world which was mine out there. Each little blade of grass is to\nme as a great tree, and each of your white leaves a flower. Alas! you\nonly show me how much I have lost.\"\n\n\"Oh, if I could only comfort him!\" thought the daisy, but she could not\nmove a leaf. The perfume from her leaves was stronger than is usual in\nthese flowers, and the bird noticed it, and though he was fainting with\nthirst, and in his pain pulled up the green blades of grass, he did not\ntouch the flower.\n\nThe evening came, and yet no one had come to bring the bird a drop of\nwater. Then he stretched out his pretty wings and shook convulsively; he\ncould only sing \"Tweet, tweet,\" in a weak, mournful tone. His little\nhead bent down toward the flower; the bird's heart was broken with want\nand pining. Then the flower could not fold her leaves as she had done\nthe evening before when she went to sleep, but, sick and sorrowful,\ndrooped toward the earth.\n\nNot till morning did the boys come, and when they found the bird dead,\nthey wept many and bitter tears. They dug a pretty grave for him and\nadorned it with leaves of flowers. The bird's lifeless body was placed\nin a smart red box and was buried with great honor.\n\nPoor bird! while he was alive and could sing, they forgot him and\nallowed him to sit in his cage and suffer want, but now that he was\ndead, they mourned for him with many tears and buried him in royal\nstate.\n\nBut the turf with the daisy on it was thrown out into the dusty road. No\none thought of the little flower that had felt more for the poor bird\nthan had any one else and that would have been so glad to help and\ncomfort him if she had been able.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE PEA BLOSSOM\n\n\nTHERE were once five peas in one shell; they were green, and the shell\nwas green, and so they believed that the whole world must be green also,\nwhich was a very natural conclusion.\n\nThe shell grew, and the peas grew; and as they grew they arranged\nthemselves all in a row. The sun shone without and warmed the shell, and\nthe rain made it clear and transparent; it looked mild and agreeable in\nbroad daylight and dark at night, just as it should. And the peas, as\nthey sat there, grew bigger and bigger, and more thoughtful as they\nmused, for they felt there must be something for them to do.\n\n\"Are we to sit here forever?\" asked one. \"Shall we not become hard,\nwaiting here so long? It seems to me there must be something outside; I\nfeel sure of it.\"\n\nWeeks passed by; the peas became yellow, and the shell became yellow.\n\n\"All the world is turning yellow, I suppose,\" said they--and perhaps\nthey were right.\n\nSuddenly they felt a pull at the shell. It was torn off and held in\nhuman hands; then it was slipped into the pocket of a jacket, together\nwith other full pods.\n\n\"Now we shall soon be let out,\" said one, and that was just what they\nall wanted.\n\n\"I should like to know which of us will travel farthest,\" said the\nsmallest of the five; \"and we shall soon see.\"\n\n\"What is to happen will happen,\" said the largest pea.\n\n\"Crack!\" went the shell, and the five peas rolled out into the bright\nsunshine. There they lay in a child's hand. A little boy was holding\nthem tightly. He said they were fine peas for his pea-shooter, and\nimmediately he put one in and shot it out.\n\n\"Now I am flying out into the wide world,\" said the pea. \"Catch me if\nyou can.\" And he was gone in a moment.\n\n\"I intend to fly straight to the sun,\" said the second. \"That is a shell\nthat will suit me exactly, for it lets itself be seen.\" And away he\nwent.\n\n\"We will go to sleep wherever we find ourselves,\" said the next two; \"we\nshall still be rolling onwards.\" And they did fall to the floor and roll\nabout, but they got into the pea-shooter for all that. \"We will go\nfarthest of any,\" said they.\n\n\"What is to happen will happen,\" exclaimed the last one, as he was shot\nout of the pea-shooter. Up he flew against an old board under a garret\nwindow and fell into a little crevice which was almost filled with moss\nand soft earth. The moss closed itself about him, and there he lay--a\ncaptive indeed, but not unnoticed by God.\n\n\"What is to happen will happen,\" said he to himself.\n\nWithin the little garret lived a poor woman, who went out to clean\nstoves, chop wood into small pieces, and do other hard work, for she was\nboth strong and industrious. Yet she remained always poor, and at home\nin the garret lay her only daughter, not quite grown up and very\ndelicate and weak. For a whole year she had kept her bed, and it seemed\nas if she could neither die nor get well.\n\n\"She is going to her little sister,\" said the woman. \"I had only the two\nchildren, and it was not an easy thing to support them; but the good God\nprovided for one of them by taking her home to himself. The other was\nleft to me, but I suppose they are not to be separated, and my sick girl\nwill soon go to her sister in heaven.\"\n\nAll day long the sick girl lay quietly and patiently, while her mother\nwent out to earn money.\n\nSpring came, and early one morning the sun shone through the little\nwindow and threw his rays mildly and pleasantly over the floor of the\nroom. Just as the mother was going to her work, the sick girl fixed her\ngaze on the lowest pane of the window. \"Mother,\" she exclaimed, \"what\ncan that little green thing be that peeps in at the window? It is moving\nin the wind.\"\n\nThe mother stepped to the window and half opened it. \"Oh!\" she said,\n\"there is actually a little pea that has taken root and is putting out\nits green leaves. How could it have got into this crack? Well, now, here\nis a little garden for you to amuse yourself with.\" So the bed of the\nsick girl was drawn nearer to the window, that she might see the budding\nplant; and the mother went forth to her work.\n\n\"Mother, I believe I shall get well,\" said the sick child in the\nevening. \"The sun has shone in here so bright and warm to-day, and the\nlittle pea is growing so fast, that I feel better, too, and think I\nshall get up and go out into the warm sunshine again.\"\n\n\"God grant it!\" said the mother, but she did not believe it would be so.\nShe took a little stick and propped up the green plant which had given\nher daughter such pleasure, so that it might not be broken by the winds.\nShe tied the piece of string to the window-sill and to the upper part of\nthe frame, so that the pea tendrils might have something to twine round.\nAnd the plant shot up so fast that one could almost see it grow from day\nto day.\n\n\"A flower is really coming,\" said the mother one morning. At last she\nwas beginning to let herself hope that her little sick daughter might\nindeed recover. She remembered that for some time the child had spoken\nmore cheerfully, and that during the last few days she had raised\nherself in bed in the morning to look with sparkling eyes at her little\ngarden which contained but a single pea plant.\n\nA week later the invalid sat up by the open window a whole hour, feeling\nquite happy in the warm sunshine, while outside grew the little plant,\nand on it a pink pea blossom in full bloom. The little maiden bent down\nand gently kissed the delicate leaves. This day was like a festival to\nher.\n\n\"Our heavenly Father himself has planted that pea and made it grow and\nflourish, to bring joy to you and hope to me, my blessed child,\" said\nthe happy mother, and she smiled at the flower as if it had been an\nangel from God.\n\n[Illustration: On it a pink pea blossom ... in full bloom.]\n\nBut what became of the other peas? Why, the one who flew out into the\nwide world and said, \"Catch me if you can,\" fell into a gutter on the\nroof of a house and ended his travels in the crop of a pigeon. The two\nlazy ones were carried quite as far and were of some use, for they also\nwere eaten by pigeons; but the fourth, who wanted to reach the sun,\nfell into a sink and lay there in the dirty water for days and weeks,\ntill he had swelled to a great size.\n\n\"I am getting beautifully fat,\" said the pea; \"I expect I shall burst at\nlast; no pea could do more than that, I think. I am the most remarkable\nof all the five that were in the shell.\" And the sink agreed with the\npea.\n\nBut the young girl, with sparkling eyes and the rosy hue of health upon\nher cheeks, stood at the open garret window and, folding her thin hands\nover the pea blossom, thanked God for what He had done.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORKS\n\n\nON the last house in the village there lay a stork's nest. The mother\nstork sat in it with her four little ones, who were stretching out their\nheads with their pointed black bills that had not yet turned red. At a\nlittle distance, on the top of the roof, stood the father stork, bolt\nupright and as stiff as could be. That he might not appear quite idle\nwhile standing sentry, he had drawn one leg up under him, as is the\nmanner of storks. One might have taken him to be carved in marble, so\nstill did he stand.\n\n\"It must look very grand for my wife to have a sentinel to guard her\nnest,\" he thought. \"They can't know that I am her husband and will, of\ncourse, conclude that I am commanded to stand here by her nest. It looks\naristocratic!\"\n\nBelow, in the street, a crowd of children were playing. When they\nchanced to catch sight of the storks, one of the boldest of the boys\nbegan to sing the old song about the stork. The others soon joined him,\nbut each sang the words that he happened to have heard. This is one of\nthe ways:\n\n          \"Stork, stork, fly away;\n           Stand not on one leg to-day.\n           Thy dear wife sits in the nest,\n           To lull the little ones to rest.\n\n          \"There's a halter for one,\n           There's a stake for another,\n           For the third there's a gun,\n           And a spit for his brother!\"\n\n\"Only listen,\" said the young storks, \"to what the boys are singing. Do\nyou hear them say we're to be hanged and shot?\"\n\n\"Don't listen to what they say; if you don't mind, it won't hurt you,\"\nsaid the mother.\n\nBut the boys went on singing, and pointed mockingly at the sentinel\nstork. Only one boy, whom they called Peter, said it was a shame to make\ngame of animals, and he would not join in the singing at all.\n\nThe mother stork tried to comfort her young ones. \"Don't mind them,\" she\nsaid; \"see how quiet your father stands on one leg there.\"\n\n\"But we are afraid,\" said the little ones, drawing back their beaks into\nthe nest.\n\nThe children assembled again on the next day, and no sooner did they see\nthe storks than they again began their song:\n\n          \"The first will be hanged,\n           The second be hit.\"\n\n\"Tell us, are we to be hanged and burned?\" asked the young storks.\n\n\"No, no; certainly not,\" replied the mother. \"You are to learn to fly,\nand then we shall pay a visit to the frogs. They will bow to us in the\nwater and sing 'Croak! croak!' and we shall eat them up, and that will\nbe a great treat.\"\n\n\"And then what?\" questioned the young storks.\n\n\"Oh, then all the storks in the land will assemble, and the autumn\nsports will begin; only then one must be able to fly well, for that is\nvery important. Whoever does not fly as he should will be pierced to\ndeath by the general's beak, so mind that you learn well, when the drill\nbegins.\"\n\n\"Yes, but then, after that, we shall be killed, as the boys say. Hark!\nthey are singing it again.\"\n\n\"Attend to me and not to them,\" said the mother stork. \"After the great\nreview we shall fly away to warm countries, far from here, over hills\nand forests. To Egypt we shall fly, where are the three-cornered houses\nof stone, one point of which reaches to the clouds; they are called\npyramids and are older than a stork can imagine. In that same land there\nis a river which overflows its banks and turns the whole country into\nmire. We shall go into the mire and eat frogs.\"\n\n\"Oh! oh!\" exclaimed all the youngsters.\n\n\"Yes, it is indeed a delightful place. We need do nothing all day long\nbut eat; and while we are feasting there so comfortably, in this country\nthere is not a green leaf left on the trees. It is so cold here that the\nvery clouds freeze in lumps or fall down in little white rags.\" It was\nhail and snow that she meant, but she did not know how to say it better.\n\n\"And will the naughty boys freeze in lumps?\" asked the young storks.\n\n\"No, they will not freeze in lumps, but they will come near it, and they\nwill sit moping and cowering in gloomy rooms while you are flying about\nin foreign lands, amid bright flowers and warm sunshine.\"\n\nSome time passed, and the nestlings had grown so large and strong that\nthey could stand upright in the nest and look all about them. Every day\nthe father stork came with delicious frogs, nice little snakes, and\nother such dainties that storks delight in. How funny it was to see the\nclever feats he performed to amuse them! He would lay his head right\nround upon his tail; and sometimes he would clatter with his beak, as if\nit were a little rattle; or he would tell them stories, all relating to\nswamps and fens.\n\n\"Come, children,\" said the mother stork one day, \"now you must learn to\nfly.\" And all the four young storks had to go out on the ridge of the\nroof. How they did totter and stagger about! They tried to balance\nthemselves with their wings, but came very near falling to the ground.\n\n\"Look at me!\" said the mother. \"This is the way to hold your head. And\nthus you must place your feet. Left! right! left! right! that's what\nwill help you on in the world.\"\n\nThen she flew a little way, and the young ones took a clumsy little\nleap. Bump! plump! down they fell, for their bodies were still too heavy\nfor them.\n\n\"I will not fly,\" said one of the young storks, as he crept back to the\nnest. \"I don't care about going to warm countries.\"\n\n\"Do you want to stay here and freeze when the winter comes? Will you\nwait till the boys come to hang, to burn, or to roast you? Well, then,\nI'll call them.\"\n\n\"Oh, no!\" cried the timid stork, hopping back to the roof with the rest.\n\nBy the third day they actually began to fly a little. Then they had no\ndoubt that they could soar or hover in the air, upborne by their wings.\nAnd this they attempted to do, but down they fell, flapping their wings\nas fast as they could.\n\nAgain the boys came to the street, singing their song, \"Storks, storks,\nfly home and rest.\"\n\n\"Shall we fly down and peck them?\" asked the young ones.\n\n\"No, leave them alone. Attend to me; that's far more important.\nOne--two--three! now we fly round to the right. One--two--three! now to\nthe left, round the chimney. There! that was very good. That last flap\nwith your wings and the kick with your feet were so graceful and proper\nthat to-morrow you shall fly with me to the marsh. Several of the nicest\nstork families will be there with their children. Let me see that mine\nare the best bred of all. Carry your heads high and mind you strut about\nproudly, for that looks well and helps to make one respected.\"\n\n\"But shall we not take revenge upon the naughty boys?\" asked the young\nstorks.\n\n\"No, no; let them scream away, as much as they please. You are to fly up\nto the clouds and away to the land of the pyramids, while they are\nfreezing and can neither see a green leaf nor taste a sweet apple.\"\n\n\"But we will revenge ourselves,\" they whispered one to another. And then\nthe training began again.\n\nAmong all the children down in the street the one that seemed most bent\nupon singing the song that made game of the storks was the boy who had\nbegun it, and he was a little fellow hardly more than six years old. The\nyoung storks, to be sure, thought he was at least a hundred, for he was\nmuch bigger than their parents, and, besides, what did they know about\nthe ages of either children or grown men? Their whole vengeance was to\nbe aimed at this one boy. It was always he who began the song and\npersisted in mocking them. The young storks were very angry, and as they\ngrew larger they also grew less patient under insult, and their mother\nwas at last obliged to promise them that they might be revenged--but not\nuntil the day of their departure.\n\n\"We must first see how you carry yourselves at the great review. If you\ndo so badly that the general runs his beak through you, then the boys\nwill be in the right--at least in one way. We must wait and see!\"\n\n\"Yes, you shall see!\" cried all the young storks; and they took the\ngreatest pains, practicing every day, until they flew so evenly and so\nlightly that it was a pleasure to see them.\n\nThe autumn now set in; all the storks began to assemble, in order to\nstart for the warm countries and leave winter behind them. And such\nexercises as there were! Young fledglings were set to fly over forests\nand villages, to see if they were equal to the long journey that was\nbefore them. So well did our young storks acquit themselves, that, as a\nproof of the satisfaction they had given, the mark they got was,\n\"Remarkably well,\" with a present of a frog and a snake, which they lost\nno time in eating.\n\n\"Now,\" said they, \"we will be revenged.\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly,\" said their mother; \"and I have thought of a way that\nwill surely be the fairest. I know a pond where all the little human\nchildren lie till the stork comes to take them to their parents. There\nlie the pretty little babies, dreaming more sweetly than they ever dream\nafterwards. All the parents are wishing for one of these little ones,\nand the children all want a sister or a brother. Now we'll fly to the\npond and bring back a baby for every child who did not sing the naughty\nsong that made game of the storks.\"\n\n\"But the very naughty boy who was the first to begin the song,\" cried\nthe young storks, \"what shall we do with him?\"\n\n\"There is a little dead child in the pond--one that has dreamed itself\nto death. We will bring that for him. Then he will cry because we have\nbrought a little dead brother to him.\n\n\"But that good boy,--you have not forgotten him!--the one who said it\nwas a shame to mock at the animals; for him we will bring both a brother\nand a sister. And because his name is Peter, all of you shall be called\nPeter, too.\"\n\nAll was done as the mother had said; the storks were named Peter, and so\nthey are called to this day.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE WILD SWANS\n\n\nFAR away, in the land to which the swallows fly when it is winter, dwelt\na king who had eleven sons, and one daughter, named Eliza.\n\nThe eleven brothers were princes, and each went to school with a star on\nhis breast and a sword by his side. They wrote with diamond pencils on\ngolden slates and learned their lessons so quickly and read so easily\nthat every one knew they were princes. Their sister Eliza sat on a\nlittle stool of plate-glass and had a book full of pictures, which had\ncost as much as half a kingdom.\n\nHappy, indeed, were these children; but they were not long to remain so,\nfor their father, the king, married a queen who did not love the\nchildren, and who proved to be a wicked sorceress.\n\nThe queen began to show her unkindness the very first day. While the\ngreat festivities were taking place in the palace, the children played\nat receiving company; but the queen, instead of sending them the cakes\nand apples that were left from the feast, as was customary, gave them\nsome sand in a teacup and told them to pretend it was something good.\nThe next week she sent the little Eliza into the country to a peasant\nand his wife. Then she told the king so many untrue things about the\nyoung princes that he gave himself no more trouble about them.\n\n\"Go out into the world and look after yourselves,\" said the queen. \"Fly\nlike great birds without a voice.\" But she could not make it so bad for\nthem as she would have liked, for they were turned into eleven beautiful\nwild swans.\n\nWith a strange cry, they flew through the windows of the palace, over\nthe park, to the forest beyond. It was yet early morning when they\npassed the peasant's cottage where their sister lay asleep in her room.\nThey hovered over the roof, twisting their long necks and flapping their\nwings, but no one heard them or saw them, so they at last flew away,\nhigh up in the clouds, and over the wide world they sped till they came\nto a thick, dark wood, which stretched far away to the seashore.\n\nPoor little Eliza was alone in the peasant's room playing with a green\nleaf, for she had no other playthings. She pierced a hole in the leaf,\nand when she looked through it at the sun she seemed to see her\nbrothers' clear eyes, and when the warm sun shone on her cheeks she\nthought of all the kisses they had given her.\n\nOne day passed just like another. Sometimes the winds rustled through\nthe leaves of the rosebush and whispered to the roses, \"Who can be more\nbeautiful than you?\" And the roses would shake their heads and say,\n\"Eliza is.\" And when the old woman sat at the cottage door on Sunday and\nread her hymn book, the wind would flutter the leaves and say to the\nbook, \"Who can be more pious than you?\" And then the hymn book would\nanswer, \"Eliza.\" And the roses and the hymn book told the truth.\n\nWhen she was fifteen she returned home, but because she was so beautiful\nthe witch-queen became full of spite and hatred toward her. Willingly\nwould she have turned her into a swan like her brothers, but she did not\ndare to do so for fear of the king.\n\nEarly one morning the queen went into the bathroom; it was built of\nmarble and had soft cushions trimmed with the most beautiful tapestry.\nShe took three toads with her, and kissed them, saying to the first,\n\"When Eliza comes to bathe seat yourself upon her head, that she may\nbecome as stupid as you are.\" To the second toad she said, \"Place\nyourself on her forehead, that she may become as ugly as you are, and\nthat her friends may not know her.\" \"Rest on her heart,\" she whispered\nto the third; \"then she will have evil inclinations and suffer because\nof them.\" So she put the toads into the clear water, which at once\nturned green. She next called Eliza and helped her undress and get into\nthe bath.\n\nAs Eliza dipped her head under the water one of the toads sat on her\nhair, a second on her forehead, and a third on her breast. But she did\nnot seem to notice them, and when she rose from the water there were\nthree red poppies floating upon it. Had not the creatures been venomous\nor had they not been kissed by the witch, they would have become red\nroses. At all events they became flowers, because they had rested on\nEliza's head and on her heart. She was too good and too innocent for\nsorcery to have any power over her.\n\nWhen the wicked queen saw this, she rubbed Eliza's face with walnut\njuice, so that she was quite brown; then she tangled her beautiful hair\nand smeared it with disgusting ointment until it was quite impossible to\nrecognize her.\n\nThe king was shocked, and declared she was not his daughter. No one but\nthe watchdog and the swallows knew her, and they were only poor animals\nand could say nothing. Then poor Eliza wept and thought of her eleven\nbrothers who were far away. Sorrowfully she stole from the palace and\nwalked the whole day over fields and moors, till she came to the great\nforest. She knew not in what direction to go, but she was so unhappy and\nlonged so for her brothers, who, like herself, had been driven out into\nthe world, that she was determined to seek them.\n\nShe had been in the wood only a short time when night came on and she\nquite lost the path; so she laid herself down on the soft moss, offered\nup her evening prayer, and leaned her head against the stump of a tree.\nAll nature was silent, and the soft, mild air fanned her forehead. The\nlight of hundreds of glowworms shone amidst the grass and the moss like\ngreen fire, and if she touched a twig with her hand, ever so lightly,\nthe brilliant insects fell down around her like shooting stars.\n\nAll night long she dreamed of her brothers. She thought they were all\nchildren again, playing together. She saw them writing with their\ndiamond pencils on golden slates, while she looked at the beautiful\npicture book which had cost half a kingdom. They were not writing lines\nand letters, as they used to do, but descriptions of the noble deeds\nthey had performed and of all that they had discovered and seen. In the\npicture book, too, everything was living. The birds sang, and the people\ncame out of the book and spoke to Eliza and her brothers; but as the\nleaves were turned over they darted back again to their places, that all\nmight be in order.\n\nWhen she awoke, the sun was high in the heavens. She could not see it,\nfor the lofty trees spread their branches thickly overhead, but its\ngleams here and there shone through the leaves like a gauzy golden mist.\nThere was a sweet fragrance from the fresh verdure, and the birds came\nnear and almost perched on her shoulders. She heard water rippling from\na number of springs, all flowing into a lake with golden sands. Bushes\ngrew thickly round the lake, and at one spot, where an opening had been\nmade by a deer, Eliza went down to the water.\n\nThe lake was so clear that had not the wind rustled the branches of the\ntrees and the bushes so that they moved, they would have seemed painted\nin the depths of the lake; for every leaf, whether in the shade or in\nthe sunshine, was reflected in the water.\n\nWhen Eliza saw her own face she was quite terrified at finding it so\nbrown and ugly, but after she had wet her little hand and rubbed her\neyes and forehead, the white skin gleamed forth once more; and when she\nhad undressed and dipped herself in the fresh water, a more beautiful\nking's daughter could not have been found anywhere in the wide world.\n\nAs soon as she had dressed herself again and braided her long hair, she\nwent to the bubbling spring and drank some water out of the hollow of\nher hand. Then she wandered far into the forest, not knowing whither she\nwent. She thought of her brothers and of her father and mother and felt\nsure that God would not forsake her. It is God who makes the wild apples\ngrow in the wood to satisfy the hungry, and He now showed her one of\nthese trees, which was so loaded with fruit that the boughs bent beneath\nthe weight. Here she ate her noonday meal, and then placing props under\nthe boughs, she went into the gloomiest depths of the forest.\n\nIt was so still that she could hear the sound of her own footsteps, as\nwell as the rustling of every withered leaf which she crushed under her\nfeet. Not a bird was to be seen, not a sunbeam could penetrate the\nlarge, dark boughs of the trees. The lofty trunks stood so close\ntogether that when she looked before her it seemed as if she were\nenclosed within trelliswork. Here was such solitude as she had never\nknown before!\n\nThe night was very dark. Not a glowworm was glittering in the moss.\nSorrowfully Eliza laid herself down to sleep. After a while it seemed to\nher as if the branches of the trees parted over her head and the mild\neyes of angels looked down upon her from heaven.\n\nIn the morning, when she awoke, she knew not whether this had really\nbeen so or whether she had dreamed it. She continued her wandering, but\nshe had not gone far when she met an old woman who had berries in her\nbasket and who gave her a few to eat. Eliza asked her if she had not\nseen eleven princes riding through the forest.\n\n\"No,\" replied the old woman, \"but I saw yesterday eleven swans with gold\ncrowns on their heads, swimming in the river close by.\" Then she led\nEliza a little distance to a sloping bank, at the foot of which ran a\nlittle river. The trees on its banks stretched their long leafy branches\nacross the water toward each other, and where they did not meet\nnaturally the roots had torn themselves away from the ground, so that\nthe branches might mingle their foliage as they hung over the water.\n\nEliza bade the old woman farewell and walked by the flowing river till\nshe reached the shore of the open sea. And there, before her eyes, lay\nthe glorious ocean, but not a sail appeared on its surface; not even a\nboat could be seen. How was she to go farther? She noticed how the\ncountless pebbles on the shore had been smoothed and rounded by the\naction of the water. Glass, iron, stones, everything that lay there\nmingled together, had been shaped by the same power until they were as\nsmooth as her own delicate hand.\n\n\"The water rolls on without weariness,\" she said, \"till all that is hard\nbecomes smooth; so will I be unwearied in my task. Thanks for your\nlesson, bright rolling waves; my heart tells me you will one day lead me\nto my dear brothers.\"\n\n[Illustration: Eliza asked her if she had not seen eleven princes riding\nthrough the forest....]\n\nOn the foam-covered seaweeds lay eleven white swan feathers, which she\ngathered and carried with her. Drops of water lay upon them; whether\nthey were dewdrops or tears no one could say. It was lonely on the\nseashore, but she did not know it, for the ever-moving sea showed more\nchanges in a few hours than the most varying lake could produce in a\nwhole year. When a black, heavy cloud arose, it was as if the sea\nsaid, \"I can look dark and angry too\"; and then the wind blew, and the\nwaves turned to white foam as they rolled. When the wind slept and the\nclouds glowed with the red sunset, the sea looked like a rose leaf.\nSometimes it became green and sometimes white. But, however quietly it\nlay, the waves were always restless on the shore and rose and fell like\nthe breast of a sleeping child.\n\nWhen the sun was about to set, Eliza saw eleven white swans, with golden\ncrowns on their heads, flying toward the land, one behind the other,\nlike a long white ribbon. She went down the slope from the shore and hid\nherself behind the bushes. The swans alighted quite close to her,\nflapping their great white wings. As soon as the sun had disappeared\nunder the water, the feathers of the swans fell off and eleven beautiful\nprinces, Eliza's brothers, stood near her.\n\nShe uttered a loud cry, for, although they were very much changed, she\nknew them immediately. She sprang into their arms and called them each\nby name. Very happy the princes were to see their little sister again;\nthey knew her, although she had grown so tall and beautiful. They\nlaughed and wept and told each other how cruelly they had been treated\nby their stepmother.\n\n\"We brothers,\" said the eldest, \"fly about as wild swans while the sun\nis in the sky, but as soon as it sinks behind the hills we recover our\nhuman shape. Therefore we must always be near a resting place before\nsunset; for if we were flying toward the clouds when we recovered our\nhuman form, we should sink deep into the sea.\n\n\"We do not dwell here, but in a land just as fair that lies far across\nthe ocean; the way is long, and there is no island upon which we can\npass the night--nothing but a little rock rising out of the sea, upon\nwhich, even crowded together, we can scarcely stand with safety. If the\nsea is rough, the foam dashes over us; yet we thank God for this rock.\nWe have passed whole nights upon it, or we should never have reached our\nbeloved fatherland, for our flight across the sea occupies two of the\nlongest days in the year.\n\n\"We have permission to visit our home once every year and to remain\neleven days. Then we fly across the forest to look once more at the\npalace where our father dwells and where we were born, and at the church\nbeneath whose shade our mother lies buried. The very trees and bushes\nhere seem related to us. The wild horses leap over the plains as we have\nseen them in our childhood. The charcoal burners sing the old songs to\nwhich we have danced as children. This is our fatherland, to which we\nare drawn by loving ties; and here we have found you, our dear little\nsister. Two days longer we can remain here, and then we must fly away to\na beautiful land which is not our home. How can we take you with us? We\nhave neither ship nor boat.\"\n\n\"How can I break this spell?\" asked the sister. And they talked about it\nnearly the whole night, slumbering only a few hours.\n\nEliza was awakened by the rustling of the wings of swans soaring above\nher. Her brothers were again changed to swans. They flew in circles,\nwider and wider, till they were far away; but one of them, the youngest,\nremained behind and laid his head in his sister's lap, while she stroked\nhis wings. They remained together the whole day.\n\nTowards evening the rest came back, and as the sun went down they\nresumed their natural forms. \"To-morrow,\" said one, \"we shall fly away,\nnot to return again till a whole year has passed. But we cannot leave\nyou here. Have you courage to go with us? My arm is strong enough to\ncarry you through the wood, and will not all our wings be strong enough\nto bear you over the sea?\"\n\n\"Yes, take me with you,\" said Eliza. They spent the whole night in\nweaving a large, strong net of the pliant willow and rushes. On this\nEliza laid herself down to sleep, and when the sun rose and her brothers\nagain became wild swans, they took up the net with their beaks, and flew\nup to the clouds with their dear sister, who still slept. When the\nsunbeams fell on her face, one of the swans soared over her head so that\nhis broad wings might shade her.\n\nThey were far from the land when Eliza awoke. She thought she must still\nbe dreaming, it seemed so strange to feel herself being carried high in\nthe air over the sea. By her side lay a branch full of beautiful ripe\nberries and a bundle of sweet-tasting roots; the youngest of her\nbrothers had gathered them and placed them there. She smiled her thanks\nto him; she knew it was the same one that was hovering over her to shade\nher with his wings. They were now so high that a large ship beneath them\nlooked like a white sea gull skimming the waves. A great cloud floating\nbehind them appeared like a vast mountain, and upon it Eliza saw her own\nshadow and those of the eleven swans, like gigantic flying things.\nAltogether it formed a more beautiful picture than she had ever before\nseen; but as the sun rose higher and the clouds were left behind, the\npicture vanished.\n\nOnward the whole day they flew through the air like winged arrows, yet\nmore slowly than usual, for they had their sister to carry. The weather\ngrew threatening, and Eliza watched the sinking sun with great anxiety,\nfor the little rock in the ocean was not yet in sight. It seemed to her\nas if the swans were exerting themselves to the utmost. Alas! she was\nthe cause of their not advancing more quickly. When the sun set they\nwould change to men, fall into the sea, and be drowned.\n\nThen she offered a prayer from her inmost heart, but still no rock\nappeared. Dark clouds came nearer, the gusts of wind told of the coming\nstorm, while from a thick, heavy mass of clouds the lightning burst\nforth, flash after flash. The sun had reached the edge of the sea, when\nthe swans darted down so swiftly that Eliza's heart trembled; she\nbelieved they were falling, but they again soared onward.\n\nPresently, and by this time the sun was half hidden by the waves, she\ncaught sight of the rock just below them. It did not look larger than a\nseal's head thrust out of the water. The sun sank so rapidly that at the\nmoment their feet touched the rock it shone only like a star, and at\nlast disappeared like the dying spark in a piece of burnt paper. Her\nbrothers stood close around her with arms linked together, for there was\nnot the smallest space to spare. The sea dashed against the rock and\ncovered them with spray. The heavens were lighted up with continual\nflashes, and thunder rolled from the clouds. But the sister and brothers\nstood holding each other's hands, and singing hymns.\n\nIn the early dawn the air became calm and still, and at sunrise the\nswans flew away from the rock, bearing their sister with them. The sea\nwas still rough, and from their great height the white foam on the\ndark-green waves looked like millions of swans swimming on the water. As\nthe sun rose higher, Eliza saw before her, floating in the air, a range\nof mountains with shining masses of ice on their summits. In the center\nrose a castle that seemed a mile long, with rows of columns rising one\nabove another, while around it palm trees waved and flowers as large as\nmill wheels bloomed. She asked if this was the land to which they were\nhastening. The swans shook their heads, for what she beheld were the\nbeautiful, ever-changing cloud-palaces of the Fata Morgana, into which\nno mortal can enter.\n\nEliza was still gazing at the scene, when mountains, forests, and\ncastles melted away, and twenty stately churches rose in their stead,\nwith high towers and pointed Gothic windows. She even fancied she could\nhear the tones of the organ, but it was the music of the murmuring sea.\nAs they drew nearer to the churches, these too were changed and became\na fleet of ships, which seemed to be sailing beneath her; but when she\nlooked again she saw only a sea mist gliding over the ocean.\n\nOne scene melted into another, until at last she saw the real land to\nwhich they were bound, with its blue mountains, its cedar forests, and\nits cities and palaces. Long before the sun went down she was sitting on\na rock in front of a large cave, the floor of which was overgrown with\ndelicate green creeping plants, like an embroidered carpet.\n\n\"Now we shall expect to hear what you dream of to-night,\" said the\nyoungest brother, as he showed his sister her bedroom.\n\n\"Heaven grant that I may dream how to release you!\" she replied. And\nthis thought took such hold upon her mind that she prayed earnestly to\nGod for help, and even in her sleep she continued to pray. Then it\nseemed to her that she was flying high in the air toward the cloudy\npalace of the Fata Morgana, and that a fairy came out to meet her,\nradiant and beautiful, yet much like the old woman who had given her\nberries in the wood, and who had told her of the swans with golden\ncrowns on their heads.\n\n\"Your brothers can be released,\" said she, \"if you only have courage and\nperseverance. Water is softer than your own delicate hands, and yet it\npolishes and shapes stones. But it feels no pain such as your fingers\nwill feel; it has no soul and cannot suffer such agony and torment as\nyou will have to endure. Do you see the stinging nettle which I hold in\nmy hand? Quantities of the same sort grow round the cave in which you\nsleep, but only these, and those that grow on the graves of a\nchurchyard, will be of any use to you. These you must gather, even while\nthey burn blisters on your hands. Break them to pieces with your hands\nand feet, and they will become flax, from which you must spin and weave\neleven coats with long sleeves; if these are then thrown over the eleven\nswans, the spell will be broken. But remember well, that from the moment\nyou commence your task until it is finished, even though it occupy years\nof your life, you must not speak. The first word you utter will pierce\nthe hearts of your brothers like a deadly dagger. Their lives hang upon\nyour tongue. Remember all that I have told you.\"\n\nAnd as she finished speaking, she touched Eliza's hand lightly with the\nnettle, and a pain as of burning fire awoke her.\n\nIt was broad daylight, and near her lay a nettle like the one she had\nseen in her dream. She fell on her knees and offered thanks to God. Then\nshe went forth from the cave to begin work with her delicate hands. She\ngroped in amongst the ugly nettles, which burned great blisters on her\nhands and arms, but she determined to bear the pain gladly if she could\nonly release her dear brothers. So she bruised the nettles with her bare\nfeet and spun the flax.\n\nAt sunset her brothers returned, and were much frightened when she did\nnot speak. They believed her to be under the spell of some new sorcery,\nbut when they saw her hands they understood what she was doing in their\nbehalf. The youngest brother wept, and where his tears touched her the\npain ceased and the burning blisters vanished. Eliza kept to her work\nall night, for she could not rest till she had released her brothers.\nDuring the whole of the following day, while her brothers were absent,\nshe sat in solitude, but never before had the time flown so quickly.\n\nOne coat was already finished and she had begun the second, when she\nheard a huntsman's horn and was struck with fear. As the sound came\nnearer and nearer, she also heard dogs barking, and fled with terror\ninto the cave. She hastily bound together the nettles she had gathered,\nand sat upon them. In a moment there came bounding toward her out of the\nravine a great dog, and then another and another; they ran back and\nforth barking furiously, until in a few minutes all the huntsmen stood\nbefore the cave. The handsomest of them was the king of the country,\nwho, when he saw the beautiful maiden, advanced toward her, saying, \"How\ndid you come here, my sweet child?\"\n\nEliza shook her head. She dared not speak, for it would cost her\nbrothers their deliverance and their lives. And she hid her hands under\nher apron, so that the king might not see how she was suffering.\n\n\"Come with me,\" he said; \"here you cannot remain. If you are as good as\nyou are beautiful, I will dress you in silk and velvet, I will place a\ngolden crown on your head, and you shall rule and make your home in my\nrichest castle.\" Then he lifted her onto his horse. She wept and wrung\nher hands, but the king said: \"I wish only your happiness. A time will\ncome when you will thank me for this.\"\n\nHe galloped away over the mountains, holding her before him on his\nhorse, and the hunters followed behind them. As the sun went down they\napproached a fair, royal city, with churches and cupolas. On arriving at\nthe castle, the king led her into marble halls, where large fountains\nplayed and where the walls and the ceilings were covered with rich\npaintings. But she had no eyes for all these glorious sights; she could\nonly mourn and weep. Patiently she allowed the women to array her in\nroyal robes, to weave pearls in her hair, and to draw soft gloves over\nher blistered fingers. As she stood arrayed in her rich dress, she\nlooked so dazzlingly beautiful that the court bowed low in her\npresence.\n\nThen the king declared his intention of making her his bride, but the\narchbishop shook his head and whispered that the fair young maiden was\nonly a witch, who had blinded the king's eyes and ensnared his heart.\nThe king would not listen to him, however, and ordered the music to\nsound, the daintiest dishes to be served, and the loveliest maidens to\ndance before them.\n\nAfterwards he led her through fragrant gardens and lofty halls, but not\na smile appeared on her lips or sparkled in her eyes. She looked the\nvery picture of grief. Then the king opened the door of a little chamber\nin which she was to sleep. It was adorned with rich green tapestry and\nresembled the cave in which he had found her. On the floor lay the\nbundle of flax which she had spun from the nettles, and under the\nceiling hung the coat she had made. These things had been brought away\nfrom the cave as curiosities, by one of the huntsmen.\n\n\"Here you can dream yourself back again in the old home in the cave,\"\nsaid the king; \"here is the work with which you employed yourself. It\nwill amuse you now, in the midst of all this splendor, to think of that\ntime.\"\n\nWhen Eliza saw all these things which lay so near her heart, a smile\nplayed around her mouth, and the crimson blood rushed to her cheeks. The\nthought of her brothers and their release made her so joyful that she\nkissed the king's hand. Then he pressed her to his heart.\n\nVery soon the joyous church bells announced the marriage feast; the\nbeautiful dumb girl of the woods was to be made queen of the country. A\nsingle word would cost her brothers their lives, but she loved the kind,\nhandsome king, who did everything to make her happy, more and more each\nday; she loved him with her whole heart, and her eyes beamed with the\nlove she dared not speak. Oh! if she could only confide in him and tell\nhim of her grief. But dumb she must remain till her task was finished.\n\nTherefore at night she crept away into her little chamber which had been\ndecked out to look like the cave and quickly wove one coat after\nanother. But when she began the seventh, she found she had no more flax.\nShe knew that the nettles she wanted to use grew in the churchyard and\nthat she must pluck them herself. How should she get out there? \"Oh,\nwhat is the pain in my fingers to the torment which my heart endures?\"\nthought she. \"I must venture; I shall not be denied help from heaven.\"\n\nThen with a trembling heart, as if she were about to perform a wicked\ndeed, Eliza crept into the garden in the broad moonlight, and passed\nthrough the narrow walks and the deserted streets till she reached the\nchurchyard. She prayed silently, gathered the burning nettles, and\ncarried them home with her to the castle.\n\nOne person only had seen her, and that was the archbishop--he was awake\nwhile others slept. Now he felt sure that his suspicions were correct;\nall was not right with the queen; she was a witch and had bewitched the\nking and all the people. Secretly he told the king what he had seen and\nwhat he feared, and as the hard words came from his tongue, the carved\nimages of the saints shook their heads as if they would say, \"It is not\nso; Eliza is innocent.\"\n\nBut the archbishop interpreted it in another way; he believed that they\nwitnessed against her and were shaking their heads at her wickedness.\nTwo tears rolled down the king's cheeks. He went home with doubt in his\nheart, and at night pretended to sleep. But no real sleep came to his\neyes, for every night he saw Eliza get up and disappear from her\nchamber. Day by day his brow became darker, and Eliza saw it, and\nalthough she did not understand the reason, it alarmed her and made her\nheart tremble for her brothers. Her hot tears glittered like pearls on\nthe regal velvet and diamonds, while all who saw her were wishing they\ncould be queen.\n\nIn the meantime she had almost finished her task; only one of her\nbrothers' coats was wanting, but she had no flax left and not a single\nnettle. Once more only, and for the last time, must she venture to the\nchurchyard and pluck a few handfuls. She went, and the king and the\narchbishop followed her. The king turned away his head and said, \"The\npeople must condemn her.\" Quickly she was condemned to suffer death by\nfire.\n\nAway from the gorgeous regal halls she was led to a dark, dreary cell,\nwhere the wind whistled through the iron bars. Instead of the velvet and\nsilk dresses, they gave her the ten coats which she had woven, to cover\nher, and the bundle of nettles for a pillow. But they could have given\nher nothing that would have pleased her more. She continued her task\nwith joy and prayed for help, while the street boys sang jeering songs\nabout her and not a soul comforted her with a kind word.\n\nToward evening she heard at the grating the flutter of a swan's wing; it\nwas her youngest brother. He had found his sister, and she sobbed for\njoy, although she knew that probably this was the last night she had to\nlive. Still, she had hope, for her task was almost finished and her\nbrothers were come.\n\nThen the archbishop arrived, to be with her during her last hours as he\nhad promised the king. She shook her head and begged him, by looks and\ngestures, not to stay; for in this night she knew she must finish her\ntask, otherwise all her pain and tears and sleepless nights would have\nbeen suffered in vain. The archbishop withdrew, uttering bitter words\nagainst her, but she knew that she was innocent and diligently continued\nher work.\n\nLittle mice ran about the floor, dragging the nettles to her feet, to\nhelp as much as they could; and a thrush, sitting outside the grating of\nthe window, sang to her the whole night long as sweetly as possible, to\nkeep up her spirits.\n\nIt was still twilight, and at least an hour before sunrise, when the\neleven brothers stood at the castle gate and demanded to be brought\nbefore the king. They were told it could not be; it was yet night; the\nking slept and could not be disturbed. They threatened, they entreated,\nuntil the guard appeared, and even the king himself, inquiring what all\nthe noise meant. At this moment the sun rose, and the eleven brothers\nwere seen no more, but eleven wild swans flew away over the castle.\n\nNow all the people came streaming forth from the gates of the city to\nsee the witch burned. An old horse drew the cart on which she sat. They\nhad dressed her in a garment of coarse sackcloth. Her lovely hair hung\nloose on her shoulders, her cheeks were deadly pale, her lips moved\nsilently while her fingers still worked at the green flax. Even on the\nway to death she would not give up her task. The ten finished coats lay\nat her feet; she was working hard at the eleventh, while the mob jeered\nher and said: \"See the witch; how she mutters! She has no hymn book in\nher hand; she sits there with her ugly sorcery. Let us tear it into a\nthousand pieces.\"\n\nThey pressed toward her, and doubtless would have destroyed the coats\nhad not, at that moment, eleven wild swans flown over her and alighted\non the cart. They flapped their large wings, and the crowd drew back in\nalarm.\n\n\"It is a sign from Heaven that she is innocent,\" whispered many of them;\nbut they did not venture to say it aloud.\n\nAs the executioner seized her by the hand to lift her out of the cart,\nshe hastily threw the eleven coats over the eleven swans, and they\nimmediately became eleven handsome princes; but the youngest had a\nswan's wing instead of an arm, for she had not been able to finish the\nlast sleeve of the coat.\n\n\"Now I may speak,\" she exclaimed. \"I am innocent.\"\n\n[Illustration: Even on the way to death she would not give up her\ntask.]\n\nThen the people, who saw what had happened, bowed to her as before a\nsaint; but she sank unconscious in her brothers' arms, overcome with\nsuspense, anguish, and pain.\n\n\"Yes, she is innocent,\" said the eldest brother, and related all that\nhad taken place. While he spoke, there rose in the air a fragrance as\nfrom millions of roses. Every piece of fagot in the pile made to burn\nher had taken root, and threw out branches until the whole appeared like\na thick hedge, large and high, covered with roses; while above all\nbloomed a white, shining flower that glittered like a star. This flower\nthe king plucked, and when he placed it in Eliza's bosom she awoke from\nher swoon with peace and happiness in her heart. Then all the church\nbells rang of themselves, and the birds came in great flocks. And a\nmarriage procession, such as no king had ever before seen, returned to\nthe castle.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAST DREAM OF THE OLD OAK\n\n\nIN THE forest, high up on the steep shore and not far from the open\nseacoast, stood a very old oak tree. It was just three hundred and\nsixty-five years old, but that long time was to the tree as the same\nnumber of days might be to us. We wake by day and sleep by night, and\nthen we have our dreams. It is different with the tree; it is obliged to\nkeep awake through three seasons of the year and does not get any sleep\ntill winter comes. Winter is its time for rest--its night after the long\nday of spring, summer, and autumn.\n\nDuring many a warm summer, the Ephemeras, which are flies that exist for\nonly a day, had fluttered about the old oak, enjoyed life, and felt\nhappy. And if, for a moment, one of the tiny creatures rested on the\nlarge, fresh leaves, the tree would always say: \"Poor little creature!\nyour whole life consists of but a single day. How very short! It must be\nquite melancholy.\"\n\n\"Melancholy! what do you mean?\" the little creature would always reply.\n\"Why do you say that? Everything around me is so wonderfully bright and\nwarm and beautiful that it makes me joyous.\"\n\n\"But only for one day, and then it is all over.\"\n\n\"Over!\" repeated the fly; \"what is the meaning of 'all over'? Are you\n'all over' too?\"\n\n\"No, I shall very likely live for thousands of your days, and my day is\nwhole seasons long; indeed, it is so long that you could never reckon it\nup.\"\n\n\"No? then I don't understand you. You may have thousands of my days, but\nI have thousands of moments in which I can be merry and happy. Does all\nthe beauty of the world cease when you die?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied the tree; \"it will certainly last much longer, infinitely\nlonger than I can think of.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said the little fly, \"we have the same time to live, only\nwe reckon differently.\" And the little creature danced and floated in\nthe air, rejoicing in its delicate wings of gauze and velvet, rejoicing\nin the balmy breezes laden with the fragrance from the clover fields and\nwild roses, elder blossoms and honeysuckle, and from the garden hedges\nof wild thyme, primroses, and mint. The perfume of all these was so\nstrong that it almost intoxicated the little fly. The long and beautiful\nday had been so full of joy and sweet delights, that, when the sun sank,\nthe fly felt tired of all its happiness and enjoyment. Its wings could\nsustain it no longer, and gently and slowly it glided down to the soft,\nwaving blades of grass, nodded its little head as well as it could, and\nslept peacefully and sweetly. The fly was dead.\n\n\"Poor little Ephemera!\" said the oak; \"what a short life!\" And so on\nevery summer day the dance was repeated, the same questions were asked\nand the same answers given, and there was the same peaceful falling\nasleep at sunset. This continued through many generations of Ephemeras,\nand all of them felt merry and happy.\n\nThe oak remained awake through the morning of spring, the noon of\nsummer, and the evening of autumn; its time of rest, its night, drew\nnear--its winter was coming. Here fell a leaf and there fell a leaf.\nAlready the storms were singing: \"Good night, good night. We will rock\nyou and lull you. Go to sleep, go to sleep. We will sing you to sleep,\nand shake you to sleep, and it will do your old twigs good; they will\neven crackle with pleasure. Sleep sweetly, sleep sweetly, it is your\nthree hundred and sixty-fifth night. You are still very young in the\nworld. Sleep sweetly; the clouds will drop snow upon you, which will be\nyour coverlid, warm and sheltering to your feet. Sweet sleep to you, and\npleasant dreams.\"\n\nAnd there stood the oak, stripped of all its leaves, left to rest during\nthe whole of a long winter, and to dream many dreams of events that had\nhappened, just as men dream.\n\nThe great tree had once been small; indeed, in its cradle it had been an\nacorn. According to human reckoning, it was now in the fourth century of\nits existence. It was the largest and best tree in the forest. Its\nsummit towered above all the other trees and could be seen far out at\nsea, so that it served as a landmark to the sailors. It had no idea how\nmany eyes looked eagerly for it. In its topmost branches the wood pigeon\nbuilt her nest, and the cuckoo sang his well-known song, the familiar\nnotes echoing among the boughs; and in autumn, when the leaves looked\nlike beaten copper plates, the birds of passage came and rested on the\nbranches before beginning their flight across the sea.\n\nBut now that it was winter, the tree stood leafless, so that every one\ncould see how crooked and bent were the branches that sprang forth from\nthe trunk. Crows and rooks came by turns and sat on them, and talked of\nthe hard times that were beginning, and how difficult it was in winter\nto obtain a living.\n\nIt was just at the holy Christmas time that the tree dreamed a dream.\nThe tree had doubtless a feeling that the festive time had arrived, and\nin its dream fancied it heard the bells of the churches ringing. And yet\nit seemed to be a beautiful summer's day, mild and warm. The tree's\nmighty summit was crowned with spreading, fresh green foliage; the\nsunbeams played among its leaves and branches, and the air was full of\nfragrance from herb and blossom; painted butterflies chased each other;\nthe summer flies danced around it as if the world had been created\nmerely that they might dance and be merry. All that had happened to the\ntree during all the years of its life seemed to pass before it as if in\na festive pageant.\n\nIt saw the knights of olden times and noble ladies ride through the wood\non their gallant steeds, with plumes waving in their hats and with\nfalcons on their wrists, while the hunting horn sounded and the dogs\nbarked. It saw hostile warriors, in colored dress and glittering armor,\nwith spear and halberd, pitching their tents and again taking them down;\nthe watchfires blazed, and men sang and slept under the hospitable\nshelter of the tree. It saw lovers meet in quiet happiness near it in\nthe moonshine, and carve the initials of their names in the\ngrayish-green bark of its trunk.\n\n[Illustration: It saw lovers meet in quiet happiness near it in the\nmoonshine....]\n\nOnce, but long years had passed since then, guitars and AEolian harps had\nbeen hung on its boughs by merry travelers; now they seemed to hang\nthere again, and their marvelous notes sounded again. The wood pigeons\ncooed as if to express the feelings of the tree, and the cuckoo called\nout to tell it how many summer days it had yet to live.\n\nThen it appeared to it that new life was thrilling through every fiber\nof root and stem and leaf, rising even to its highest branches. The tree\nfelt itself stretching and spreading out, while through the root beneath\nthe earth ran the warm vigor of life. As it grew higher and still higher\nand its strength increased, the topmost boughs became broader and\nfuller; and in proportion to its growth its self-satisfaction increased,\nand there came a joyous longing to grow higher and higher--to reach even\nto the warm, bright sun itself.\n\nAlready had its topmost branches pierced the clouds, which floated\nbeneath them like troops of birds of passage or large white swans; every\nleaf seemed gifted with sight, as if it possessed eyes to see. The stars\nbecame visible in broad daylight, large and sparkling, like clear and\ngentle eyes. They brought to the tree's memory the light that it had\nseen in the eyes of a child and in the eyes of lovers who had once met\nbeneath the branches of the old oak.\n\nThese were wonderful and happy moments for the old oak, full of peace\nand joy; and yet amidst all this happiness, the tree felt a yearning\ndesire that all the other trees, bushes, herbs, and flowers beneath it\nmight also be able to rise higher, to see all this splendor and\nexperience the same happiness. The grand, majestic oak could not be\nquite happy in its enjoyment until all the rest, both great and small,\ncould share it. And this feeling of yearning trembled through every\nbranch, through every leaf, as warmly and fervently as through a human\nheart.\n\nThe summit of the tree waved to and fro and bent downwards, as if in its\nsilent longing it sought something. Then there came to it the fragrance\nof thyme and the more powerful scent of honeysuckle and violets, and the\ntree fancied it heard the note of the cuckoo.\n\nAt length its longing was satisfied. Up through the clouds came the\ngreen summits of the forest trees, and the oak watched them rising\nhigher and higher. Bush and herb shot upward, and some even tore\nthemselves up by the roots to rise more quickly. The quickest of all was\nthe birch tree. Like a lightning flash the slender stem shot upwards in\na zigzag line, the branches spreading round it like green gauze and\nbanners. Every native of the wood, even to the brown and feathery\nrushes, grew with the rest, while the birds ascended with the melody of\nsong. On a blade of grass that fluttered in the air like a long green\nribbon sat a grasshopper cleaning its wings with its legs. May beetles\nhummed, bees murmured, birds sang--each in its own way; the air was\nfilled with the sounds of song and gladness.\n\n\"But where is the little blue flower that grows by the water, and the\npurple bellflower, and the daisy?\" asked the oak. \"I want them all.\"\n\n\"Here we are; here we are,\" came the reply in words and in song.\n\n\"But the beautiful thyme of last summer, where is that? And where are\nthe lilies of the valley which last year covered the earth with their\nbloom, and the wild apple tree with its fragrant blossoms, and all the\nglory of the wood, which has flourished year after year? And where is\neven what may have but just been born?\"\n\n\"We are here; we are here,\" sounded voices high up in the air, as if\nthey had flown there beforehand.\n\n\"Why, this is beautiful, too beautiful to be believed,\" cried the oak in\na joyful tone. \"I have them all here, both great and small; not one has\nbeen forgotten. Can such happiness be imagined? It seems almost\nimpossible.\"\n\n\"In heaven with the Eternal God it can be imagined, for all things are\npossible,\" sounded the reply through the air.\n\nAnd the old tree, as it still grew upwards and onwards, felt that its\nroots were loosening themselves from the earth.\n\n\"It is right so; it is best,\" said the tree. \"No fetters hold me now. I\ncan fly up to the very highest point in light and glory. And all I love\nare with me, both small and great. All--all are here.\"\n\nSuch was the dream of the old oak at the holy Christmas time. And while\nit dreamed, a mighty storm came rushing over land and sea. The sea\nrolled in great billows toward the shore. A cracking and crushing was\nheard in the tree. Its roots were torn from the ground, just at the\nmoment when in its dream it was being loosened from the earth. It fell;\nits three hundred and sixty-five years were ended like the single day of\nthe Ephemera.\n\nOn the morning of Christmas Day, when the sun rose, the storm had\nceased. From all the churches sounded the festive bells, and from every\nhearth, even of the smallest hut, rose the smoke into the blue sky, like\nthe smoke from the festive thank-offerings on the Druids' altars. The\nsea gradually became calm, and on board a great ship that had withstood\nthe tempest during the night, all the flags were displayed as a token of\njoy and festivity.\n\n\"The tree is down! the old oak--our landmark on the coast!\" exclaimed\nthe sailors. \"It must have fallen in the storm of last night. Who can\nreplace it? Alas! no one.\" This was the old tree's funeral oration,\nbrief but well said.\n\nThere it lay stretched on the snow-covered shore, and over it sounded\nthe notes of a song from the ship--a song of Christmas joy, of the\nredemption of the soul of man, and of eternal life through Christ.\n\n          Sing aloud on this happy morn,\n          All is fulfilled, for Christ is born;\n          With songs of joy let us loudly sing,\n          \"Hallelujahs to Christ our King.\"\n\nThus sounded the Christmas carol, and every one on board the ship felt\nhis thoughts elevated through the song and the prayer, even as the old\ntree had felt lifted up in its last beautiful dream on that Christmas\nmorn.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE PORTUGUESE DUCK\n\n\nA DUCK once arrived from Portugal. There were some who said she came\nfrom Spain, but that is almost the same thing. At all events, she was\ncalled the Portuguese duck, and she laid eggs, was killed and cooked,\nand that was the end of her.\n\nThe ducklings which crept forth from her eggs were also called\nPortuguese ducks, and about that there may be some question. But of all\nthe family only one remained in the duck yard, which may be called a\nfarmyard, since the chickens were admitted to it and the cock strutted\nabout in a very hostile manner.\n\n\"He annoys me with his loud crowing,\" said the Portuguese duck, \"but\nstill, he's a handsome bird, there's no denying that, even if he is not\na duck. He ought to moderate his voice, like those little birds who are\nsinging in the lime trees over there in our neighbor's garden--but that\nis an art only acquired in polite society. How sweetly they sing there;\nit is quite a pleasure to listen to them! I call it Portuguese singing.\nIf I only had such a little singing bird, I'd be as kind and good to him\nas a mother, for it's in my Portuguese nature.\"\n\nWhile she was speaking, one of the little singing birds came tumbling\nhead over heels from the roof into the yard. The cat was after him, but\nhe had escaped from her with a broken wing and so came fluttering into\nthe yard. \"That's just like the cat; she's a villain,\" said the\nPortuguese duck. \"I remember her ways when I had children of my own. How\ncan such a creature be allowed to live and wander about upon the roofs?\nI don't think they allow such things in Portugal.\"\n\nShe pitied the little singing bird, and so did all the other ducks, who\nwere not Portuguese.\n\n\"Poor little creature!\" they said, one after another, as they came up.\n\"We can't sing, certainly; but we have a sounding board, or something of\nthe kind, within us, though we don't talk about it.\"\n\n\"But I can talk,\" said the Portuguese duck. \"I'll do something for the\nlittle fellow; it's my duty.\" So she stepped into the watering trough\nand beat her wings upon the water so strongly that the little bird was\nnearly drowned. But the duck meant it kindly. \"That is a good deed,\" she\nsaid; \"I hope the others will take example from it.\"\n\n\"Tweet, tweet!\" said the little bird. One of his wings was broken and he\nfound it difficult to shake himself, but he quite understood that the\nbath was meant kindly, so he said, \"You are very kind-hearted, madam.\"\nBut he did not wish for a second bath.\n\n\"I have never thought about my heart,\" replied the Portuguese duck; \"but\nI know that I love all my fellow creatures, except the cat, and nobody\ncan expect me to love her, for she ate up two of my ducklings. But pray\nmake yourself at home; it is easy to make oneself comfortable. I myself\nam from a foreign country, as you may see by my bearing and my feathery\ndress. My husband is a native of these parts; he's not of my race, but I\nam not proud on that account. If any one here can understand you, I may\nsay positively that I am that person.\"\n\n\"She's quite full of _portulak_,\" said a little common duck, who was\nwitty. All the common ducks considered the word \"portulak\" a good joke,\nfor it sounded like \"Portugal.\" They nudged each other and said, \"Quack!\nthat was witty!\"\n\nThen the other ducks began to notice the newcomer. \"The Portuguese has\ncertainly a great flow of language,\" they said to the little bird. \"For\nour part, we don't care to fill our beaks with such long words, but we\nsympathize with you quite as much. If we don't do anything else, we can\nwalk about with you everywhere; that is the best we can do.\"\n\n\"You have a lovely voice,\" said one of the eldest ducks; \"it must be a\ngreat satisfaction to you to be able to give as much pleasure as you do.\nI am certainly no judge of your singing, so I keep my beak shut, which\nis better than talking nonsense as others do.\"\n\n\"Don't plague him so,\" interrupted the Portuguese duck; \"he requires\nrest and nursing. My little singing bird, do you wish me to prepare\nanother bath for you?\"\n\n\"Oh, no! no! pray let me be dry,\" implored the little bird.\n\n\"The water cure is the only remedy for me when I am not well,\" said the\nPortuguese. \"Amusement, too, is very beneficial. The fowls from the\nneighborhood will soon be here to pay you a visit. There are two\nCochin-Chinese among them; they wear feathers on their legs and are well\neducated. They have been brought from a great distance, and consequently\nI treat them with greater respect than I do the others.\"\n\nThen the fowls arrived, and the cock was polite enough to keep from\nbeing rude. \"You are a real songster,\" he said, \"and you do as much with\nyour little voice as it is possible to do; but more noise and shrillness\nis necessary if one wishes others to know who he is.\"\n\nThe two Chinese were quite enchanted with the appearance of the singing\nbird. His feathers had been much ruffled by his bath, so that he seemed\nto them quite like a tiny Chinese fowl. \"He's charming,\" they said to\neach other, and began a conversation with him in whispers, using the\nmost aristocratic Chinese dialect.\n\n\"We are of the same race as yourself,\" they said. \"The ducks, even the\nPortuguese, are all aquatic birds, as you must have noticed. You do not\nknow us yet--very few, even of the fowls, know us or give themselves the\ntrouble to make our acquaintance, though we were born to occupy a higher\nposition in society than most of them. But that does not disturb us; we\nquietly go our way among them. Their ideas are certainly not ours, for\nwe look at the bright side of things and only speak of what is good,\nalthough that is sometimes difficult to find where none exists. Except\nourselves and the cock, there is not one in the yard who can be called\ntalented or polite. It cannot be said even of the ducks, and we warn\nyou, little bird, not to trust that one yonder, with the short tail\nfeathers, for she is cunning. Then the curiously marked one, with the\ncrooked stripes on her wings, is a mischief-maker and never lets any one\nhave the last word, though she is always in the wrong. The fat duck\nyonder speaks evil of every one, and that is against our principles; if\nwe have nothing good to tell, we close our beaks. The Portuguese is the\nonly one who has had any education and with whom we can associate, but\nshe is passionate and talks too much about Portugal.\"\n\n\"I wonder what those two Chinese are whispering about,\" whispered one\nduck to another. \"They are always doing it, and it annoys me. We never\nspeak to them.\"\n\nNow the drake came up, and he thought the little singing bird was a\nsparrow. \"Well, I don't understand the difference,\" he said; \"it appears\nto me all the same. He's only a plaything, and if people will have\nplaythings, why let them, I say.\"\n\n\"Don't take any notice of what he says,\" whispered the Portuguese; \"he\nis very well in matters of business, and with him business is first. Now\nI shall lie down and have a little rest. It is a duty we owe to\nourselves, so that we shall be nice and fat when we come to be embalmed\nwith sage and onions and apples.\"\n\nSo she laid herself down in the sun and winked with one eye. She had a\nvery comfortable place and felt so at ease that she fell asleep. The\nlittle singing bird busied himself for some time with his broken wing,\nand at last he too lay down, quite close to his protectress. The sun\nshone warm and bright, and he found it a very good place. But the fowls\nof the neighborhood were all awake, and, to tell the truth, they had\npaid a visit to the duck yard solely to find food for themselves. The\nChinese were the first to leave, and the other fowls soon followed them.\n\nThe witty little duck said of the Portuguese that \"the old lady\" was\ngetting to be quite a \"doting ducky.\" All the other ducks laughed at\nthis. \"'Doting ducky,'\" they whispered; \"oh, that's too witty!\" Then\nthey repeated the joke about \"portulak\" and declared it was most\namusing. After that they all lay down to have a nap.\n\nThey had been lying asleep for quite a while, when suddenly something\nwas thrown into the yard for them to eat. It came down with such a bang\nthat the whole company started up and clapped their wings. The\nPortuguese awoke, too, and rushed over to the other side of the yard. In\ndoing this she trod upon the little singing bird.\n\n\"Tweet,\" he cried; \"you trod very hard upon me, madam.\"\n\n\"Well, then, why do you lie in my way?\" she retorted. \"You must not be\nso touchy. I have nerves of my own, but I do not cry 'Tweet.'\"\n\n\"Don't be angry,\" said the little bird; \"the 'Tweet' slipped out of my\nbeak before I knew it.\"\n\nThe Portuguese did not listen to him, but began eating as fast as she\ncould, and made a good meal. When she had finished she lay down again,\nand the little bird, who wished to be amiable, began to sing:\n\n             \"Chirp and twitter,\n              The dewdrops glitter,\n          In the hours of sunny spring;\n              I'll sing my best,\n              Till I go to rest,\n          With my head behind my wing.\"\n\n\"Now I want rest after my dinner,\" said the Portuguese. \"You must\nconform to the rules of the place while you are here. I want to sleep\nnow.\"\n\nThe little bird was quite taken aback, for he meant it kindly. When\nmadam awoke afterwards, there he stood before her with a little corn he\nhad found, and laid it at her feet; but as she had not slept well, she\nwas naturally in a bad temper. \"Give that to a chicken,\" she said, \"and\ndon't be always standing in my way.\"\n\n\"Why are you angry with me?\" replied the little singing bird; \"what have\nI done?\"\n\n\"Done!\" repeated the Portuguese duck; \"your mode of expressing yourself\nis not very polite. I must call your attention to that fact.\"\n\n\"There was sunshine here yesterday,\" said the little bird, \"but to-day\nit is cloudy and the air is heavy.\"\n\n\"You know very little about the weather, I fancy,\" she retorted; \"the\nday is not over yet. Don't stand there looking so stupid.\"\n\n\"But you are looking at me just as the wicked eyes looked when I fell\ninto the yard yesterday.\"\n\n\"Impertinent creature!\" exclaimed the Portuguese duck. \"Would you\ncompare me with the cat--that beast of prey? There's not a drop of\nmalicious blood in me. I've taken your part, and now I'll teach you\nbetter manners.\" So saying, she made a bite at the little singing-bird's\nhead, and he fell to the ground dead. \"Now whatever is the meaning of\nthis?\" she said. \"Could he not bear even such a little peck as I gave\nhim? Then, certainly, he was not made for this world. I've been like a\nmother to him, I know that, for I've a good heart.\"\n\nThen the cock from the neighboring yard stuck his head in and crowed\nwith steam-engine power.\n\n\"You'll kill me with your crowing,\" she cried. \"It's all your fault.\nHe's lost his life, and I'm very near losing mine.\"\n\n\"There's not much of him lying there,\" observed the cock.\n\n\"Speak of him with respect,\" said the Portuguese duck, \"for he had\nmanners and education, and he could sing. He was affectionate and\ngentle, and those are as rare qualities in animals as in those who call\nthemselves human beings.\"\n\nThen all the ducks came crowding round the little dead bird. Ducks have\nstrong passions, whether they feel envy or pity. There was nothing to\nenvy here, so they all showed a great deal of pity. So also did the two\nChinese. \"We shall never again have such a singing bird among us; he was\nalmost a Chinese,\" they whispered, and then they wept with such a noisy,\nclucking sound that all the other fowls clucked too. But the ducks went\nabout with redder eyes afterwards. \"We have hearts of our own,\" they\nsaid; \"nobody can deny that.\"\n\n\"Hearts!\" repeated the Portuguese. \"Indeed you have--almost as tender as\nthe ducks in Portugal.\"\n\n\"Let us think of getting something to satisfy our hunger,\" said the\ndrake; \"that's the most important business. If one of our toys is\nbroken, why, we have plenty more.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE SNOW MAN\n\n\n\"IT IS so delightfully cold that it makes my whole body crackle,\" said\nthe Snow Man. \"This is just the kind of wind to blow life into one. How\nthat great red thing up there is staring at me!\" He meant the sun, which\nwas just setting. \"It shall not make me wink. I shall manage to keep the\npieces.\"\n\nHe had two triangular pieces of tile in his head instead of eyes, and\nhis mouth, being made of an old broken rake, was therefore furnished\nwith teeth. He had been brought into existence amid the joyous shouts of\nboys, the jingling of sleigh bells, and the slashing of whips.\n\nThe sun went down, and the full moon rose, large, round, and clear,\nshining in the deep blue.\n\n\"There it comes again, from the other side,\" said the Snow Man, who\nsupposed the sun was showing itself once more. \"Ah, I have cured it of\nstaring. Now it may hang up there and shine, so that I may see myself.\nIf I only knew how to manage to move away from this place--I should so\nlike to move! If I could, I would slide along yonder on the ice, as I\nhave seen the boys do; but I don't understand how. I don't even know how\nto run.\"\n\n\"Away, away!\" barked the old yard dog. He was quite hoarse and could not\npronounce \"Bow-wow\" properly. He had once been an indoor dog and lain by\nthe fire, and he had been hoarse ever since. \"The sun will make you run\nsome day. I saw it, last winter, make your predecessor run, and his\npredecessor before him. Away, away! They all have to go.\"\n\n\"I don't understand you, comrade,\" said the Snow Man. \"Is that thing up\nyonder to teach me to run? I saw it running itself, a little while ago,\nand now it has come creeping up from the other side.\"\n\n\"You know nothing at all,\" replied the yard dog. \"But then, you've only\nlately been patched up. What you see yonder is the moon, and what you\nsaw before was the sun. It will come again to-morrow and most likely\nteach you to run down into the ditch by the well, for I think the\nweather is going to change. I can feel such pricks and stabs in my left\nleg that I am sure there is going to be a change.\"\n\n\"I don't understand him,\" said the Snow Man to himself, \"but I have a\nfeeling that he is talking of something very disagreeable. The thing\nthat stared so hard just now, which he calls the sun, is not my friend;\nI can feel that too.\"\n\n\"Away, away!\" barked the yard dog, and then he turned round three times\nand crept into his kennel to sleep.\n\nThere really was a change in the weather. Toward morning a thick fog\ncovered the whole country and a keen wind arose, so that the cold seemed\nto freeze one's bones. But when the sun rose, a splendid sight was to be\nseen. Trees and bushes were covered with hoarfrost and looked like a\nforest of white coral, while on every twig glittered frozen dewdrops.\nThe many delicate forms, concealed in summer by luxuriant foliage, were\nnow clearly defined and looked like glittering lacework. A white\nradiance glistened from every twig. The birches, waving in the wind,\nlooked as full of life as in summer and as wondrously beautiful. Where\nthe sun shone, everything glittered and sparkled as if diamond dust had\nbeen strewn about; and the snowy carpet of the earth seemed covered with\ndiamonds from which gleamed countless lights, whiter even than the snow\nitself.\n\n\"This is really beautiful,\" said a girl who had come into the garden\nwith a young friend; and they both stood still near the Snow Man,\ncontemplating the glittering scene. \"Summer cannot show a more beautiful\nsight,\" she exclaimed, while her eyes sparkled.\n\n\"And we can't have such a fellow as this in the summer-time,\" replied\nthe young man, pointing to the Snow Man. \"He is capital.\"\n\nThe girl laughed and nodded at the Snow Man, then tripped away over the\nsnow with her friend. The snow creaked and crackled beneath her feet, as\nif she had been treading on starch.\n\n\"Who are those two?\" asked the Snow Man of the yard dog. \"You have been\nhere longer than I; do you know them?\"\n\n\"Of course I know them,\" replied the yard dog; \"the girl has stroked my\nback many times, and the young man has often given me a bone of meat. I\nnever bite those two.\"\n\n\"But what are they?\" asked the Snow Man.\n\n\"They are lovers,\" he replied. \"They will go and live in the same\nkennel, by and by, and gnaw at the same bone. Away, away!\"\n\n\"Are they the same kind of beings as you and I?\" asked the Snow Man.\n\n\"Well, they belong to the master,\" retorted the yard dog. \"Certainly\npeople know very little who were only born yesterday. I can see that in\nyou. I have age and experience. I know every one here in the house, and\nI know there was once a time when I did not lie out here in the cold,\nfastened to a chain. Away, away!\"\n\n\"The cold is delightful,\" said the Snow Man. \"But do tell me, tell me;\nonly you must not clank your chain so, for it jars within me when you do\nthat.\"\n\n\"Away, away!\" barked the yard dog. \"I'll tell you: they said I was a\npretty little fellow, once; then I used to lie in a velvet-covered\nchair, up at the master's house, and sit in the mistress's lap; they\nused to kiss my nose, and wipe my paws with an embroidered handkerchief,\nand I was called 'Ami, dear Ami, sweet Ami.' But after a while I grew\ntoo big for them, and they sent me away to the housekeeper's room; so I\ncame to live on the lower story. You can look into the room from where\nyou stand, and see where I was once master--for I was, indeed, master to\nthe housekeeper. It was a much smaller room than those upstairs, but I\nwas more comfortable, for I was not continually being taken hold of and\npulled about by the children, as I had been. I received quite as good\nfood and even better. I had my own cushion, and there was a stove--it is\nthe finest thing in the world at this season of the year. I used to go\nunder the stove and lie down. Ah, I still dream of that stove. Away,\naway!\"\n\n\"Does a stove look beautiful?\" asked the Snow Man. \"Is it at all like\nme?\"\n\n\"It is just the opposite of you,\" said the dog. \"It's as black as a crow\nand has a long neck and a brass knob; it eats firewood, and that makes\nfire spurt out of its mouth. One has to keep on one side or under it, to\nbe comfortable. You can see it through the window from where you stand.\"\n\nThen the Snow Man looked, and saw a bright polished thing with a brass\nknob, and fire gleaming from the lower part of it. The sight of this\ngave the Snow Man a strange sensation; it was very odd, he knew not what\nit meant, and he could not account for it. But there are people who are\nnot men of snow who understand what the feeling is. \"And why did you\nleave her?\" asked the Snow Man, for it seemed to him that the stove must\nbe of the female sex. \"How could you give up such a comfortable place?\"\n\n\"I was obliged to,\" replied the yard dog. \"They turned me out of doors\nand chained me up here. I had bitten the youngest of my master's sons in\nthe leg, because he kicked away the bone I was gnawing. 'Bone for bone,'\nI thought. But they were very angry, and since that time I have been\nfastened to a chain and have lost my voice. Don't you hear how hoarse I\nam? Away, away! I can't talk like other dogs any more. Away, away! That\nwas the end of it all.\"\n\nBut the Snow Man was no longer listening. He was looking into the\nhousekeeper's room on the lower story, where the stove, which was about\nthe same size as the Snow Man himself, stood on its four iron legs.\n\"What a strange crackling I feel within me,\" he said. \"Shall I ever get\nin there? It is an innocent wish, and innocent wishes are sure to be\nfulfilled. I must go in there and lean against her, even if I have to\nbreak the window.\"\n\n\"You must never go in there,\" said the yard dog, \"for if you approach\nthe stove, you will melt away, away.\"\n\n\"I might as well go,\" said the Snow Man, \"for I think I am breaking up\nas it is.\"\n\nDuring the whole day the Snow Man stood looking in through the window,\nand in the twilight hour the room became still more inviting, for from\nthe stove came a gentle glow, not like the sun or the moon; it was only\nthe kind of radiance that can come from a stove when it has been well\nfed. When the door of the stove was opened, the flames darted out of its\nmouth,--as is customary with all stoves,--and the light of the flames\nfell with a ruddy gleam directly on the face and breast of the Snow Man.\n\"I can endure it no longer,\" said he. \"How beautiful it looks when it\nstretches out its tongue!\"\n\nThe night was long, but it did not appear so to the Snow Man, who stood\nthere enjoying his own reflections and crackling with the cold. In the\nmorning the window-panes of the housekeeper's room were covered with\nice. They were the most beautiful ice flowers any Snow Man could desire,\nbut they concealed the stove. These window-panes would not thaw, and he\ncould see nothing of the stove, which he pictured to himself as if it\nhad been a beautiful human being. The snow crackled and the wind\nwhistled around him; it was just the kind of frosty weather a Snow Man\nought to enjoy thoroughly. But he did not enjoy it. How, indeed, could\nhe enjoy anything when he was so stove-sick?\n\n\"That is a terrible disease for a Snow Man to have,\" said the yard dog.\n\"I have suffered from it myself, but I got over it. Away, away!\" he\nbarked, and then added, \"The weather is going to change.\"\n\nThe weather did change. It began to thaw, and as the warmth increased,\nthe Snow Man decreased. He said nothing and made no complaint, which is\na sure sign.\n\nOne morning he broke and sank down altogether; and behold! where he had\nstood, something that looked like a broomstick remained sticking up in\nthe ground. It was the pole round which the boys had built him.\n\n\"Ah, now I understand why he had such a great longing for the stove,\"\nsaid the yard dog. \"Why, there's the shovel that is used for cleaning\nout the stove, fastened to the pole. The Snow Man had a stove scraper in\nhis body; that was what moved him so. But it is all over now. Away,\naway!\"\n\nAnd soon the winter passed. \"Away, away!\" barked the hoarse yard dog,\nbut the girls in the house sang:\n\n          \"Come from your fragrant home, green thyme;\n             Stretch your soft branches, willow tree;\n           The months are bringing the sweet spring-time,\n             When the lark in the sky sings joyfully.\n           Come, gentle sun, while the cuckoo sings,\n             And I'll mock his note in my wanderings.\"\n\nAnd nobody thought any more of the Snow Man.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE FARMYARD COCK AND THE WEATHERCOCK\n\n\nTHERE were once two cocks; one of them stood on a dunghill, the other on\nthe roof. Both were conceited, but the question is, Which of the two was\nthe more useful?\n\nA wooden partition divided the poultry yard from another yard, in which\nlay a heap of manure sheltering a cucumber bed. In this bed grew a large\ncucumber, which was fully aware that it was a plant that should be\nreared in a hotbed.\n\n\"It is the privilege of birth,\" said the Cucumber to itself. \"All cannot\nbe born cucumbers; there must be other kinds as well. The fowls, the\nducks, and the cattle in the next yard are all different creatures, and\nthere is the yard cock--I can look up to him when he is on the wooden\npartition. He is certainly of much greater importance than the\nweathercock, who is so highly placed, and who can't even creak, much\nless crow--besides, he has neither hens nor chickens, and thinks only of\nhimself, and perspires verdigris. But the yard cock is something like a\ncock. His gait is like a dance, and his crowing is music, and wherever\nhe goes it is instantly known. What a trumpeter he is! If he would only\ncome in here! Even if he were to eat me up, stalk and all, it would be a\npleasant death.\" So said the Cucumber.\n\nDuring the night the weather became very bad; hens, chickens, and even\nthe cock himself sought shelter. The wind blew down with a crash the\npartition between the two yards, and the tiles came tumbling from the\nroof, but the weathercock stood firm. He did not even turn round; in\nfact, he could not, although he was fresh and newly cast. He had been\nborn full grown and did not at all resemble the birds, such as the\nsparrows and swallows, that fly beneath the vault of heaven. He despised\nthem and looked upon them as little twittering birds that were made only\nto sing. The pigeons, he admitted, were large and shone in the sun like\nmother-of-pearl. They somewhat resembled weathercocks, but were fat and\nstupid and thought only of stuffing themselves with food. \"Besides,\"\nsaid the weathercock, \"they are very tiresome things to converse with.\"\n\nThe birds of passage often paid a visit to the weathercock and told him\ntales of foreign lands, of large flocks passing through the air, and of\nencounters with robbers and birds of prey. These were very interesting\nwhen heard for the first time, but the weathercock knew the birds always\nrepeated themselves, and that made it tedious to listen.\n\n\"They are tedious, and so is every one else,\" said he; \"there is no one\nfit to associate with. One and all of them are wearisome and stupid. The\nwhole world is worth nothing--it is made up of stupidity.\"\n\nThe weathercock was what is called \"lofty,\" and that quality alone would\nhave made him interesting in the eyes of the Cucumber, had she known it.\nBut she had eyes only for the yard cock, who had actually made his\nappearance in her yard; for the violence of the storm had passed, but\nthe wind had blown down the wooden palings.\n\n\"What do you think of that for crowing?\" asked the yard cock of his hens\nand chickens. It was rather rough, and wanted elegance, but they did not\nsay so, as they stepped upon the dunghill while the cock strutted about\nas if he had been a knight. \"Garden plant,\" he cried to the Cucumber.\nShe heard the words with deep feeling, for they showed that he\nunderstood who she was, and she forgot that he was pecking at her and\neating her up--a happy death!\n\nThen the hens came running up, and the chickens followed, for where one\nruns the rest run also. They clucked and chirped and looked at the cock\nand were proud that they belonged to him. \"Cock-a-doodle-doo!\" crowed\nhe; \"the chickens in the poultry yard will grow to be large fowls if I\nmake my voice heard in the world.\"\n\nAnd the hens and chickens clucked and chirped, and the cock told them a\ngreat piece of news. \"A cock can lay an egg,\" he said. \"And what do you\nthink is in that egg? In that egg lies a basilisk. No one can endure the\nsight of a basilisk. Men know my power, and now you know what I am\ncapable of, also, and what a renowned bird I am.\" And with this the\nyard cock flapped his wings, erected his comb, and crowed again, till\nall the hens and chickens trembled; but they were proud that one of\ntheir race should be of such renown in the world. They clucked and they\nchirped so that the weathercock heard it; he had heard it all, but had\nnot stirred.\n\n\"It's all stupid stuff,\" said a voice within the weathercock. \"The yard\ncock does not lay eggs any more than I do, and I am too lazy. I could\nlay a wind egg if I liked, but the world is not worth a wind egg. And\nnow I don't intend to sit here any longer.\"\n\nWith that, the weathercock broke off and fell into the yard. He did not\nkill the yard cock, although the hens said he intended to do so.\n\nAnd what does the moral say? \"Better to crow than to be vainglorious and\nbreak down at last.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE RED SHOES\n\n\nTHERE was once a pretty, delicate little girl, who was so poor that she\nhad to go barefoot in summer and wear coarse wooden shoes in winter,\nwhich made her little instep quite red.\n\nIn the center of the village there lived an old shoemaker's wife. One\nday this good woman made, as well as she could, a little pair of shoes\nout of some strips of old red cloth. The shoes were clumsy enough, to be\nsure, but they fitted the little girl tolerably well, and anyway the\nwoman's intention was kind. The little girl's name was Karen.\n\nOn the very day that Karen received the shoes, her mother was to be\nburied. They were not at all suitable for mourning, but she had no\nothers, so she put them on her little bare feet and followed the poor\nplain coffin to its last resting place.\n\nJust at that time a large, old-fashioned carriage happened to pass by,\nand the old lady who sat in it saw the little girl and pitied her.\n\n\"Give me the little girl,\" she said to the clergyman, \"and I will take\ncare of her.\"\n\nKaren supposed that all this happened because of the red shoes, but the\nold lady thought them frightful and ordered them to be burned. Karen was\nthen dressed in neat, well-fitting clothes and taught to read and sew.\nPeople told her she was pretty, but the mirror said, \"You are much more\nthan pretty--you are beautiful.\"\n\nIt happened not long afterwards that the queen and her little daughter,\nthe princess, traveled through the land. All the people, Karen among the\nrest, flocked toward the palace and crowded around it, while the little\nprincess, dressed in white, stood at the window for every one to see.\nShe wore neither a train nor a golden crown, but on her feet were\nbeautiful red morocco shoes, which, it must be admitted, were prettier\nthan those the shoemaker's wife had given to little Karen. Surely\nnothing in the world could be compared to those red shoes.\n\nNow that Karen was old enough to be confirmed, she of course had to have\na new frock and new shoes. The rich shoemaker in the town took the\nmeasure of her little feet in his own house, in a room where stood great\nglass cases filled with all sorts of fine shoes and elegant, shining\nboots. It was a pretty sight, but the old lady could not see well and\nnaturally did not take so much pleasure in it as Karen. Among the shoes\nwere a pair of red ones, just like those worn by the little princess.\nOh, how gay they were! The shoemaker said they had been made for the\nchild of a count, but had not fitted well.\n\n\"Are they of polished leather, that they shine so?\" asked the old lady.\n\n\"Yes, indeed, they do shine,\" replied Karen. And since they fitted her,\nthey were bought. But the old lady had no idea that they were red, or\nshe would never in the world have allowed Karen to go to confirmation in\nthem, as she now did. Every one, of course, looked at Karen's shoes;\nand when she walked up the nave to the chancel it seemed to her that\neven the antique figures on the monuments, the portraits of clergymen\nand their wives, with their stiff ruffs and long black robes, were\nfixing their eyes on her red shoes. Even when the bishop laid his hand\nupon her head and spoke of her covenant with God and how she must now\nbegin to be a full-grown Christian, and when the organ pealed forth\nsolemnly and the children's fresh, sweet voices joined with those of the\nchoir--still Karen thought of nothing but her shoes.\n\nIn the afternoon, when the old lady heard every one speak of the red\nshoes, she said it was very shocking and improper and that, in the\nfuture, when Karen went to church it must always be in black shoes, even\nif they were old.\n\nThe next Sunday was Karen's first Communion day. She looked at her black\nshoes, and then at her red ones, then again at the black and at the\nred--and the red ones were put on.\n\nThe sun shone very brightly, and Karen and the old lady walked to church\nthrough the cornfields, for the road was very dusty.\n\nAt the door of the church stood an old soldier, who leaned upon a crutch\nand had a marvelously long beard that was not white but red. He bowed\nalmost to the ground and asked the old lady if he might dust her shoes.\nKaren, in her turn, put out her little foot.\n\n\"Oh, look, what smart little dancing pumps!\" said the old soldier. \"Mind\nyou do not let them slip off when you dance,\" and he passed his hands\nover them. The old lady gave the soldier a half-penny and went with\nKaren into the church.\n\nAs before, every one saw Karen's red shoes, and all the carved figures\ntoo bent their gaze upon them. When Karen knelt at the chancel she\nthought only of the shoes; they floated before her eyes, and she forgot\nto say her prayer or sing her psalm.\n\nAt last all the people left the church, and the old lady got into her\ncarriage. As Karen lifted her foot to step in, the old soldier said,\n\"See what pretty dancing shoes!\" And Karen, in spite of herself, made a\nfew dancing steps. When she had once begun, her feet went on of\nthemselves; it was as though the shoes had received power over her. She\ndanced round the church corner,--she could not help it,--and the\ncoachman had to run behind and catch her to put her into the carriage.\nStill her feet went on dancing, so, that she trod upon the good lady's\ntoes. It was not until the shoes were taken from her feet that she had\nrest.\n\nThe shoes were put away in a closet, but Karen could not resist going to\nlook at them every now and then.\n\nSoon after this the old lady lay ill in bed, and it was said that she\ncould not recover. She had to be nursed and waited on, and this, of\ncourse, was no one's duty so much as it was Karen's, as Karen herself\nwell knew. But there happened to be a great ball in the town, and Karen\nwas invited. She looked at the old lady, who was very ill, and she\nlooked at the red shoes. She put them on, for she thought there could\nnot be any sin in that, and of course there was not--but she went next\nto the ball and began to dance.\n\nStrange to say, when she wanted to move to the right the shoes bore her\nto the left; and when she wished to dance up the room the shoes\npersisted in going down the room. Down the stairs they carried her at\nlast, into the street, and out through the town gate. On and on she\ndanced, for dance she must, straight out into the gloomy wood. Up among\nthe trees something glistened. She thought it was the round, red moon,\nfor she saw a face; but no, it was the old soldier with the red beard,\nwho sat and nodded, saying, \"See what pretty dancing shoes!\"\n\nShe was dreadfully frightened and tried to throw away the red shoes, but\nthey clung fast and she could not unclasp them. They seemed to have\ngrown fast to her feet. So dance she must, and dance she did, over field\nand meadow, in rain and in sunshine, by night and by day--and by night\nit was by far more dreadful.\n\nShe danced out into the open churchyard, but the dead there did not\ndance; they were at rest and had much better things to do. She would\nhave liked to sit down on the poor man's grave, where the bitter tansy\ngrew, but for her there was no rest.\n\n[Illustration: She danced past the open church door....]\n\nShe danced past the open church door, and there she saw an angel in long\nwhite robes and with wings that reached from his shoulders to the\nearth. His look was stern and grave, and in his hand he held a broad,\nglittering sword.\n\n\"Thou shalt dance,\" he said, \"in thy red shoes, till thou art pale and\ncold, and till thy body is wasted like a skeleton. Thou shalt dance from\ndoor to door, and wherever proud, haughty children dwell thou shalt\nknock, that, hearing thee, they may take warning. Dance thou\nshalt--dance on!\"\n\n\"Mercy!\" cried Karen; but she did not hear the answer of the angel, for\nthe shoes carried her past the door and on into the fields.\n\nOne morning she danced past a well-known door. Within was the sound of a\npsalm, and presently a coffin strewn with flowers was borne out. She\nknew that her friend, the old lady, was dead, and in her heart she felt\nthat she was abandoned by all on earth and condemned by God's angel in\nheaven.\n\nStill on she danced--for she could not stop--through thorns and briers,\nwhile her feet bled. Finally, she danced to a lonely little house where\nshe knew that the executioner dwelt, and she tapped at the window,\nsaying, \"Come out, come out! I cannot come in, for I must dance.\"\n\nThe man said, \"Do you know who I am and what I do?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Karen; \"but do not strike off my head, for then I could not\nlive to repent of my sin. Strike off my feet, that I may be rid of my\nred shoes.\"\n\nThen she confessed her sin, and the executioner struck off the red\nshoes, which danced away over the fields and into the deep wood. To\nKaren it seemed that the feet had gone with the shoes, for she had\nalmost lost the power of walking.\n\n\"Now I have suffered enough for the red shoes,\" she said; \"I will go to\nthe church, that people may see me.\" But no sooner had she hobbled to\nthe church door than the shoes danced before her and frightened her\nback.\n\nAll that week she endured the keenest sorrow and shed many bitter tears.\nWhen Sunday came, she said: \"I am sure I must have suffered and striven\nenough by this time. I am quite as good, I dare say, as many who are\nholding their heads high in the church.\" So she took courage and went\nagain. But before she reached the churchyard gate the red shoes were\ndancing there, and she turned back again in terror, more deeply\nsorrowful than ever for her sin.\n\nShe then went to the pastor's house and begged as a favor to be taken\ninto the family's service, promising to be diligent and faithful. She\ndid not want wages, she said, only a home with good people. The\nclergyman's wife pitied her and granted her request, and she proved\nindustrious and very thoughtful.\n\nEarnestly she listened when at evening the preacher read aloud the Holy\nScriptures. All the children came to love her, but when they spoke of\nbeauty and finery, she would shake her head and turn away.\n\nOn Sunday, when they all went to church, they asked her if she would not\ngo, too, but she looked sad and bade them go without her. Then she went\nto her own little room, and as she sat with the psalm book in her hand,\nreading its pages with a gentle, pious mind, the wind brought to her the\nnotes of the organ. She raised her tearful eyes and said, \"O God, do\nthou help me!\"\n\nThen the sun shone brightly, and before her stood the white angel that\nshe had seen at the church door. He no longer bore the glittering\nsword, but in his hand was a beautiful branch of roses. He touched the\nceiling with it, and the ceiling rose, and at each place where the\nbranch touched it there shone a star. He touched the walls, and they\nwidened so that Karen could see the organ that was being played at the\nchurch. She saw, too, the old pictures and statues on the walls, and the\ncongregation sitting in the seats and singing psalms, for the church\nitself had come to the poor girl in her narrow room, or she in her\nchamber had come to it. She sat in the seat with the rest of the\nclergyman's household, and when the psalm was ended, they nodded and\nsaid, \"Thou didst well to come, Karen!\"\n\n\"This is mercy,\" said she. \"It is the grace of God.\"\n\nThe organ pealed, and the chorus of children's voices mingled sweetly\nwith it. The bright sunshine shed its warm light, through the windows,\nover the pew in which Karen sat. Her heart was so filled with sunshine,\npeace, and joy that it broke, and her soul was borne by a sunbeam up to\nGod, where there was nobody to ask about the red shoes.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE MERMAID\n\n\nFAR out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest\ncornflower and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep; so deep,\nindeed, that no cable could sound it, and many church steeples, piled\none upon another, would not reach from the ground beneath to the surface\nof the water above. There dwell the Sea King and his subjects.\n\nWe must not imagine that there is nothing at the bottom of the sea but\nbare yellow sand. No, indeed, for on this sand grow the strangest\nflowers and plants, the leaves and stems of which are so pliant that the\nslightest agitation of the water causes them to stir as if they had\nlife. Fishes, both large and small, glide between the branches as birds\nfly among the trees here upon land.\n\nIn the deepest spot of all stands the castle of the Sea King. Its walls\nare built of coral, and the long Gothic windows are of the clearest\namber. The roof is formed of shells that open and close as the water\nflows over them. Their appearance is very beautiful, for in each lies a\nglittering pearl which would be fit for the diadem of a queen.\n\nThe Sea King had been a widower for many years, and his aged mother kept\nhouse for him. She was a very sensible woman, but exceedingly proud of\nher high birth, and on that account wore twelve oysters on her tail,\nwhile others of high rank were only allowed to wear six.\n\nShe was, however, deserving of very great praise, especially for her\ncare of the little sea princesses, her six granddaughters. They were\nbeautiful children, but the youngest was the prettiest of them all. Her\nskin was as clear and delicate as a rose leaf, and her eyes as blue as\nthe deepest sea; but, like all the others, she had no feet and her body\nended in a fish's tail. All day long they played in the great halls of\nthe castle or among the living flowers that grew out of the walls. The\nlarge amber windows were open, and the fish swam in, just as the\nswallows fly into our houses when we open the windows; only the fishes\nswam up to the princesses, ate out of their hands, and allowed\nthemselves to be stroked.\n\nOutside the castle there was a beautiful garden, in which grew\nbright-red and dark-blue flowers, and blossoms like flames of fire; the\nfruit glittered like gold, and the leaves and stems waved to and fro\ncontinually. The earth itself was the finest sand, but blue as the flame\nof burning sulphur. Over everything lay a peculiar blue radiance, as if\nthe blue sky were everywhere, above and below, instead of the dark\ndepths of the sea. In calm weather the sun could be seen, looking like a\nreddish-purple flower with light streaming from the calyx.\n\nEach of the young princesses had a little plot of ground in the garden,\nwhere she might dig and plant as she pleased. One arranged her flower\nbed in the form of a whale; another preferred to make hers like the\nfigure of a little mermaid; while the youngest child made hers round,\nlike the sun, and in it grew flowers as red as his rays at sunset.\n\nShe was a strange child, quiet and thoughtful. While her sisters showed\ndelight at the wonderful things which they obtained from the wrecks of\nvessels, she cared only for her pretty flowers, red like the sun, and a\nbeautiful marble statue. It was the representation of a handsome boy,\ncarved out of pure white stone, which had fallen to the bottom of the\nsea from a wreck.\n\nShe planted by the statue a rose-colored weeping willow. It grew rapidly\nand soon hung its fresh branches over the statue, almost down to the\nblue sands. The shadows had the color of violet and waved to and fro\nlike the branches, so that it seemed as if the crown of the tree and the\nroot were at play, trying to kiss each other.\n\nNothing gave her so much pleasure as to hear about the world above the\nsea. She made her old grandmother tell her all she knew of the ships and\nof the towns, the people and the animals. To her it seemed most\nwonderful and beautiful to hear that the flowers of the land had\nfragrance, while those below the sea had none; that the trees of the\nforest were green; and that the fishes among the trees could sing so\nsweetly that it was a pleasure to listen to them. Her grandmother\ncalled the birds fishes, or the little mermaid would not have understood\nwhat was meant, for she had never seen birds.\n\n\"When you have reached your fifteenth year,\" said the grandmother, \"you\nwill have permission to rise up out of the sea and sit on the rocks in\nthe moonlight, while the great ships go sailing by. Then you will see\nboth forests and towns.\"\n\nIn the following year, one of the sisters would be fifteen, but as each\nwas a year younger than the other, the youngest would have to wait five\nyears before her turn came to rise up from the bottom of the ocean to\nsee the earth as we do. However, each promised to tell the others what\nshe saw on her first visit and what she thought was most beautiful.\nTheir grandmother could not tell them enough--there were so many things\nabout which they wanted to know.\n\nNone of them longed so much for her turn to come as the youngest--she\nwho had the longest time to wait and who was so quiet and thoughtful.\nMany nights she stood by the open window, looking up through the dark\nblue water and watching the fish as they splashed about with their fins\nand tails. She could see the moon and stars shining faintly, but through\nthe water they looked larger than they do to our eyes. When something\nlike a black cloud passed between her and them, she knew that it was\neither a whale swimming over her head, or a ship full of human beings\nwho never imagined that a pretty little mermaid was standing beneath\nthem, holding out her white hands towards the keel of their ship.\n\nAt length the eldest was fifteen and was allowed to rise to the surface\nof the ocean.\n\nWhen she returned she had hundreds of things to talk about. But the\nfinest thing, she said, was to lie on a sand bank in the quiet moonlit\nsea, near the shore, gazing at the lights of the near-by town, that\ntwinkled like hundreds of stars, and listening to the sounds of music,\nthe noise of carriages, the voices of human beings, and the merry\npealing of the bells in the church steeples. Because she could not go\nnear all these wonderful things, she longed for them all the more.\n\nOh, how eagerly did the youngest sister listen to all these\ndescriptions! And afterwards, when she stood at the open window looking\nup through the dark-blue water, she thought of the great city, with all\nits bustle and noise, and even fancied she could hear the sound of the\nchurch bells down in the depths of the sea.\n\nIn another year the second sister received permission to rise to the\nsurface of the water and to swim about where she pleased. She rose just\nas the sun was setting, and this, she said, was the most beautiful sight\nof all. The whole sky looked like gold, and violet and rose-colored\nclouds, which she could not describe, drifted across it. And more\nswiftly than the clouds, flew a large flock of wild swans toward the\nsetting sun, like a long white veil across the sea. She also swam\ntowards the sun, but it sank into the waves, and the rosy tints faded\nfrom the clouds and from the sea.\n\nThe third sister's turn followed, and she was the boldest of them all,\nfor she swam up a broad river that emptied into the sea. On the banks\nshe saw green hills covered with beautiful vines, and palaces and\ncastles peeping out from amid the proud trees of the forest. She heard\nbirds singing and felt the rays of the sun so strongly that she was\nobliged often to dive under the water to cool her burning face. In a\nnarrow creek she found a large group of little human children, almost\nnaked, sporting about in the water. She wanted to play with them, but\nthey fled in a great fright; and then a little black animal--it was a\ndog, but she did not know it, for she had never seen one before--came to\nthe water and barked at her so furiously that she became frightened and\nrushed back to the open sea. But she said she should never forget the\nbeautiful forest, the green hills, and the pretty children who could\nswim in the water although they had no tails.\n\nThe fourth sister was more timid. She remained in the midst of the sea,\nbut said it was quite as beautiful there as nearer the land. She could\nsee many miles around her, and the sky above looked like a bell of\nglass. She had seen the ships, but at such a great distance that they\nlooked like sea gulls. The dolphins sported in the waves, and the great\nwhales spouted water from their nostrils till it seemed as if a hundred\nfountains were playing in every direction.\n\nThe fifth sister's birthday occurred in the winter, so when her turn\ncame she saw what the others had not seen the first time they went up.\nThe sea looked quite green, and large icebergs were floating about, each\nlike a pearl, she said, but larger and loftier than the churches built\nby men. They were of the most singular shapes and glittered like\ndiamonds. She had seated herself on one of the largest and let the wind\nplay with her long hair. She noticed that all the ships sailed past very\nrapidly, steering as far away as they could, as if they were afraid of\nthe iceberg. Towards evening, as the sun went down, dark clouds covered\nthe sky, the thunder rolled, and the flashes of lightning glowed red on\nthe icebergs as they were tossed about by the heaving sea. On all the\nships the sails were reefed with fear and trembling, while she sat on\nthe floating iceberg, calmly watching the lightning as it darted its\nforked flashes into the sea.\n\nEach of the sisters, when first she had permission to rise to the\nsurface, was delighted with the new and beautiful sights. Now that they\nwere grown-up girls and could go when they pleased, they had become\nquite indifferent about it. They soon wished themselves back again, and\nafter a month had passed they said it was much more beautiful down below\nand pleasanter to be at home.\n\nYet often, in the evening hours, the five sisters would twine their arms\nabout each other and rise to the surface together. Their voices were\nmore charming than that of any human being, and before the approach of a\nstorm, when they feared that a ship might be lost, they swam before the\nvessel, singing enchanting songs of the delights to be found in the\ndepths of the sea and begging the voyagers not to fear if they sank to\nthe bottom. But the sailors could not understand the song and thought it\nwas the sighing of the storm. These things were never beautiful to them,\nfor if the ship sank, the men were drowned and their dead bodies alone\nreached the palace of the Sea King.\n\nWhen the sisters rose, arm in arm, through the water, their youngest\nsister would stand quite alone, looking after them, ready to cry--only,\nsince mermaids have no tears, she suffered more acutely.\n\n\"Oh, were I but fifteen years old!\" said she. \"I know that I shall love\nthe world up there, and all the people who live in it.\"\n\nAt last she reached her fifteenth year.\n\n\"Well, now you are grown up,\" said the old dowager, her grandmother.\n\"Come, and let me adorn you like your sisters.\" And she placed in her\nhair a wreath of white lilies, of which every flower leaf was half a\npearl. Then the old lady ordered eight great oysters to attach\nthemselves to the tail of the princess to show her high rank.\n\n\"But they hurt me so,\" said the little mermaid.\n\n\"Yes, I know; pride must suffer pain,\" replied the old lady.\n\nOh, how gladly she would have shaken off all this grandeur and laid\naside the heavy wreath! The red flowers in her own garden would have\nsuited her much better. But she could not change herself, so she said\nfarewell and rose as lightly as a bubble to the surface of the water.\n\nThe sun had just set when she raised her head above the waves. The\nclouds were tinted with crimson and gold, and through the glimmering\ntwilight beamed the evening star in all its beauty. The sea was calm,\nand the air mild and fresh. A large ship with three masts lay becalmed\non the water; only one sail was set, for not a breeze stirred, and the\nsailors sat idle on deck or amidst the rigging. There was music and song\non board, and as darkness came on, a hundred colored lanterns were\nlighted, as if the flags of all nations waved in the air.\n\nThe little mermaid swam close to the cabin windows, and now and then, as\nthe waves lifted her up, she could look in through glass window-panes\nand see a number of gayly dressed people.\n\nAmong them, and the most beautiful of all, was a young prince with\nlarge, black eyes. He was sixteen years of age, and his birthday was\nbeing celebrated with great display. The sailors were dancing on deck,\nand when the prince came out of the cabin, more than a hundred rockets\nrose in the air, making it as bright as day. The little mermaid was so\nstartled that she dived under water, and when she again stretched out\nher head, it looked as if all the stars of heaven were falling around\nher.\n\nShe had never seen such fireworks before. Great suns spurted fire about,\nsplendid fireflies flew into the blue air, and everything was reflected\nin the clear, calm sea beneath. The ship itself was so brightly\nilluminated that all the people, and even the smallest rope, could be\ndistinctly seen. How handsome the young prince looked, as he pressed the\nhands of all his guests and smiled at them, while the music resounded\nthrough the clear night air!\n\nIt was very late, yet the little mermaid could not take her eyes from\nthe ship or from the beautiful prince. The colored lanterns had been\nextinguished, no more rockets rose in the air, and the cannon had ceased\nfiring; but the sea became restless, and a moaning, grumbling sound\ncould be heard beneath the waves. Still the little mermaid remained by\nthe cabin window, rocking up and down on the water, so that she could\nlook within. After a while the sails were quickly set, and the ship went\non her way. But soon the waves rose higher, heavy clouds darkened the\nsky, and lightning appeared in the distance. A dreadful storm was\napproaching. Once more the sails were furled, and the great ship\npursued her flying course over the raging sea. The waves rose mountain\nhigh, as if they would overtop the mast, but the ship dived like a swan\nbetween them, then rose again on their lofty, foaming crests. To the\nlittle mermaid this was pleasant sport; but not so to the sailors. At\nlength the ship groaned and creaked; the thick planks gave way under the\nlashing of the sea, as the waves broke over the deck; the mainmast\nsnapped asunder like a reed, and as the ship lay over on her side, the\nwater rushed in.\n\nThe little mermaid now perceived that the crew were in danger; even she\nwas obliged to be careful, to avoid the beams and planks of the wreck\nwhich lay scattered on the water. At one moment it was pitch dark so\nthat she could not see a single object, but when a flash of lightning\ncame it revealed the whole scene; she could see every one who had been\non board except the prince. When the ship parted, she had seen him sink\ninto the deep waves, and she was glad, for she thought he would now be\nwith her. Then she remembered that human beings could not live in the\nwater, so that when he got down to her father's palace he would\ncertainly be quite dead.\n\nNo, he must not die! So she swam about among the beams and planks which\nstrewed the surface of the sea, forgetting that they could crush her to\npieces. Diving deep under the dark waters, rising and falling with the\nwaves, she at length managed to reach the young prince, who was fast\nlosing the power to swim in that stormy sea. His limbs were failing him,\nhis beautiful eyes were closed, and he would have died had not the\nlittle mermaid come to his assistance. She held his head above the water\nand let the waves carry them where they would.\n\nIn the morning the storm had ceased, but of the ship not a single\nfragment could be seen. The sun came up red and shining out of the\nwater, and its beams brought back the hue of health to the prince's\ncheeks, but his eyes remained closed. The mermaid kissed his high,\nsmooth forehead and stroked back his wet hair. He seemed to her like the\nmarble statue in her little garden, so she kissed him again and wished\nthat he might live.\n\nPresently they came in sight of land, and she saw lofty blue mountains\non which the white snow rested as if a flock of swans were lying upon\nthem. Beautiful green forests were near the shore, and close by stood a\nlarge building, whether a church or a convent she could not tell. Orange\nand citron trees grew in the garden, and before the door stood lofty\npalms. The sea here formed a little bay, in which the water lay quiet\nand still, but very deep. She swam with the handsome prince to the\nbeach, which was covered with fine white sand, and there she laid him in\nthe warm sunshine, taking care to raise his head higher than his body.\nThen bells sounded in the large white building, and some young girls\ncame into the garden. The little mermaid swam out farther from the shore\nand hid herself among some high rocks that rose out of the water.\nCovering her head and neck with the foam of the sea, she watched there\nto see what would become of the poor prince.\n\nIt was not long before she saw a young girl approach the spot where the\nprince lay. She seemed frightened at first, but only for a moment; then\nshe brought a number of people, and the mermaid saw that the prince came\nto life again and smiled upon those who stood about him. But to her he\nsent no smile; he knew not that she had saved him. This made her very\nsorrowful, and when he was led away into the great building, she dived\ndown into the water and returned to her father's castle.\n\nShe had always been silent and thoughtful, and now she was more so than\never. Her sisters asked her what she had seen during her first visit to\nthe surface of the water, but she could tell them nothing. Many an\nevening and morning did she rise to the place where she had left the\nprince. She saw the fruits in the garden ripen and watched them\ngathered; she watched the snow on the mountain tops melt away; but never\ndid she see the prince, and therefore she always returned home more\nsorrowful than before.\n\nIt was her only comfort to sit in her own little garden and fling her\narm around the beautiful marble statue, which was like the prince. She\ngave up tending her flowers, and they grew in wild confusion over the\npaths, twining their long leaves and stems round the branches of the\ntrees so that the whole place became dark and gloomy.\n\nAt length she could bear it no longer and told one of her sisters all\nabout it. Then the others heard the secret, and very soon it became\nknown to several mermaids, one of whom had an intimate friend who\nhappened to know about the prince. She had also seen the festival on\nboard ship, and she told them where the prince came from and where his\npalace stood.\n\n\"Come, little sister,\" said the other princesses. Then they entwined\ntheir arms and rose together to the surface of the water, near the spot\nwhere they knew the prince's palace stood. It was built of\nbright-yellow, shining stone and had long flights of marble steps, one\nof which reached quite down to the sea. Splendid gilded cupolas rose\nover the roof, and between the pillars that surrounded the whole\nbuilding stood lifelike statues of marble. Through the clear crystal of\nthe lofty windows could be seen noble rooms, with costly silk curtains\nand hangings of tapestry and walls covered with beautiful paintings. In\nthe center of the largest salon a fountain threw its sparkling jets\nhigh up into the glass cupola of the ceiling, through which the sun\nshone in upon the water and upon the beautiful plants that grew in the\nbasin of the fountain.\n\nNow that the little mermaid knew where the prince lived, she spent many\nan evening and many a night on the water near the palace. She would swim\nmuch nearer the shore than any of the others had ventured, and once she\nwent up the narrow channel under the marble balcony, which threw a broad\nshadow on the water. Here she sat and watched the young prince, who\nthought himself alone in the bright moonlight.\n\nShe often saw him evenings, sailing in a beautiful boat on which music\nsounded and flags waved. She peeped out from among the green rushes, and\nif the wind caught her long silvery-white veil, those who saw it\nbelieved it to be a swan, spreading out its wings.\n\nMany a night, too, when the fishermen set their nets by the light of\ntheir torches, she heard them relate many good things about the young\nprince. And this made her glad that she had saved his life when he was\ntossed about half dead on the waves. She remembered how his head had\nrested on her bosom and how heartily she had kissed him, but he knew\nnothing of all this and could not even dream of her.\n\nShe grew more and more to like human beings and wished more and more to\nbe able to wander about with those whose world seemed to be so much\nlarger than her own. They could fly over the sea in ships and mount the\nhigh hills which were far above the clouds; and the lands they\npossessed, their woods and their fields, stretched far away beyond the\nreach of her sight. There was so much that she wished to know! but her\nsisters were unable to answer all her questions. She then went to her\nold grandmother, who knew all about the upper world, which she rightly\ncalled \"the lands above the sea.\"\n\n\"If human beings are not drowned,\" asked the little mermaid, \"can they\nlive forever? Do they never die, as we do here in the sea?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the old lady, \"they must also die, and their term of life\nis even shorter than ours. We sometimes live for three hundred years,\nbut when we cease to exist here, we become only foam on the surface of\nthe water and have not even a grave among those we love. We have not\nimmortal souls, we shall never live again; like the green seaweed when\nonce it has been cut off, we can never flourish more. Human beings, on\nthe contrary, have souls which live forever, even after the body has\nbeen turned to dust. They rise up through the clear, pure air, beyond\nthe glittering stars. As we rise out of the water and behold all the\nland of the earth, so do they rise to unknown and glorious regions which\nwe shall never see.\"\n\n\"Why have not we immortal souls?\" asked the little mermaid, mournfully.\n\"I would gladly give all the hundreds of years that I have to live, to\nbe a human being only for one day and to have the hope of knowing the\nhappiness of that glorious world above the stars.\"\n\n\"You must not think that,\" said the old woman. \"We believe that we are\nmuch happier and much better off than human beings.\"\n\n\"So I shall die,\" said the little mermaid, \"and as the foam of the sea I\nshall be driven about, never again to hear the music of the waves or to\nsee the pretty flowers or the red sun? Is there anything I can do to win\nan immortal soul?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the old woman; \"unless a man should love you so much that you\nwere more to him than his father or his mother, and if all his thoughts\nand all his love were fixed upon you, and the priest placed his right\nhand in yours, and he promised to be true to you here and\nhereafter--then his soul would glide into your body, and you would\nobtain a share in the future happiness of mankind. He would give to you\na soul and retain his own as well; but this can never happen. Your\nfish's tail, which among us is considered so beautiful, on earth is\nthought to be quite ugly. They do not know any better, and they think it\nnecessary, in order to be handsome, to have two stout props, which they\ncall legs.\"\n\nThen the little mermaid sighed and looked sorrowfully at her fish's\ntail. \"Let us be happy,\" said the old lady, \"and dart and spring about\nduring the three hundred years that we have to live, which is really\nquite long enough. After that we can rest ourselves all the better. This\nevening we are going to have a court ball.\"\n\nIt was one of those splendid sights which we can never see on earth. The\nwalls and the ceiling of the large ballroom were of thick but\ntransparent crystal. Many hundreds of colossal shells,--some of a deep\nred, others of a grass green,--with blue fire in them, stood in rows on\neach side. These lighted up the whole salon, and shone through the walls\nso that the sea was also illuminated. Innumerable fishes, great and\nsmall, swam past the crystal walls; on some of them the scales glowed\nwith a purple brilliance, and on others shone like silver and gold.\nThrough the halls flowed a broad stream, and in it danced the mermen and\nthe mermaids to the music of their own sweet singing.\n\nNo one on earth has such lovely voices as they, but the little mermaid\nsang more sweetly than all. The whole court applauded her with hands and\ntails, and for a moment her heart felt quite gay, for she knew she had\nthe sweetest voice either on earth or in the sea. But soon she thought\nagain of the world above her; she could not forget the charming prince,\nnor her sorrow that she had not an immortal soul like his. She crept\naway silently out of her father's palace, and while everything within\nwas gladness and song, she sat in her own little garden, sorrowful and\nalone. Then she heard the bugle sounding through the water and thought:\n\"He is certainly sailing above, he in whom my wishes center and in whose\nhands I should like to place the happiness of my life. I will venture\nall for him and to win an immortal soul. While my sisters are dancing in\nmy father's palace I will go to the sea witch, of whom I have always\nbeen so much afraid; she can give me counsel and help.\"\n\nThen the little mermaid went out from her garden and took the road to\nthe foaming whirlpools, behind which the sorceress lived. She had never\nbeen that way before. Neither flowers nor grass grew there; nothing but\nbare, gray, sandy ground stretched out to the whirlpool, where the\nwater, like foaming mill wheels, seized everything that came within its\nreach and cast it into the fathomless deep. Through the midst of these\ncrushing whirlpools the little mermaid was obliged to pass before she\ncould reach the dominions of the sea witch. Then, for a long distance,\nthe road lay across a stretch of warm, bubbling mire, called by the\nwitch her turf moor.\n\nBeyond this was the witch's house, which stood in the center of a\nstrange forest, where all the trees and flowers were polypi, half\nanimals and half plants. They looked like serpents with a hundred heads,\ngrowing out of the ground. The branches were long, slimy arms, with\nfingers like flexible worms, moving limb after limb from the root to the\ntop. All that could be reached in the sea they seized upon and held\nfast, so that it never escaped from their clutches.\n\nThe little mermaid was so alarmed at what she saw that she stood still\nand her heart beat with fear. She came very near turning back, but she\nthought of the prince and of the human soul for which she longed, and\nher courage returned. She fastened her long, flowing hair round her\nhead, so that the polypi should not lay hold of it. She crossed her\nhands on her bosom, and then darted forward as a fish shoots through the\nwater, between the supple arms and fingers of the ugly polypi, which\nwere stretched out on each side of her. She saw that they all held in\ntheir grasp something they had seized with their numerous little arms,\nwhich were as strong as iron bands. Tightly grasped in their clinging\narms were white skeletons of human beings who had perished at sea and\nhad sunk down into the deep waters; skeletons of land animals; and oars,\nrudders, and chests, of ships. There was even a little mermaid whom they\nhad caught and strangled, and this seemed the most shocking of all to\nthe little princess.\n\nShe now came to a space of marshy ground in the wood, where large, fat\nwater snakes were rolling in the mire and showing their ugly,\ndrab-colored bodies. In the midst of this spot stood a house, built of\nthe bones of shipwrecked human beings. There sat the sea witch, allowing\na toad to eat from her mouth just as people sometimes feed a canary with\npieces of sugar. She called the ugly water snakes her little chickens\nand allowed them to crawl all over her bosom.\n\n\"I know what you want,\" said the sea witch. \"It is very stupid of you,\nbut you shall have your way, though it will bring you to sorrow, my\npretty princess. You want to get rid of your fish's tail and to have two\nsupports instead, like human beings on earth, so that the young prince\nmay fall in love with you and so that you may have an immortal soul.\"\nAnd then the witch laughed so loud and so disgustingly that the toad and\nthe snakes fell to the ground and lay there wriggling.\n\n\"You are but just in time,\" said the witch, \"for after sunrise to-morrow\nI should not be able to help you till the end of another year. I will\nprepare a draft for you, with which you must swim to land to-morrow\nbefore sunrise; seat yourself there and drink it. Your tail will then\ndisappear, and shrink up into what men call legs.\n\n\"You will feel great pain, as if a sword were passing through you. But\nall who see you will say that you are the prettiest little human being\nthey ever saw. You will still have the same floating gracefulness of\nmovement, and no dancer will ever tread so lightly. Every step you take,\nhowever, will be as if you were treading upon sharp knives and as if the\nblood must flow. If you will bear all this, I will help you.\"\n\n\"Yes, I will,\" said the little princess in a trembling voice, as she\nthought of the prince and the immortal soul.\n\n\"But think again,\" said the witch, \"for when once your shape has become\nlike a human being, you can no more be a mermaid. You will never return\nthrough the water to your sisters or to your father's palace again. And\nif you do not win the love of the prince, so that he is willing to\nforget his father and mother for your sake and to love you with his\nwhole soul and allow the priest to join your hands that you may be man\nand wife, then you will never have an immortal soul. The first morning\nafter he marries another, your heart will break and you will become foam\non the crest of the waves.\"\n\n\"I will do it,\" said the little mermaid, and she became pale as death.\n\n\"But I must be paid, also,\" said the witch, \"and it is not a trifle that\nI ask. You have the sweetest voice of any who dwell here in the depths\nof the sea, and you believe that you will be able to charm the prince\nwith it. But this voice you must give to me. The best thing you possess\nwill I have as the price of my costly draft, which must be mixed with my\nown blood so that it may be as sharp as a two-edged sword.\"\n\n\"But if you take away my voice,\" said the little mermaid, \"what is left\nfor me?\"\n\n\"Your beautiful form, your graceful walk, and your expressive eyes.\nSurely with these you can enchain a man's heart. Well, have you lost\nyour courage? Put out your little tongue, that I may cut it off as my\npayment; then you shall have the powerful draft.\"\n\n\"It shall be,\" said the little mermaid.\n\nThen the witch placed her caldron on the fire, to prepare the magic\ndraft.\n\n\"Cleanliness is a good thing,\" said she, scouring the vessel with snakes\nwhich she had tied together in a large knot. Then she pricked herself in\nthe breast and let the black blood drop into the caldron. The steam that\nrose twisted itself into such horrible shapes that no one could look at\nthem without fear. Every moment the witch threw a new ingredient into\nthe vessel, and when it began to boil, the sound was like the weeping of\na crocodile. When at last the magic draft was ready, it looked like the\nclearest water.\n\n\"There it is for you,\" said the witch. Then she cut off the mermaid's\ntongue, so that she would never again speak or sing. \"If the polypi\nshould seize you as you return through the wood,\" said the witch, \"throw\nover them a few drops of the potion, and their fingers will be torn into\na thousand pieces.\" But the little mermaid had no occasion to do this,\nfor the polypi sprang back in terror when they caught sight of the\nglittering draft, which shone in her hand like a twinkling star.\n\nSo she passed quickly through the wood and the marsh and between the\nrushing whirlpools. She saw that in her father's palace the torches in\nthe ballroom were extinguished and that all within were asleep. But she\ndid not venture to go in to them, for now that she was dumb and going to\nleave them forever she felt as if her heart would break. She stole into\nthe garden, took a flower from the flower bed of each of her sisters,\nkissed her hand towards the palace a thousand times, and then rose up\nthrough the dark-blue waters.\n\nThe sun had not risen when she came in sight of the prince's palace and\napproached the beautiful marble steps, but the moon shone clear and\nbright. Then the little mermaid drank the magic draft, and it seemed as\nif a two-edged sword went through her delicate body. She fell into a\nswoon and lay like one dead. When the sun rose and shone over the sea,\nshe recovered and felt a sharp pain, but before her stood the handsome\nyoung prince.\n\nHe fixed his coal-black eyes upon her so earnestly that she cast down\nher own and then became aware that her fish's tail was gone and that she\nhad as pretty a pair of white legs and tiny feet as any little maiden\ncould have. But she had no clothes, so she wrapped herself in her long,\nthick hair. The prince asked her who she was and whence she came. She\nlooked at him mildly and sorrowfully with her deep blue eyes, but could\nnot speak. He took her by the hand and led her to the palace.\n\n[Illustration: Before her stood the handsome young prince....]\n\nEvery step she took was as the witch had said it would be; she felt as\nif she were treading upon the points of needles or sharp knives. She\nbore it willingly, however, and moved at the prince's side as lightly as\na bubble, so that he and all who saw her wondered at her graceful,\nswaying movements. She was very soon arrayed in costly robes of silk and\nmuslin and was the most beautiful creature in the palace; but she was\ndumb and could neither speak nor sing.\n\nBeautiful female slaves, dressed in silk and gold, stepped forward and\nsang before the prince and his royal parents. One sang better than all\nthe others, and the prince clapped his hands and smiled at her. This was\na great sorrow to the little mermaid, for she knew how much more sweetly\nshe herself once could sing, and she thought, \"Oh, if he could only know\nthat I have given away my voice forever, to be with him!\"\n\nThe slaves next performed some pretty fairy-like dances, to the sound of\nbeautiful music. Then the little mermaid raised her lovely white arms,\nstood on the tips of her toes, glided over the floor, and danced as no\none yet had been able to dance. At each moment her beauty was more\nrevealed, and her expressive eyes appealed more directly to the heart\nthan the songs of the slaves. Every one was enchanted, especially the\nprince, who called her his little foundling. She danced again quite\nreadily, to please him, though each time her foot touched the floor it\nseemed as if she trod on sharp knives.\n\nThe prince said she should remain with him always, and she was given\npermission to sleep at his door, on a velvet cushion. He had a page's\ndress made for her, that she might accompany him on horseback. They rode\ntogether through the sweet-scented woods, where the green boughs touched\ntheir shoulders, and the little birds sang among the fresh leaves. She\nclimbed with him to the tops of high mountains, and although her tender\nfeet bled so that even her steps were marked, she only smiled, and\nfollowed him till they could see the clouds beneath them like a flock of\nbirds flying to distant lands. While at the prince's palace, and when\nall the household were asleep, she would go and sit on the broad marble\nsteps, for it eased her burning feet to bathe them in the cold sea\nwater. It was then that she thought of all those below in the deep.\n\nOnce during the night her sisters came up arm in arm, singing\nsorrowfully as they floated on the water. She beckoned to them, and they\nrecognized her and told her how she had grieved them; after that, they\ncame to the same place every night. Once she saw in the distance her\nold grandmother, who had not been to the surface of the sea for many\nyears, and the old Sea King, her father, with his crown on his head.\nThey stretched out their hands towards her, but did not venture so near\nthe land as her sisters had.\n\nAs the days passed she loved the prince more dearly, and he loved her as\none would love a little child. The thought never came to him to make her\nhis wife. Yet unless he married her, she could not receive an immortal\nsoul, and on the morning after his marriage with another, she would\ndissolve into the foam of the sea.\n\n\"Do you not love me the best of them all?\" the eyes of the little\nmermaid seemed to say when he took her in his arms and kissed her fair\nforehead.\n\n\"Yes, you are dear to me,\" said the prince, \"for you have the best heart\nand you are the most devoted to me. You are like a young maiden whom I\nonce saw, but whom I shall never meet again. I was in a ship that was\nwrecked, and the waves cast me ashore near a holy temple where several\nyoung maidens performed the service. The youngest of them found me on\nthe shore and saved my life. I saw her but twice, and she is the only\none in the world whom I could love. But you are like her, and you have\nalmost driven her image from my mind. She belongs to the holy temple,\nand good fortune has sent you to me in her stead. We will never part.\n\n\"Ah, he knows not that it was I who saved his life,\" thought the little\nmermaid. \"I carried him over the sea to the wood where the temple\nstands; I sat beneath the foam and watched till the human beings came to\nhelp him. I saw the pretty maiden that he loves better than he loves\nme.\" The mermaid sighed deeply, but she could not weep. \"He says the\nmaiden belongs to the holy temple, therefore she will never return to\nthe world--they will meet no more. I am by his side and see him every\nday. I will take care of him, and love him, and give up my life for his\nsake.\"\n\nVery soon it was said that the prince was to marry and that the\nbeautiful daughter of a neighboring king would be his wife, for a fine\nship was being fitted out. Although the prince gave out that he\nintended merely to pay a visit to the king, it was generally supposed\nthat he went to court the princess. A great company were to go with him.\nThe little mermaid smiled and shook her head. She knew the prince's\nthoughts better than any of the others.\n\n\"I must travel,\" he had said to her; \"I must see this beautiful\nprincess. My parents desire it, but they will not oblige me to bring her\nhome as my bride. I cannot love her, because she is not like the\nbeautiful maiden in the temple, whom you resemble. If I were forced to\nchoose a bride, I would choose you, my dumb foundling, with those\nexpressive eyes.\" Then he kissed her rosy mouth, played with her long,\nwaving hair, and laid his head on her heart, while she dreamed of human\nhappiness and an immortal soul.\n\n\"You are not afraid of the sea, my dumb child, are you?\" he said, as\nthey stood on the deck of the noble ship which was to carry them to the\ncountry of the neighboring king. Then he told her of storm and of calm,\nof strange fishes in the deep beneath them, and of what the divers had\nseen there. She smiled at his descriptions, for she knew better than\nany one what wonders were at the bottom of the sea.\n\nIn the moonlight night, when all on board were asleep except the man at\nthe helm, she sat on deck, gazing down through the clear water. She\nthought she could distinguish her father's castle, and upon it her aged\ngrandmother, with the silver crown on her head, looking through the\nrushing tide at the keel of the vessel. Then her sisters came up on the\nwaves and gazed at her mournfully, wringing their white hands. She\nbeckoned to them, and smiled, and wanted to tell them how happy and well\noff she was. But the cabin boy approached, and when her sisters dived\ndown, he thought what he saw was only the foam of the sea.\n\nThe next morning the ship sailed into the harbor of a beautiful town\nbelonging to the king whom the prince was going to visit. The church\nbells were ringing, and from the high towers sounded a flourish of\ntrumpets. Soldiers, with flying colors and glittering bayonets, lined\nthe roads through which they passed. Every day was a festival, balls and\nentertainments following one another. But the princess had not yet\nappeared. People said that she had been brought up and educated in a\nreligious house, where she was learning every royal virtue.\n\nAt last she came. Then the little mermaid, who was anxious to see\nwhether she was really beautiful, was obliged to admit that she had\nnever seen a more perfect vision of beauty. Her skin was delicately\nfair, and beneath her long, dark eyelashes her laughing blue eyes shone\nwith truth and purity.\n\n\"It was you,\" said the prince, \"who saved my life when I lay as if dead\non the beach,\" and he folded his blushing bride in his arms.\n\n\"Oh, I am too happy!\" said he to the little mermaid; \"my fondest hopes\nare now fulfilled. You will rejoice at my happiness, for your devotion\nto me is great and sincere.\"\n\nThe little mermaid kissed his hand and felt as if her heart were already\nbroken. His wedding morning would bring death to her, and she would\nchange into the foam of the sea.\n\nAll the church bells rang, and the heralds rode through the town\nproclaiming the betrothal. Perfumed oil was burned in costly silver\nlamps on every altar. The priests waved the censers, while the bride and\nthe bridegroom joined their hands and received the blessing of the\nbishop. The little mermaid, dressed in silk and gold, held up the\nbride's train; but her ears heard nothing of the festive music, and her\neyes saw not the holy ceremony. She thought of the night of death which\nwas coming to her, and of all she had lost in the world.\n\nOn the same evening the bride and bridegroom went on board the ship.\nCannons were roaring, flags waving, and in the center of the ship a\ncostly tent of purple and gold had been erected. It contained elegant\nsleeping couches for the bridal pair during the night. The ship, under a\nfavorable wind, with swelling sails, glided away smoothly and lightly\nover the calm sea.\n\nWhen it grew dark, a number of colored lamps were lighted and the\nsailors danced merrily on the deck. The little mermaid could not help\nthinking of her first rising out of the sea, when she had seen similar\njoyful festivities, so she too joined in the dance, poised herself in\nthe air as a swallow when he pursues his prey, and all present cheered\nher wonderingly. She had never danced so gracefully before. Her tender\nfeet felt as if cut with sharp knives, but she cared not for the pain; a\nsharper pang had pierced her heart.\n\nShe knew this was the last evening she should ever see the prince for\nwhom she had forsaken her kindred and her home. She had given up her\nbeautiful voice and suffered unheard-of pain daily for him, while he\nknew nothing of it. This was the last evening that she should breathe\nthe same air with him or gaze on the starry sky and the deep sea. An\neternal night, without a thought or a dream, awaited her. She had no\nsoul, and now could never win one.\n\nAll was joy and gaiety on the ship until long after midnight. She smiled\nand danced with the rest, while the thought of death was in her heart.\nThe prince kissed his beautiful bride and she played with his raven hair\ntill they went arm in arm to rest in the sumptuous tent. Then all became\nstill on board the ship, and only the pilot, who stood at the helm, was\nawake. The little mermaid leaned her white arms on the edge of the\nvessel and looked towards the east for the first blush of morning--for\nthat first ray of the dawn which was to be her death. She saw her\nsisters rising out of the flood. They were as pale as she, but their\nbeautiful hair no longer waved in the wind; it had been cut off.\n\n\"We have given our hair to the witch,\" said they, \"to obtain help for\nyou, that you may not die to-night. She has given us a knife; see, it is\nvery sharp. Before the sun rises you must plunge it into the heart of\nthe prince. When the warm blood falls upon your feet they will grow\ntogether again into a fish's tail, and you will once more be a mermaid\nand can return to us to live out your three hundred years before you are\nchanged into the salt sea foam. Haste, then; either he or you must die\nbefore sunrise. Our old grandmother mourns so for you that her white\nhair is falling, as ours fell under the witch's scissors. Kill the\nprince, and come back. Hasten! Do you not see the first red streaks in\nthe sky? In a few minutes the sun will rise, and you must die.\"\n\nThen they sighed deeply and mournfully, and sank beneath the waves.\n\nThe little mermaid drew back the crimson curtain of the tent and beheld\nthe fair bride, whose head was resting on the prince's breast. She bent\ndown and kissed his noble brow, then looked at the sky, on which the\nrosy dawn grew brighter and brighter. She glanced at the sharp knife and\nagain fixed her eyes on the prince, who whispered the name of his bride\nin his dreams.\n\n_She_ was in his thoughts, and the knife trembled in the hand of the\nlittle mermaid--but she flung it far from her into the waves. The water\nturned red where it fell, and the drops that spurted up looked like\nblood. She cast one more lingering, half-fainting glance at the prince,\nthen threw herself from the ship into the sea and felt her body\ndissolving into foam.\n\nThe sun rose above the waves, and his warm rays fell on the cold foam of\nthe little mermaid, who did not feel as if she were dying. She saw the\nbright sun, and hundreds of transparent, beautiful creatures floating\naround her--she could see through them the white sails of the ships and\nthe red clouds in the sky. Their speech was melodious, but could not be\nheard by mortal ears--just as their bodies could not be seen by mortal\neyes. The little mermaid perceived that she had a body like theirs and\nthat she continued to rise higher and higher out of the foam. \"Where am\nI?\" asked she, and her voice sounded ethereal, like the voices of those\nwho were with her. No earthly music could imitate it.\n\n\"Among the daughters of the air,\" answered one of them. \"A mermaid has\nnot an immortal soul, nor can she obtain one unless she wins the love of\na human being. On the will of another hangs her eternal destiny. But the\ndaughters of the air, although they do not possess an immortal soul,\ncan, by their good deeds, procure one for themselves. We fly to warm\ncountries and cool the sultry air that destroys mankind with the\npestilence. We carry the perfume of the flowers to spread health and\nrestoration.\n\n\"After we have striven for three hundred years to do all the good in our\npower, we receive an immortal soul and take part in the happiness of\nmankind. You, poor little mermaid, have tried with your whole heart to\ndo as we are doing. You have suffered and endured, and raised yourself\nto the spirit world by your good deeds, and now, by striving for three\nhundred years in the same way, you may obtain an immortal soul.\"\n\nThe little mermaid lifted her glorified eyes toward the sun and, for the\nfirst time, felt them filling with tears.\n\nOn the ship in which she had left the prince there were life and noise,\nand she saw him and his beautiful bride searching for her. Sorrowfully\nthey gazed at the pearly foam, as if they knew she had thrown herself\ninto the waves. Unseen she kissed the forehead of the bride and fanned\nthe prince, and then mounted with the other children of the air to a\nrosy cloud that floated above.\n\n\"After three hundred years, thus shall we float into the kingdom of\nheaven,\" said she. \"And we may even get there sooner,\" whispered one of\nher companions. \"Unseen we can enter the houses of men where there are\nchildren, and for every day on which we find a good child that is the\njoy of his parents and deserves their love, our time of probation is\nshortened. The child does not know, when we fly through the room, that\nwe smile with joy at his good conduct--for we can count one year less of\nour three hundred years. But when we see a naughty or a wicked child we\nshed tears of sorrow, and for every tear a day is added to our time of\ntrial.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nBUCKWHEAT\n\n\nIF YOU should chance, after a tempest, to cross a field where buckwheat\nis growing, you may observe that it looks black and singed, as if a\nflame of fire had passed over it. And should you ask the reason, a\nfarmer will tell you, \"The lightning did that.\"\n\nBut how is it that the lightning did it?\n\nI will tell you what the sparrow told me, and the sparrow heard it from\nan aged willow which stood--and still stands for that matter--close to\nthe field of buckwheat.\n\nThis willow is tall and venerable, though old and crippled. Its trunk is\nsplit clear through the middle, and grass and blackberry tendrils creep\nout through the cleft. The tree bends forward, and its branches droop\nlike long, green hair.\n\nIn the fields around the willow grew rye, wheat, and oats--beautiful\noats that, when ripe, looked like little yellow canary birds sitting on\na branch. The harvest had been blessed, and the fuller the ears of grain\nthe lower they bowed their heads in reverent humility.\n\nThere was also a field of buckwheat lying just in front of the old\nwillow. The buckwheat did not bow its head, like the rest of the grain,\nbut stood erect in stiff-necked pride.\n\n\"I am quite as rich as the oats,\" it said; \"and, moreover, I am much\nmore sightly. My flowers are as pretty as apple blossoms. It is a treat\nto look at me and my companions. Old willow, do you know anything more\nbeautiful than we?\"\n\nThe willow nodded his head, as much as to say, \"Indeed I do!\" But the\nbuckwheat was so puffed with pride that it only said: \"The stupid tree!\nHe is so old that grass is growing out of his body.\"\n\nNow there came on a dreadful storm, and the flowers of the field folded\ntheir leaves or bent their heads as it passed over them. The buckwheat\nflower alone stood erect in all its pride.\n\n\"Bow your heads, as we do,\" called the flowers.\n\n\"There is no need for me to do that,\" answered the buckwheat.\n\n\"Bow your head as we do,\" said the grain. \"The angel of storms comes\nflying hither. He has wings that reach from the clouds to the earth; he\nwill smite you before you have time to beg for mercy.\"\n\n\"But I do not choose to bow down,\" said the buckwheat.\n\n\"Close your flowers and fold your leaves,\" said the old willow. \"Do not\nlook at the lightning when the cloud breaks. Even human beings dare not\ndo that, for in the midst of the lightning one may look straight into\nGod's heaven. The sight strikes human beings blind, so dazzling is it.\nWhat would not happen to us, mere plants of the field, who are so much\nhumbler, if we should dare do so?\"\n\n\"So much humbler! Indeed! If there is a chance, I shall look right into\nGod's heaven.\" And in its pride and haughtiness it did so. The flashes\nof lightning were so awful that it seemed as if the whole world were in\nflames.\n\nWhen the tempest was over, both the grain and the flowers, greatly\nrefreshed by the rain, again stood erect in the pure, quiet air. But the\nbuckwheat had been burned as black as a cinder by the lightning and\nstood in the field like a dead, useless weed.\n\nThe old willow waved his branches to and fro in the wind, and large\ndrops of water fell from his green leaves, as if he were shedding tears.\nThe sparrows asked: \"Why are you weeping when all around seems blest? Do\nyou not smell the sweet perfume of flowers and bushes? The sun shines,\nand the clouds have passed from the sky. Why do you weep, old tree?\"\n\nThen the willow told them of the buckwheat's stubborn pride and of the\npunishment which followed.\n\nI, who tell this tale, heard it from the sparrows. They told it to me\none evening when I had asked them for a story.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nWHAT HAPPENED TO THE THISTLE\n\n\nAROUND a lordly old mansion was a beautiful, well-kept garden, full of\nall kinds of rare trees and flowers. Guests always expressed their\ndelight and admiration at the sight of its wonders. The people from far\nand near used to come on Sundays and holidays and ask permission to see\nit. Even whole schools made excursions for the sole purpose of seeing\nits beauties.\n\nNear the fence that separated the garden from the meadow stood an\nimmense thistle. It was an uncommonly large and fine thistle, with\nseveral branches spreading out just above the root, and altogether was\nso strong and full as to make it well worthy of the name \"thistle bush.\"\n\nNo one ever noticed it, save the old donkey that pulled the milk cart\nfor the dairymaids. He stood grazing in the meadow hard by and stretched\nhis old neck to reach the thistle, saying: \"You are beautiful! I should\nlike to eat you!\" But the tether was too short to allow him to reach the\nthistle, so he did not eat it.\n\nThere were guests at the Hall, fine, aristocratic relatives from town,\nand among them a young lady who had come from a long distance--all the\nway from Scotland. She was of old and noble family and rich in gold and\nlands--a bride well worth the winning, thought more than one young man\nto himself; yes, and their mothers thought so, too!\n\nThe young people amused themselves on the lawn, playing croquet and\nflitting about among the flowers, each young girl gathering a flower to\nput in the buttonhole of some one of the gentlemen.\n\nThe young Scotch lady looked about for a flower, but none of them seemed\nto please her, until, happening to glance over the fence, she espied the\nfine, large thistle bush, full of bluish-red, sturdy-looking flowers.\nShe smiled as she saw it, and begged the son of the house to get one of\nthem for her.\n\n\"That is Scotland's flower,\" she said; \"it grows and blossoms in our\ncoat of arms. Get that one yonder for me, please.\"\n\nAnd he gathered the finest of the thistle flowers, though he pricked his\nfingers as much in doing so as if it had been growing on a wild\nrosebush.\n\nShe took the flower and put it in his buttonhole, which made him feel\ngreatly honored. Each of the other young men would gladly have given up\nhis graceful garden flower if he might have worn the one given by the\ndelicate hands of the Scotch girl. As keenly as the son of the house\nfelt the honor conferred upon him, the thistle felt even more highly\nhonored. It seemed to feel dew and sunshine going through it.\n\n\"It seems I am of more consequence than I thought,\" it said to itself.\n\"I ought by rights to stand inside and not outside the fence. One gets\nstrangely placed in this world, but now I have at least one of my\nflowers over the fence--and not only there, but in a buttonhole!\"\n\nTo each one of its buds as it opened, the thistle bush told this great\nevent. And not many days had passed before it heard--not from the people\nwho passed, nor yet from the twittering of little birds, but from the\nair, which gives out, far and wide, the sounds that it has treasured up\nfrom the shadiest walks of the beautiful garden and from the most\nsecluded rooms at the Hall, where doors and windows are left open--that\nthe young man who received the thistle flower from the hands of the\nScottish maiden had received her heart and hand as well.\n\n\"That is my doing!\" said the thistle, thinking of the flower she had\ngiven to the buttonhole. And every new flower that came was told of this\nwonderful event.\n\n\"Surely I shall now be taken and planted in the garden,\" thought the\nthistle. \"Perhaps I shall be put into a flowerpot, for that is by far\nthe most honorable position.\" It thought of this so long that it ended\nby saying to itself with the firm conviction of truth, \"I shall be\nplanted in a flowerpot!\"\n\nIt promised every little bud that came that it also should be placed in\na pot and perhaps have a place in a buttonhole--that being the highest\nposition one could aspire to. But none of them got into a flowerpot, and\nstill less into a gentleman's buttonhole.\n\nThey lived on light and air, and drank sunshine in the day and dew at\nnight. They received visits from bee and hornet, who came to look for\nthe honey in the flower, and who took the honey and left the flower.\n\n\"The good-for-nothing fellows,\" said the thistle bush. \"I would pierce\nthem if I could!\"\n\nThe flowers drooped and faded, but new ones always came.\n\n\"You come as if you had been sent,\" said the thistle bush to them. \"I am\nexpecting every moment to be taken over the fence.\"\n\nA couple of harmless daisies and a huge, thin plant of canary grass\nlistened to this with the deepest respect, believing all they heard. The\nold donkey, that had to pull the milk cart, cast longing looks toward\nthe blooming thistle and tried to reach it, but his tether was too\nshort. And the thistle bush thought and thought, so much and so long,\nof the Scotch thistle--to whom it believed itself related--that at last\nit fancied it had come from Scotland and that its parents had grown into\nthe Scottish arms.\n\nIt was a great thought, but a great thistle may well have great\nthoughts.\n\n\"Sometimes one is of noble race even if one does not know it,\" said the\nnettle growing close by--it had a kind of presentiment that it might be\nturned into muslin, if properly treated.\n\nThe summer passed, and the autumn passed; the leaves fell from the\ntrees; the flowers came with stronger colors and less perfume; the\ngardener's lad sang on the other side of the fence:\n\n          \"Up the hill and down the hill,\n           That's the way of the world still.\"\n\nThe young pine trees in the wood began to feel a longing for Christmas,\nthough Christmas was still a long way off.\n\n\"Here I am still,\" said the thistle. \"It seems that I am quite\nforgotten, and yet it was I who made the match. They were engaged, and\nnow they are married--the wedding was a week ago. I do not make a\nsingle step forward, for I cannot.\"\n\nSome weeks passed. The thistle had its last, solitary flower, which was\nlarge and full and growing down near the root. The wind blew coldly over\nit, the color faded, and all its glory disappeared, leaving only the cup\nof the flower, now grown to be as large as the flower of an artichoke\nand glistening like a silvered sunflower.\n\nThe young couple, who were now man and wife, came along the garden path,\nand as they passed near the fence, the bride, glancing over it, said,\n\"Why, there stands the large thistle! it has no flowers now.\"\n\n\"Yes, there is still the ghost of the last one,\" said her husband,\npointing to the silvery remains of the last flower--a flower in itself.\n\n\"How beautiful it is!\" she said. \"We must have one carved in the frame\nof our picture.\"\n\nAnd once more the young man had to get over the fence, to break off the\nsilvery cup of the thistle flower. It pricked his fingers for his pains,\nbecause he had called it a ghost. And then it was brought into the\ngarden, and to the Hall, and into the drawing room. There stood a large\npicture--the portraits of the two, and in the bridegroom's buttonhole\nwas painted a thistle. They talked of it and of the flower cup they had\nbrought in with them--the last silver-shimmering thistle flower, that\nwas to be reproduced in the carving of the frame.\n\nThe air took all their words and scattered them about, far and wide.\n\n\"What strange things happen to one!\" said the thistle bush. \"My\nfirst-born went to live in a buttonhole, my last-born in a frame! I\nwonder what is to become of me.\"\n\nThe old donkey, standing by the roadside, cast loving glances at the\nthistle and said, \"Come to me, my sweetheart, for I cannot go to you; my\ntether is too short!\"\n\nBut the thistle bush made no answer. It grew more and more thoughtful,\nand it thought as far ahead as Christmas, till its budding thoughts\nopened into flower.\n\n\"When one's children are safely housed, a mother is quite content to\nstay beyond the fence.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" said the sunshine; \"and you will be well placed, never\nfear.\"\n\n\"In a flowerpot or in a frame?\" asked the thistle.\n\n\"In a story,\" answered the sunshine. And here is the story!\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE PEN AND THE INKSTAND\n\n\nIN A POET'S room, where his inkstand stood on the table, the remark was\nonce made: \"It is wonderful what can be brought out of an inkstand. What\nwill come next? It is indeed wonderful.\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly,\" said the inkstand to the pen and to the other articles\nthat stood on the table; \"that's what I always say. It is wonderful and\nextraordinary what a number of things come out of me. It's quite\nincredible, and I really never know what is coming next when that man\ndips his pen into me. One drop out of me is enough for half a page of\npaper--and what cannot half a page contain?\n\n\"From me all the works of the poet are produced--all those imaginary\ncharacters whom people fancy they have known or met, and all the deep\nfeeling, the humor, and the vivid pictures of nature. I myself don't\nunderstand how it is, for I am not acquainted with nature, but it is\ncertainly in me. From me have gone forth to the world those wonderful\ndescriptions of charming maidens, and of brave knights on prancing\nsteeds; of the halt and the blind--and I know not what more, for I\nassure you I never think of these things.\"\n\n\"There you are right,\" said the pen, \"for you don't think at all. If you\ndid, you would see that you can only provide the means. You give the\nfluid, that I may place upon the paper what dwells in me and what I wish\nto bring to light. It is the pen that writes. No man doubts that; and\nindeed most people understand as much about poetry as an old inkstand.\"\n\n\"You have had very little experience,\" replied the inkstand. \"You have\nhardly been in service a week and are already half worn out. Do you\nimagine you are a poet? You are only a servant, and before you came I\nhad many like you, some of the goose family and others of English\nmanufacture. I know a quill pen as well as I know a steel one. I have\nhad both sorts in my service, and I shall have many more as long as _he_\ncomes--the man who performs the mechanical part--and writes down what he\nobtains from me. I should like to know what will be the next thing he\ngets out of me.\"\n\n\"Inkpot!\" retorted the pen, contemptuously.\n\nLate in the evening the poet returned home from a concert, where he had\nbeen quite enchanted by the admirable performance of a famous violin\nplayer.\n\nThe player had produced from his instrument a richness of tone that\nsometimes sounded like tinkling water drops or rolling pearls, sometimes\nlike the birds twittering in chorus, and then again, rising and swelling\nlike the wind through the fir trees. The poet felt as if his own heart\nwere weeping, but in tones of melody, like the sound of a woman's voice.\nThese sounds seemed to come not only from the strings but from every\npart of the instrument. It was a wonderful performance and a difficult\npiece, and yet the bow seemed to glide across the strings so easily\nthat one would think any one could do it. The violin and the bow seemed\nindependent of their master who guided them. It was as if soul and\nspirit had been breathed into the instrument. And the audience forgot\nthe performer in the beautiful sounds he produced.\n\nNot so the poet; he remembered him and wrote down his thoughts on the\nsubject: \"How foolish it would be for the violin and the bow to boast of\ntheir performance, and yet we men often commit that folly. The poet, the\nartist, the man of science in his laboratory, the general--we all do it,\nand yet we are only the instruments which the Almighty uses. To Him\nalone the honor is due. We have nothing in ourselves of which we should\nbe proud.\" Yes, this is what the poet wrote. He wrote it in the form of\na parable and called it \"The Master and the Instruments.\"\n\n\"That is what you get, madam,\" said the pen to the inkstand when the two\nwere alone again. \"Did you hear him read aloud what I had written down?\"\n\n\"Yes, what I gave you to write,\" retorted the inkstand. \"That was a cut\nat you, because of your conceit. To think that you could not understand\nthat you were being quizzed! I gave you a cut from within me. Surely I\nmust know my own satire.\"\n\n\"Ink pitcher!\" cried the pen.\n\n\"Writing stick!\" retorted the inkstand. And each of them felt satisfied\nthat he had given a good answer. It is pleasing to be convinced that you\nhave settled a matter by your reply; it is something to make you sleep\nwell. And they both slept well over it.\n\nBut the poet did not sleep. Thoughts rose within him, like the tones of\nthe violin, falling like pearls or rushing like the strong wind through\nthe forest. He understood his own heart in these thoughts; they were as\na ray from the mind of the Great Master of all minds.\n\n\"To Him be all the honor.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE TEAPOT\n\n\nTHERE was once a proud teapot; it was proud of being porcelain, proud of\nits long spout, proud of its broad handle. It had something before and\nbehind,--the spout before and the handle behind,--and that was what it\ntalked about. But it did not talk of its lid, which was cracked and\nriveted; these were defects, and one does not talk of one's defects, for\nthere are plenty of others to do that. The cups, the cream pot, and the\nsugar bowl, the whole tea service, would think much oftener of the lid's\nimperfections--and talk about them--than of the sound handle and the\nremarkable spout. The teapot knew it.\n\n\"I know you,\" it said within itself. \"I know, too, my imperfection, and\nI am well aware that in that very thing is seen my humility, my\nmodesty. Imperfections we all have, but we also have compensations. The\ncups have a handle, the sugar bowl a lid; I have both, and one thing\nbesides, in front, which they can never have. I have a spout, and that\nmakes me the queen of the tea table. I spread abroad a blessing on\nthirsting mankind, for in me the Chinese leaves are brewed in the\nboiling, tasteless water.\"\n\nAll this said the teapot in its fresh young life. It stood on the table\nthat was spread for tea; it was lifted by a very delicate hand, but the\ndelicate hand was awkward. The teapot fell, the spout snapped off, and\nthe handle snapped off. The lid was no worse to speak of; the worst had\nbeen spoken of that.\n\nThe teapot lay in a swoon on the floor, while the boiling water ran out\nof it. It was a horrid shame, but the worst was that everybody jeered at\nit; they jeered at the teapot and not at the awkward hand.\n\n\"I never shall forget that experience,\" said the teapot, when it\nafterward talked of its life. \"I was called an invalid, and placed in a\ncorner, and the next day was given to a woman who begged for victuals.\nI fell into poverty, and stood dumb both outside and in. But then, just\nas I was, began my better life. One can be one thing and still become\nquite another.\n\n\"Earth was placed in me. For a teapot, this is the same as being buried,\nbut in the earth was placed a flower bulb. Who placed it there, who gave\nit, I know not; but given it was, and it became a compensation for the\nChinese leaves and the boiling water, a compensation for the broken\nhandle and spout.\n\n\"And the bulb lay in the earth, the bulb lay in me; it became my heart,\nmy living heart, such as I had never before possessed. There was life in\nme, power and might. The heart pulsed, and the bulb put forth sprouts;\nit was the springing up of thoughts and feelings which burst forth into\nflower.\n\n\"I saw it, I bore it, I forgot myself in its delight. Blessed is it to\nforget oneself in another. The flower gave me no thanks; it did not\nthink of me. It was admired and praised, and I was glad at that. How\nhappy it must have been! One day I heard some one say that the flower\ndeserved a better pot. I was thumped hard on my back, which was a great\naffliction, and the flower was put into a better pot. I was thrown out\ninto the yard, where I lie as an old potsherd. But I have the memory,\nand that I can never lose.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nSOUP FROM A SAUSAGE SKEWER\n\n\n\"WE HAD such an excellent dinner yesterday,\" said an old lady-mouse to\nanother who had not been present at the feast. \"I sat number twenty-one\nbelow the mouse-king, which was not a bad place. Shall I tell you what\nwe had? Everything was excellent--moldy bread, tallow candle, and\nsausage.\n\n\"Then, when we had finished that course, the same came on all over\nagain; it was as good as two feasts. We were very sociable, and there\nwas as much joking and fun as if we had been all of one family circle.\nNothing was left but the sausage skewers, and this formed a subject of\nconversation till at last some one used the expression, 'Soup from\nsausage sticks'; or, as the people in the neighboring country call it,\n'Soup from a sausage skewer.'\n\n\"Every one had heard the expression, but no one had ever tasted the\nsoup, much less prepared it. A capital toast was drunk to the inventor\nof the soup, and some one said he ought to be made a relieving officer\nto the poor. Was not that witty?\n\n\"Then the old mouse-king rose and promised that the young lady-mouse who\nshould learn how best to prepare this much-admired and savory soup\nshould be his queen, and a year and a day should be allowed for the\npurpose.\"\n\n\"That was not at all a bad proposal,\" said the other mouse; \"but how is\nthe soup made?\"\n\n\"Ah, that is more than I can tell you. All the young lady-mice were\nasking the same question. They wish very much to be the queen, but they\ndo not want to take the trouble to go out into the world to learn how to\nmake soup, which it is absolutely necessary to do first.\n\n\"It is not every one who would care to leave her family or her happy\ncorner by the fireside at home, even to be made queen. It is not always\neasy in foreign lands to find bacon and cheese rind every day, and,\nafter all, it is not pleasant to endure hunger and perhaps be eaten\nalive by the cat.\"\n\nProbably some such thoughts as these discouraged the majority from going\nout into the world to collect the required information. Only four mice\ngave notice that they were ready to set out on the journey.\n\nThey were young and sprightly, but poor. Each of them wished to visit\none of the four divisions of the world, to see which of them would be\nmost favored by fortune. Each took a sausage skewer as a traveler's\nstaff and to remind her of the object of her journey.\n\nThey left home early in May, and none of them returned till the first of\nMay in the following year, and then only three of them. Nothing was seen\nor heard of the fourth, although the day of decision was close at hand.\n\"Ah, yes, there is always some trouble mingled with the greatest\npleasure,\" said the mouse-king. But he gave orders that all the mice\nwithin a circle of many miles should be invited at once.\n\nThey were to assemble in the kitchen, and the three travelers were to\nstand in a row before them, and a sausage skewer covered with crape was\nto stand in the place of the missing mouse. No one dared express an\nopinion until the king spoke and desired one of them to proceed with her\nstory. And now we shall hear what she said.\n\n\nWHAT THE FIRST LITTLE MOUSE SAW AND HEARD ON HER TRAVELS\n\n\"When I first went out into the world,\" said the little mouse, \"I\nfancied, as so many of my age do, that I already knew everything--but it\nwas not so. It takes years to acquire great knowledge.\n\n\"I went at once to sea, in a ship bound for the north. I had been told\nthat the ship's cook must know how to prepare every dish at sea, and it\nis easy enough to do that with plenty of sides of bacon, and large tubs\nof salt meat and musty flour. There I found plenty of delicate food but\nno opportunity to learn how to make soup from a sausage skewer.\n\n\"We sailed on for many days and nights; the ship rocked fearfully, and\nwe did not escape without a wetting. As soon as we arrived at the port\nto which the ship was bound, I left it and went on shore at a place far\ntowards the north. It is a wonderful thing to leave your own little\ncorner at home, to hide yourself in a ship where there are sure to be\nsome nice snug corners for shelter, then suddenly to find yourself\nthousands of miles away in a foreign land.\n\n\"I saw large, pathless forests of pine and birch trees, which smelt so\nstrong that I sneezed and thought of sausage. There were great lakes\nalso, which looked as black as ink at a distance but were quite clear\nwhen I came close to them. Large swans were floating upon them, and I\nthought at first they were only foam, they lay so still; but when I saw\nthem walk and fly, I knew directly what they were. They belonged to the\ngoose species. One could see that by their walk, for no one can\nsuccessfully disguise his family descent.\n\n\"I kept with my own kind and associated with the forest and field mice,\nwho, however, knew very little--especially about what I wanted to know\nand what had actually made me travel abroad.\n\n\"The idea that soup could be made from a sausage skewer was so startling\nto them that it was repeated from one to another through the whole\nforest. They declared that the problem would never be solved--that the\nthing was an impossibility. How little I thought that in this place, on\nthe very first night, I should be initiated into the manner of its\npreparation!\n\n\"It was the height of summer, which the mice told me was the reason that\nthe forest smelt so strong, and that the herbs were so fragrant, and\nthat the lakes with the white, swimming swans were so dark and yet so\nclear.\n\n\"On the margin of the wood, near several houses, a pole as large as the\nmainmast of a ship had been erected, and from the summit hung wreaths of\nflowers and fluttering ribbons. It was the Maypole. Lads and lasses\ndanced round it and tried to outdo the violins of the musicians with\ntheir singing. They were as gay as ever at sunset and in the moonlight,\nbut I took no part in the merrymaking. What has a little mouse to do\nwith a Maypole dance? I sat in the soft moss and held my sausage skewer\ntight. The moon shone particularly bright on one spot where stood a\ntree covered with very fine moss. I may almost venture to say that it\nwas as fine and soft as the fur of the mouse-king, but it was green,\nwhich is a color very agreeable to the eye.\n\n\"All at once I saw the most charming little people marching towards me.\nThey did not reach higher than my knee, although they looked like human\nbeings but were better proportioned. They called themselves elves, and\nwore clothes that were very delicate and fine, for they were made of the\nleaves of flowers, trimmed with the wings of flies and gnats. The effect\nwas by no means bad.\n\n\"They seemed to be seeking something--I knew not what, till at last one\nof them espied me. They came towards me, and the foremost pointed to my\nsausage skewer, saying: 'There, that is just what we want. See, it is\npointed at the top; is it not capital?' The longer he looked at my\npilgrim's staff the more delighted he became.\n\n\"'I will lend it to you,' said I, 'but not to keep.'\n\n\"'Oh, no, we won't keep it!' they all cried. Then they seized the\nskewer, which I gave up to them, and dancing with it to the tree\ncovered with delicate moss, set it up in the middle of the green. They\nwanted a Maypole, and the one they now had seemed made especially for\nthem. This they decorated so beautifully that it was quite dazzling to\nlook at. Little spiders spun golden threads around it, and it was hung\nwith fluttering veils and flags, as delicately white as snow glittering\nin the moonlight. Then they took colors from the butterfly's wing,\nsprinkling them over the white drapery until it gleamed as if covered\nwith flowers and diamonds, and I could no longer recognize my sausage\nskewer. Such a Maypole as this has never been seen in all the world.\n\n\"Then came a great company of real elves. Nothing could be finer than\ntheir clothes. They invited me to be present at the feast, but I was to\nkeep at a certain distance because I was too large for them. Then began\nmusic that sounded like a thousand glass bells, and was so full and\nstrong that I thought it must be the song of the swans. I fancied also\nthat I heard the voices of the cuckoo and the blackbird, and it seemed\nat last as if the whole forest sent forth glorious melodies--the voices\nof children, the tinkling of bells, and the songs of the birds. And all\nthis wonderful melody came from the elfin Maypole. My sausage peg was a\ncomplete peal of bells. I could scarcely believe that so much could have\nbeen produced from it, till I remembered into what hands it had fallen.\nI was so much affected that I wept tears such as a little mouse can\nweep, but they were tears of joy.\n\n\"The night was far too short for me; there are no long nights there in\nsummer, as we often have in this part of the world. When the morning\ndawned and the gentle breeze rippled the glassy mirror of the forest\nlake, all the delicate veils and flags fluttered away into thin air. The\nwaving garlands of the spider's web, the hanging bridges and galleries,\nor whatever else they may be called, vanished away as if they had never\nbeen. Six elves brought me back my sausage skewer and at the same time\nasked me to make any request, which they would grant if it lay in their\npower. So I begged them, if they could, to tell me how to make soup from\na sausage skewer.\n\n\"'How do we make it?' asked the chief of the elves, with a smile. 'Why,\nyou have just seen us. You scarcely knew your sausage skewer again, I am\nsure.'\n\n\"'They think themselves very wise,' thought I to myself. Then I told\nthem all about it, and why I had traveled so far, and also what promise\nhad been made at home to the one who should discover the method of\npreparing this soup.\n\n\"'What good will it do the mouse-king or our whole mighty kingdom,' I\nasked, 'for me to have seen all these beautiful things? I cannot shake\nthe sausage peg and say, \"Look, here is the skewer, and now the soup\nwill come.\" That would only produce a dish to be served when people were\nkeeping a fast.'\n\n\"Then the elf dipped his finger into the cup of a violet and said,\n'Look, I will anoint your pilgrim's staff, so that when you return to\nyour home and enter the king's castle, you have only to touch the king\nwith your staff and violets will spring forth, even in the coldest\nwinter time. I think I have given you something worth carrying home, and\na little more than something.'\"\n\nBefore the little mouse explained what this something more was, she\nstretched her staff toward the king, and as it touched him the most\nbeautiful bunch of violets sprang forth and filled the place with their\nperfume. The smell was so powerful that the mouse-king ordered the mice\nwho stood nearest the chimney to thrust their tails into the fire that\nthere might be a smell of burning, for the perfume of the violets was\noverpowering and not the sort of scent that every one liked.\n\n\"But what was the something more, of which you spoke just now?\" asked\nthe mouse-king.\n\n\"Why,\" answered the little mouse, \"I think it is what they call\n'effect.'\" Thereupon she turned the staff round, and behold, not a\nsingle flower was to be seen on it! She now held only the naked skewer,\nand lifted it up as a conductor lifts his baton at a concert.\n\n\"Violets, the elf told me,\" continued the mouse, \"are for the sight, the\nsmell, and the touch; so we have only to produce the effect of hearing\nand tasting.\" Then, as the little mouse beat time with her staff, there\ncame sounds of music; not such music as was heard in the forest, at the\nelfin feast, but such as is often heard in the kitchen--the sounds of\nboiling and roasting. It came quite suddenly, like wind rushing through\nthe chimneys, and it seemed as if every pot and kettle were boiling\nover.\n\nThe fire shovel clattered down on the brass fender, and then, quite as\nsuddenly, all was still,--nothing could be heard but the light, vapory\nsong of the teakettle, which was quite wonderful to hear, for no one\ncould rightly distinguish whether the kettle was just beginning to boil\nor just going to stop. And the little pot steamed, and the great pot\nsimmered, but without any regard for each other; indeed, there seemed no\nsense in the pots at all. As the little mouse waved her baton still more\nwildly, the pots foamed and threw up bubbles and boiled over, while\nagain the wind roared and whistled through the chimney, and at last\nthere was such a terrible hubbub that the little mouse let her stick\nfall.\n\n\"That is a strange sort of soup,\" said the mouse-king. \"Shall we not now\nhear about the preparation?\"\n\n\"That is all,\" answered the little mouse, with a bow.\n\n\"That all!\" said the mouse-king; \"then we shall be glad to hear what\ninformation the next may have to give us.\"\n\n\nWHAT THE SECOND MOUSE HAD TO TELL\n\n\"I was born in the library, at a castle,\" said the second mouse. \"Very\nfew members of our family ever had the good fortune to get into the\ndining room, much less into the storeroom. To-day and while on my\njourney are the only times I have ever seen a kitchen. We were often\nobliged to suffer hunger in the library, but we gained a great deal of\nknowledge. The rumor reached us of the royal prize offered to those who\nshould be able to make soup from a sausage skewer.\n\n\"Then my old grandmother sought out a manuscript,--which she herself\ncould not read, to be sure, but she had heard it read,--and in it were\nwritten these words, 'Those who are poets can make soup of sausage\nskewers.' She asked me if I was a poet. I told her I felt myself quite\ninnocent of any such pretensions. Then she said I must go out and make\nmyself a poet. I asked again what I should be required to do, for it\nseemed to me quite as difficult as to find out how to make soup of a\nsausage skewer. My grandmother had heard a great deal of reading in her\nday, and she told me that three principal qualifications were\nnecessary--understanding, imagination, and feeling. 'If you can manage\nto acquire these three, you will be a poet, and the sausage-skewer soup\nwill seem quite simple to you.'\n\n\"So I went forth into the world and turned my steps toward the west,\nthat I might become a poet. Understanding is the most important matter\nof all. I was sure of that, for the other two qualifications are not\nthought much of; so I went first to seek understanding. Where was I to\nfind it?\n\n\"'Go to the ant and learn wisdom,' said the great Jewish king. I learned\nthis from living in a library. So I went straight on till I came to the\nfirst great ant hill. There I set myself to watch, that I might become\nwise. The ants are a very respectable people; they are wisdom itself.\nAll they do is like the working of a sum in arithmetic, which comes\nright. 'To work, and to lay eggs,' say they, 'and to provide for\nposterity, is to live out your time properly.' This they truly do. They\nare divided into clean and dirty ants, and their rank is indicated by a\nnumber. The ant-queen is number ONE. Her opinion is the only correct one\non everything, and she seems to have in her the wisdom of the whole\nworld. This was just what I wished to acquire. She said a great deal\nthat was no doubt very clever--yet it sounded like nonsense to me. She\nsaid the ant hill was the loftiest thing in the world, although close to\nthe mound stood a tall tree which no one could deny was loftier, much\nloftier. Yet she made no mention of the tree.\n\n\"One evening an ant lost herself on this tree. She had crept up the\nstem, not nearly to the top but higher than any ant had ever ventured,\nand when at last she returned home she said that she had found something\nin her travels much higher than the ant hill. The rest of the ants\nconsidered this an insult to the whole community, and condemned her to\nwear a muzzle and live in perpetual solitude.\n\n\"A short time afterwards another ant got on the tree and made the same\njourney and the same discovery. But she spoke of it cautiously and\nindefinitely, and as she was one of the superior ants and very much\nrespected, they believed her. And when she died they erected an\negg-shell as a monument to her memory, for they cultivated a great\nrespect for science.\n\n\"I saw,\" said the little mouse, \"that the ants were always running to\nand fro with their burdens on their backs. Once I saw one of them, who\nhad dropped her load, try very hard to raise it again, but she did not\nsucceed. Two others came up and tried with all their strength to help\nher, till they nearly dropped their own burdens. Then they were obliged\nto stop a moment, for every one must think of himself first. The\nant-queen remarked that their conduct that day showed that they\npossessed kind hearts and good understanding. 'These two qualities,' she\ncontinued, 'place us ants in the highest degree above all other\nreasonable beings. Understanding must therefore stand out prominently\namong us, and my wisdom is greatest.' So saying, she raised herself on\nher two hind legs, that no one else might be mistaken for her. I could\nnot, therefore, have made a mistake, so I ate her up. We are to go to\nthe ants to learn wisdom, and I had secured the queen.\n\n\"I now turned and went nearer to the lofty tree already mentioned, which\nwas an oak. It had a tall trunk, with a wide-spreading top, and was very\nold. I knew that a living being dwelt here, a dryad, as she is called,\nwho is born with the tree and dies with it. I had heard this in the\nlibrary, and here was just such a tree and in it an oak maiden. She\nuttered a terrible scream when she caught sight of me so near to her.\nLike women, she was very much afraid of mice, and she had more real\ncause for fear than they have, for I might have gnawed through the tree\non which her life depended.\n\n\"I spoke to her in a friendly manner and begged her to take courage. At\nlast she took me up in her delicate hand, and I told her what had\nbrought me out into the world. She told me that perhaps on that very\nevening she would be able to obtain for me one of the two treasures for\nwhich I was seeking. She told me that Phantaesus, the genius of the\nimagination, was her very dear friend; that he was as beautiful as the\ngod of love; that he rested many an hour with her under the leafy boughs\nof the tree, which then rustled and waved more than ever. He called her\nhis dryad, she said, and the tree his tree, for the grand old oak with\nits gnarled trunk was just to his taste. The root, which spread deep\ninto the earth, and the top, which rose high in the fresh air, knew the\nvalue of the drifting snow, the keen wind, and the warm sunshine, as it\nought to be known. 'Yes,' continued the dryad, 'the birds sing up above\nin the branches and talk to each other about the beautiful fields they\nhave visited in foreign lands. On one of the withered boughs a stork has\nbuilt his nest--it is beautifully arranged, and, besides, it is pleasant\nto hear a little about the land of the pyramids. All this pleases\nPhantaesus, but it is not enough for him. I am obliged to relate to him\nof my life in the woods and to go back to my childhood, when I was\nlittle and the tree so small and delicate that a stinging nettle could\novershadow it, and I have to tell everything that has happened since\nthen until now, when the tree is so large and strong. Sit you down now\nunder the green bindwood and pay attention. When Phantaesus comes I will\nfind an opportunity to lay hold of his wing and to pull out one of the\nlittle feathers. That feather you shall have. A better was never given\nto any poet, and it will be quite enough for you.'\n\n\"And when Phantaesus came the feather was plucked,\" said the little\nmouse, \"and I seized and put it in water and kept it there till it was\nquite soft. It was very heavy and indigestible, but I managed to nibble\nit up at last. It is not so easy to nibble oneself into a poet, there\nare so many things to get through. Now, however, I had two of them,\nunderstanding and imagination, and through these I knew that the third\nwas to be found in the library.\n\n\"A great man has said and written that there are novels whose sole and\nonly use appears to be to attempt to relieve mankind of overflowing\ntears--a kind of sponge, in fact, for sucking up feelings and emotions.\nI remembered a few of these books. They had always appeared tempting to\nthe appetite, for they had been much read and were so greasy that they\nmust have absorbed no end of emotions in themselves.\n\n\"I retraced my steps to the library and literally devoured a whole\nnovel--that is, properly speaking, the interior, or soft part of it. The\ncrust, or binding, I left. When I had digested not only this, but a\nsecond, I felt a stirring within me. I then ate a small piece of a third\nromance and felt myself a poet. I said it to myself and told others the\nsame. I had headache and backache and I cannot tell what aches besides.\nI thought over all the stories that may be said to be connected with\nsausage pegs; and all that has ever been written about skewers, and\nsticks, and staves, and splinters came to my thoughts--the ant-queen\nmust have had a wonderfully clear understanding. I remembered the man\nwho placed in his mouth a white stick, by which he could make himself\nand the stick invisible. I thought of sticks as hobbyhorses, staves of\nmusic or rime, of breaking a stick over a man's back, and of Heaven\nknows how many more phrases of the same sort, relating to sticks,\nstaves, and skewers. All my thoughts ran on skewers, sticks of wood, and\nstaves. As I am at last a poet and have worked terribly hard to make\nmyself one, I can of course make poetry on anything. I shall therefore\nbe able to wait upon you every day in the week with a poetical history\nof a skewer. And that is my soup.\"\n\n\"In that case,\" said the mouse-king, \"we will hear what the third mouse\nhas to say.\"\n\n\"Squeak, squeak,\" cried a little mouse at the kitchen door. It was the\nfourth, and not the third, of the four who were contending for the\nprize, the one whom the rest supposed to be dead. She shot in like an\narrow and overturned the sausage peg that had been covered with crape.\nShe had been running day and night, for although she had traveled in a\nbaggage train, by railway, yet she had arrived almost too late. She\npressed forward, looking very much ruffled.\n\nShe had lost her sausage skewer but not her voice, and she began to\nspeak at once, as if they waited only for her and would hear her\nonly--as if nothing else in the world were of the least consequence.\nShe spoke out so clearly and plainly, and she had come in so suddenly,\nthat no one had time to stop her or to say a word while she was\nspeaking. This is what she said.\n\n\nWHAT THE FOURTH MOUSE, WHO SPOKE BEFORE THE THIRD, HAD TO TELL\n\n\"I started off at once to the largest town,\" said she, \"but the name of\nit has escaped me. I have a very bad memory for names. I was carried\nfrom the railway, with some goods on which duties had not been paid, to\nthe jail, and on arriving I made my escape, running into the house of\nthe keeper. He was speaking of his prisoners, especially of one who had\nuttered thoughtless words. These words had given rise to other words,\nand at length they were written down and registered. 'The whole affair\nis like making soup of sausage skewers,' said he, 'but the soup may cost\nhim his neck.'\n\n\"Now this raised in me an interest for the prisoner,\" continued the\nlittle mouse, \"and I watched my opportunity and slipped into his\napartment, for there is a mousehole to be found behind every closed\ndoor.\n\n\"The prisoner, who had a great beard and large, sparkling eyes, looked\npale. There was a lamp burning, but the walls were so black that they\nonly looked the blacker for it. The prisoner scratched pictures and\nverses with white chalk on the black walls, but I did not read the\nverses. I think he found his confinement wearisome, so that I was a\nwelcome guest. He enticed me with bread crumbs, with whistling, and with\ngentle words, and seemed so friendly towards me that by degrees I gained\nconfidence in him and we became friends. He divided his bread and water\nwith me and gave me cheese and sausage, and I began to love him.\nAltogether, I must own that it was a very pleasant intimacy. He let me\nrun about on his hand, on his arm, into his sleeve, and even into his\nbeard. He called me his little friend, and I forgot for what I had come\nout into the world; forgot my sausage skewer, which I had laid in a\ncrack in the floor, where it is still lying. I wished to stay with him\nalways, for I knew that if I went away, the poor prisoner would have no\none to be his friend, which is a sad thing.\n\n\"I stayed, but he did not. He spoke to me so mournfully for the last\ntime, gave me double as much bread and cheese as usual, and kissed his\nhand to me. Then he went away and never came back. I know nothing more\nof his history.\n\n\"The jailer took possession of me now. He said something about soup from\na sausage skewer, but I could not trust him. He took me in his hand,\ncertainly, but it was to place me in a cage like a treadmill. Oh, how\ndreadful it was! I had to run round and round without getting any\nfarther, and only to make everybody laugh.\n\n\"The jailer's granddaughter was a charming little thing. She had merry\neyes, curly hair like the brightest gold, and such a smiling mouth.\n\n\"'You poor little mouse,' said she one day, as she peeped into my cage,\n'I will set you free.' She then drew forth the iron fastening, and I\nsprang out on the window-sill, and from thence to the roof. Free! free!\nthat was all I could think of, and not of the object of my journey.\n\n\"It grew dark, and as night was coming on I found a lodging in an old\ntower, where dwelt a watchman and an owl. I had no confidence in either\nof them, least of all in the owl, which is like a cat and has a great\nfailing, for she eats mice. One may, however, be mistaken sometimes, and\nI was now, for this was a respectable and well-educated old owl, who\nknew more than the watchman and even as much as I did myself. The young\nowls made a great fuss about everything, but the only rough words she\nwould say to them were, 'You had better go and try to make some soup\nfrom sausage skewers.' She was very indulgent and loving to her own\nchildren. Her conduct gave me such confidence in her that from the crack\nwhere I sat I called out 'Squeak.'\n\n\"This confidence pleased her so much that she assured me she would take\nme under her own protection and that not a creature should do me harm.\nThe fact was, she wickedly meant to keep me in reserve for her own\neating in the winter, when food would be scarce. Yet she was a very\nclever lady-owl. She explained to me that the watchman could only hoot\nwith the horn that hung loose at his side and that he was so terribly\nproud of it that he imagined himself an owl in the tower, wanted to do\ngreat things, but only succeeded in small--soup from a sausage skewer.\n\n\"Then I begged the owl to give me the recipe for this soup. 'Soup from a\nsausage skewer,' said she, 'is only a proverb amongst mankind and may be\nunderstood in many ways. Each believes his own way the best, and, after\nall, the proverb signifies nothing.' 'Nothing!' I exclaimed. I was quite\nstruck. Truth is not always agreeable, but truth is above everything\nelse, as the old owl said. I thought over all this and saw quite plainly\nthat if truth was really so far above everything else, it must be much\nmore valuable than soup from a sausage skewer. So I hastened to get\naway, that I might be in time and bring what was highest and best and\nabove everything--namely, the truth.\n\n\"The mice are enlightened people, and the mouse-king is above them all.\nHe is therefore capable of making me queen for the sake of truth.\"\n\n\"Your truth is a falsehood,\" said the mouse who had not yet spoken. \"I\ncan prepare the soup, and I mean to do so.\"\n\n\nHOW IT WAS PREPARED\n\n\"I did not travel,\" said the third mouse, \"I stayed in this country;\nthat was the right way. One gains nothing by traveling. Everything can\nbe acquired here quite as easily, so I stayed at home. I have not\nobtained what I know from supernatural beings; I have neither swallowed\nit nor learned it from conversing with owls. I have gained it all from\nmy own reflections and thoughts. Will you now set the kettle on the\nfire--so? Now pour the water in, quite full up to the brim; place it on\nthe fire; make up a good blaze; keep it burning, that the water may\nboil, for it must boil over and over. There, now I throw in the skewer.\nWill the mouse-king be pleased now to dip his tail into the boiling\nwater and stir it round with the tail? The longer the king stirs it the\nstronger the soup will become. Nothing more is necessary, only to stir\nit.\"\n\n\"Can no one else do this?\" asked the king.\n\n\"No,\" said the mouse; \"only in the tail of the mouse-king is this power\ncontained.\"\n\nAnd the water boiled and bubbled, as the mouse-king stood close beside\nthe kettle. It seemed rather a dangerous performance, but he turned\nround and put out his tail, as mice do in a dairy when they wish to skim\nthe cream from a pan of milk with their tails and afterwards lick it\noff. But the mouse-king's tail had only just touched the hot steam when\nhe sprang away from the chimney in a great hurry, exclaiming:\n\n\"Oh, certainly, by all means, you must be my queen. We will let the soup\nquestion rest till our golden wedding, fifty years hence, so that the\npoor in my kingdom who are then to have plenty of food will have\nsomething to look forward to for a long time, with great joy.\"\n\nAnd very soon the wedding took place. Many of the mice, however, as they\nwere returning home, said that the soup could not be properly called\n\"soup from a sausage skewer,\" but \"soup from a mouse's tail.\" They\nacknowledged that some of the stories were very well told, but thought\nthat the whole might have been managed differently.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nWHAT THE GOODMAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT\n\n\nI WILL tell you a story that was told to me when I was a little boy.\nEvery time I think of this story it seems to me more and more charming;\nfor it is with stories as it is with many people--they become better as\nthey grow older.\n\nI have no doubt that you have been in the country and seen a very old\nfarmhouse, with thatched roof, and mosses and small plants growing wild\nupon it. There is a stork's nest on the ridge of the gable, for we\ncannot do without the stork. The walls of the house are sloping, and the\nwindows are low, and only one of the latter is made to open. The baking\noven sticks out of the wall like a great knob. An elder tree hangs over\nthe palings, and beneath its branches, at the foot of the paling, is a\npool of water in which a few ducks are sporting. There is a yard dog,\ntoo, that barks at all comers.\n\nJust such a farmhouse as this stood in a country lane, and in it dwelt\nan old couple, a peasant and his wife. Small as their possessions were,\nthey had one thing they could not do without, and that was a horse,\nwhich contrived to live upon the grass found by the side of the\nhighroad. The old peasant rode into the town upon this horse, and his\nneighbors often borrowed it of him and paid for the loan of it by\nrendering some service to the old couple. Yet after a time the old\npeople thought it would be as well to sell the horse or exchange it for\nsomething which might be more useful to them. But what should this\n_something_ be?\n\n\"You will know best, old man,\" said the wife. \"It is fair day to-day; so\nride into town and get rid of the horse for money or make a good\nexchange. Whichever you do will please me; so ride to the fair.\"\n\nShe fastened his neckerchief for him, for she could do that better than\nhe could and she could also tie it very prettily in a double bow. She\nalso smoothed his hat round and round with the palm of her hand and gave\nhim a kiss. Then he rode away upon the horse that was to be sold, or\nbartered for something else. Yes, the goodman knew what he was about.\nThe sun shone with great heat, and not a cloud was to be seen in the\nsky. The road was very dusty, for many people, all going to the fair,\nwere driving, riding, or walking upon it. There was no shelter anywhere\nfrom the hot sun. Among the crowd a man came trudging along, driving a\ncow to the fair. The cow was as beautiful a creature as any cow could\nbe.\n\n\"She gives good milk, I am certain,\" said the peasant to himself. \"That\nwould be a very good exchange: the cow for the horse. Halloo there! you\nwith the cow,\" he said. \"I tell you what, I dare say a horse is of more\nvalue than a cow; but I don't care for that. A cow will be more useful\nto me, so if you like we'll exchange.\"\n\n\"To be sure I will,\" said the man.\n\n[Illustration: And then our peasant ... continued his way.]\n\nAccordingly the exchange was made. When the matter was settled the\npeasant might have turned back, for he had done the business he came\nto do. But having made up his mind to go to the fair, he determined to\ndo so, if only to have a look at it. So on he went to the town with his\ncow. Leading the animal, he strode on sturdily, and, after a short time,\novertook a man who was driving a sheep. It was a good fat sheep, with a\nfine fleece on its back.\n\n\"I should like to have that fellow,\" said the peasant to himself. \"There\nis plenty of grass for him by our palings, and in the winter we could\nkeep him in the room with us. Perhaps it would be more profitable to\nhave a sheep than a cow. Shall I exchange?\"\n\nThe man with the sheep was quite ready, and the bargain was quickly\nmade. And then our peasant continued his way on the highroad with his\nsheep. Soon after this, he overtook another man, who had come into the\nroad from a field, and was carrying a large goose under his arm.\n\n\"What a heavy creature you have there!\" said the peasant. \"It has plenty\nof feathers and plenty of fat, and would look well tied to a string, or\npaddling in the water at our place. That would be very useful to my old\nwoman; she could make all sorts of profit out of it. How often she has\nsaid, 'If we only had a goose!' Now here is an opportunity, and, if\npossible, I will get it for her. Shall we exchange? I will give you my\nsheep for your goose, and thanks into the bargain.\"\n\nThe other had not the least objection, and accordingly the exchange was\nmade, and our peasant became possessor of the goose. By this time he had\narrived very near the town. The crowd on the highroad had been gradually\nincreasing, and there was quite a rush of men and cattle. The cattle\nwalked on the path and by the palings, and at the turnpike gate they\neven walked into the toll keeper's potato field, where one fowl was\nstrutting about with a string tied to its leg, lest it should take\nfright at the crowd and run away and get lost. The tail feathers of this\nfowl were very short, and it winked with both its eyes, and looked very\ncunning as it said, \"Cluck, cluck.\" What were the thoughts of the fowl\nas it said this I cannot tell you, but as soon as our good man saw it,\nhe thought, \"Why, that's the finest fowl I ever saw in my life; it's\nfiner than our parson's brood hen, upon my word. I should like to have\nthat fowl. Fowls can always pick up a few grains that lie about, and\nalmost keep themselves. I think it would be a good exchange if I could\nget it for my goose. Shall we exchange?\" he asked the toll keeper.\n\n\"Exchange?\" repeated the man. \"Well, it would not be a bad thing.\"\n\nSo they made an exchange; the toll keeper at the turnpike gate kept the\ngoose, and the peasant carried off the fowl. Now he really had done a\ngreat deal of business on his way to the fair, and he was hot and tired.\nHe wanted something to eat, and a glass of ale to refresh himself; so he\nturned his steps to an inn. He was just about to enter, when the ostler\ncame out, and they met at the door. The ostler was carrying a sack.\n\"What have you in that sack?\" asked the peasant.\n\n\"Rotten apples,\" answered the ostler; \"a whole sackful of them. They\nwill do to feed the pigs with.\"\n\n\"Why, that will be terrible waste,\" the peasant replied. \"I should like\nto take them home to my old woman. Last year the old apple tree by the\ngrassplot bore only one apple, and we kept it in the cupboard till it\nwas quite withered and rotten. It was property, my old woman said. Here\nshe would see a great deal of property--a whole sackful. I should like\nto show them to her.\"\n\n\"What will you give me for the sackful?\" asked the ostler.\n\n\"What will I give? Well, I will give you my fowl in exchange.\"\n\nSo he gave up the fowl and received the apples, which he carried into\nthe inn parlor. He leaned the sack carefully against the stove, and then\nwent to the table. But the stove was hot, and he had not thought of\nthat. Many guests were present--horse-dealers, cattle-drovers, and two\nEnglishmen. The Englishmen were so rich that their pockets bulged and\nseemed ready to burst; and they could bet too, as you shall hear.\nHiss--s--s, hiss--s--s. What could that be by the stove? The apples were\nbeginning to roast. \"What is that?\" asked one.\n\n\"Why, do you know--\" said our peasant, and then he told them the whole\nstory of the horse, which he had exchanged for a cow, and all the rest\nof it, down to the apples.\n\n\"Well, your old woman will give it to you when you get home,\" said one\nof the Englishmen. \"Won't there be a noise?\"\n\n\"What! Give me what?\" said the peasant. \"Why, she will kiss me, and say,\n'What the goodman does is always right.'\"\n\n\"Let us lay a wager on it,\" said the Englishman. \"We'll wager you a ton\nof coined gold, a hundred pounds to the hundredweight.\"\n\n\"No, a bushel will be enough,\" replied the peasant. \"I can only set a\nbushel of apples against it, and I'll throw myself and my old woman into\nthe bargain. That will pile up the measure, I fancy.\"\n\n\"Done! taken!\" and so the bet was made.\n\nThen the landlord's coach came to the door, and the two Englishmen and\nthe peasant got in, and away they drove. Soon they had stopped at the\npeasant's hut. \"Good evening, old woman.\"\n\n\"Good evening, old man.\"\n\n\"I've made the exchange.\"\n\n\"Ah, well, you understand what you're about,\" said the woman. Then she\nembraced him, and paid no attention to the strangers, nor did she notice\nthe sack.\n\n\"I got a cow in exchange for the horse.\"\n\n\"Oh, how delightful!\" said she. \"Now we shall have plenty of milk, and\nbutter, and cheese on the table. That was a capital exchange.\"\n\n\"Yes, but I changed the cow for a sheep.\"\n\n\"Ah, better still!\" cried the wife. \"You always think of everything; we\nhave just enough pasture for a sheep. Ewe's milk and cheese, woolen\njackets and stockings! The cow could not give all these, and her hairs\nonly fall off. How you think of everything!\"\n\n\"But I changed away the sheep for a goose.\"\n\n\"Then we shall have roast goose to eat this year. You dear old man, you\nare always thinking of something to please me. This is delightful. We\ncan let the goose walk about with a string tied to her leg, so that she\nwill get fatter still before we roast her.\"\n\n\"But I gave away the goose for a fowl.\"\n\n\"A fowl! Well, that was a good exchange,\" replied the woman. \"The fowl\nwill lay eggs and hatch them, and we shall have chickens. We shall soon\nhave a poultry yard. Oh, this is just what I was wishing for!\"\n\n\"Yes, but I exchanged the fowl for a sack of shriveled apples.\"\n\n\"What! I must really give you a kiss for that!\" exclaimed the wife. \"My\ndear, good husband, now I'll tell you something. Do you know, almost as\nsoon as you left me this morning, I began thinking of what I could give\nyou nice for supper this evening, and then I thought of fried eggs and\nbacon, with sweet herbs. I had eggs and bacon but lacked the herbs, so I\nwent over to the schoolmaster's. I knew they had plenty of herbs, but\nthe schoolmistress is very mean, although she can smile so sweetly. I\nbegged her to lend me a handful of herbs. 'Lend!' she exclaimed, 'I have\nnothing to lend. I could not even lend you a shriveled apple, my dear\nwoman.' But now I can lend her ten, or a whole sackful, for which I'm\nvery glad. It makes me laugh to think of it.\" Then she gave him a hearty\nkiss.\n\n\"Well, I like all this,\" said both the Englishmen; \"always going down\nthe hill and yet always merry. It's worth the money to see it.\" So they\npaid a hundredweight of gold to the peasant who, whatever he did, was\nnot scolded but kissed.\n\nYes, it always pays best when the wife sees and maintains that her\nhusband knows best and that whatever he does is right.\n\nThis is a story which I heard when I was a child. And now you have heard\nit, too, and know that \"What the goodman does is always right.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLD STREET LAMP\n\n\nDID you ever hear the story of the old street lamp? It is not remarkably\ninteresting, but for once you may as well listen to it.\n\nIt was a most respectable old lamp, which had seen many, many years of\nservice and now was to retire with a pension. It was this very evening\nat its post for the last time, giving light to the street. Its feelings\nwere something like those of an old dancer at the theater who is dancing\nfor the last time and knows that on the morrow she will be in her\ngarret, alone and forgotten.\n\nThe lamp had very great anxiety about the next day, for it knew that it\nhad to appear for the first time at the town hall to be inspected by the\nmayor and the council, who were to decide whether it was fit for\nfurther service; whether it was good enough to be used to light the\ninhabitants of one of the suburbs, or in the country, at some factory.\nIf the lamp could not be used for one of these purposes, it would be\nsent at once to an iron foundry to be melted down. In this latter case\nit might be turned into anything, and it wondered very much whether it\nwould then be able to remember that it had once been a street lamp. This\ntroubled it exceedingly.\n\nWhatever might happen, it seemed certain that the lamp would be\nseparated from the watchman and his wife, whose family it looked upon as\nits own. The lamp had first been hung up on the very evening that the\nwatchman, then a robust young man, had entered upon the duties of his\noffice. Ah, well! it was a very long time since one became a lamp and\nthe other a watchman. His wife had some little pride in those days; she\ncondescended to glance at the lamp only when she passed by in the\nevening--never in the daytime. But in later years, when all of them--the\nwatchman, the wife, and the lamp--had grown old, she had attended to it,\ncleaning it and keeping it supplied with oil. The old people were\nthoroughly honest; they had never cheated the lamp of a single drop of\nthe oil provided for it.\n\nThis was the lamp's last night in the street, and to-morrow it must go\nto the town hall--two very dark things to think of. No wonder it did not\nburn brightly. How many persons it had lighted on their way, and how\nmuch it had seen! As much, very likely, as the mayor and corporation\nthemselves! None of these thoughts were uttered aloud, however, for the\nlamp was good and honorable and would not willingly do harm to any one,\nespecially to those in authority. As one thing after another was\nrecalled to its mind, the light would flash up with sudden brightness.\nAt such moments the lamp had a conviction that it would be remembered.\n\n\"There was a handsome young man, once,\" thought the lamp; \"it is\ncertainly a long while ago, but I remember that he had a little note,\nwritten on pink paper with a gold edge. The writing was elegant,\nevidently a lady's. Twice he read it through, and kissed it, and then\nlooked up at me with eyes that said quite plainly, 'I am the happiest\nof men!' Only he and I know what was written on this, his first letter\nfrom his lady-love. Ah, yes, and there was another pair of eyes that I\nremember; it is really wonderful how the thoughts jump from one thing to\nanother! A funeral passed through the street. A young and beautiful\nwoman lay on a bier decked with garlands of flowers, and attended by\ntorches which quite overpowered my light. All along the street stood the\npeople from the houses, in crowds, ready to join the procession. But\nwhen the torches had passed from before me and I could look around, I\nsaw one person standing alone, leaning against my post and weeping.\nNever shall I forget the sorrowful eyes that looked up at me.\"\n\nThese and similar reflections occupied the old street lamp on this the\nlast time that its light would shine. The sentry, when he is relieved\nfrom his post, knows, at least, who will be his successor, and may\nwhisper a few words to him. But the lamp did not know its successor, or\nit might have given him a few hints respecting rain or mist and might\nhave informed him how far the moon's rays would reach, and from which\nside the wind generally blew, and so on.\n\nOn the bridge over the canal stood three persons who wished to recommend\nthemselves to the lamp, for they thought it could give the office to\nwhomsoever it chose. The first was a herring's head, which could emit\nlight in the darkness. He remarked that it would be a great saving of\noil if they placed him on the lamp-post. Number two was a piece of\nrotten wood, which also shines in the dark. He considered himself\ndescended from an old stem, once the pride of the forest. The third was\na glowworm, and how he found his way there the lamp could not imagine;\nyet there he was, and could really give light as well as the others. But\nthe rotten wood and the herring's head declared most solemnly, by all\nthey held sacred, that the glowworm only gave light at certain times and\nmust not be allowed to compete with them. The old lamp assured them that\nnot one of them could give sufficient light to fill the position of a\nstreet lamp, but they would believe nothing that it said. When they\ndiscovered that it had not the power of naming its successor, they said\nthey were very glad to hear it, for the lamp was too old and worn out to\nmake a proper choice.\n\nAt this moment the wind came rushing round the corner of the street and\nthrough the air-holes of the old lamp. \"What is this I hear?\" it asked.\n\"Are you going away to-morrow? Is this evening the last time we shall\nmeet? Then I must present you with a farewell gift. I will blow into\nyour brain, so that in future not only shall you be able to remember all\nthat you have seen or heard in the past, but your light within shall be\nso bright that you will be able to understand all that is said or done\nin your presence.\"\n\n\"Oh, that is really a very, very great gift,\" said the old lamp. \"I\nthank you most heartily. I only hope I shall not be melted down.\"\n\n\"That is not likely to happen yet,\" said the wind. \"I will also blow a\nmemory into you, so that, should you receive other similar presents,\nyour old age will pass very pleasantly.\"\n\n\"That is, if I am not melted down,\" said the lamp. \"But should I, in\nthat case, still retain my memory?\"\n\n\"Do be reasonable, old lamp,\" said the wind, puffing away.\n\nAt this moment the moon burst forth from the clouds. \"What will you give\nthe old lamp?\" asked the wind.\n\n\"I can give nothing,\" she replied. \"I am on the wane, and no lamps have\never given me light, while I have frequently shone upon them.\" With\nthese words the moon hid herself again behind the clouds, that she might\nbe saved from further importunities. Just then a drop fell upon the lamp\nfrom the roof of the house, but the drop explained that it was a gift\nfrom those gray clouds and perhaps the best of all gifts. \"I shall\npenetrate you so thoroughly,\" it said, \"that you will have the power of\nbecoming rusty, and, if you wish it, can crumble into dust in one\nnight.\"\n\nBut this seemed to the lamp a very shabby present, and the wind thought\nso, too. \"Does no one give any more? Will no one give any more?\" shouted\nthe breath of the wind, as loud as it could. Then a bright, falling star\ncame down, leaving a broad, luminous streak behind it.\n\n\"What was that?\" cried the herring's head. \"Did not a star fall? I\nreally believe it went into the lamp. Certainly, when such high-born\npersonages try for the office we may as well go home.\"\n\nAnd so they did, all three, while the old lamp threw a wonderfully\nstrong light all around.\n\n\"This is a glorious gift,\" it said. \"The bright stars have always been a\njoy to me and have always shone more brilliantly than I ever could\nshine, though I have tried with my whole might. Now they have noticed\nme, a poor old lamp, and have sent me a gift that will enable me to see\nclearly everything that I remember, as if it still stood before me, and\nto let it be seen by all those who love me. And herein lies the truest\nhappiness, for pleasures which we cannot share with others are only half\nenjoyed.\"\n\n\"That sentiment does you honor,\" said the wind; \"but for this purpose\nwax lights will be necessary. If these are not lighted in you, your\npeculiar faculties will not benefit others in the least. The stars have\nnot thought of this. They suppose that you and every other light must be\na wax taper. But I must go down now.\" So it laid itself to rest.\n\n\"Wax tapers, indeed!\" said the lamp; \"I have never yet had these, nor is\nit likely I ever shall. If I could only be sure of not being melted\ndown!\"\n\nThe next day--well, perhaps we had better pass over the next day. The\nevening had come, and the lamp was resting in a grandfather's chair; and\nguess where! Why, at the old watchman's house. He had begged as a favor\nthat the mayor and corporation would allow him to keep the street lamp\nin consideration of his long and faithful service, as he had himself\nhung it up and lighted it on the day he first commenced his duties, four\nand twenty years ago. He looked upon it almost as his own child. He had\nno children, so the lamp was given to him.\n\nThere lay the lamp in the great armchair near the warm stove. It seemed\nalmost to have grown larger, for it appeared quite to fill the chair.\nThe old people sat at their supper, casting friendly glances at it, and\nwould willingly have admitted it to a place at the table. It is quite\ntrue that they dwelt in a cellar two yards below ground, and had to\ncross a stone passage to get to their room. But within, it was warm and\ncomfortable, and strips of list had been nailed round the door. The bed\nand the little window had curtains, and everything looked clean and\nneat. On the window seat stood two curious flowerpots, which a sailor\nnamed Christian had brought from the East or West Indies. They were of\nclay, and in the form of two elephants with open backs; they were filled\nwith earth, and through the open space flowers bloomed. In one grew some\nvery fine chives or leeks; this was the kitchen garden. The other, which\ncontained a beautiful geranium, they called their flower garden. On the\nwall hung a large colored print, representing the Congress of Vienna and\nall the kings and emperors. A clock with heavy weights hung on the wall\nand went \"tick, tick,\" steadily enough; yet it was always rather too\nfast, which, however, the old people said was better than being too\nslow. They were now eating their supper, while the old street lamp, as\nwe have heard, lay in the grandfather's armchair near the stove.\n\nIt seemed to the lamp as if the whole world had turned round. But after\na while the old watchman looked at the lamp and spoke of what they had\nboth gone through together--in rain and in fog, during the short, bright\nnights of summer or in the long winter nights, through the drifting\nsnowstorms when he longed to be at home in the cellar. Then the lamp\nfelt that all was well again. It saw everything that had happened quite\nclearly, as if the events were passing before it. Surely the wind had\ngiven it an excellent gift!\n\nThe old people were very active and industrious; they were never idle\nfor even a single hour. On Sunday afternoons they would bring out some\nbooks, generally a book of travels which they greatly liked. The old man\nwould read aloud about Africa, with its great forests and the wild\nelephants, while his wife would listen attentively, stealing a glance\nnow and then at the clay elephants which served as flowerpots. \"I can\nalmost imagine I am seeing it all,\" she said.\n\nAh! how the lamp wished for a wax taper to be lighted in it, for then\nthe old woman would have seen the smallest detail as clearly as it did\nitself; the lofty trees, with their thickly entwined branches, the\nnaked negroes on horseback, and whole herds of elephants treading down\nbamboo thickets with their broad, heavy feet.\n\n\"What is the use of all my capabilities,\" sighed the old lamp, \"when I\ncannot obtain any wax lights? They have only oil and tallow here, and\nthese will not do.\" One day a great heap of wax-candle ends found their\nway into the cellar. The larger pieces were burned, and the smaller ones\nthe old woman kept for waxing her thread. So there were now candles\nenough, but it never occurred to any one to put a little piece in the\nlamp.\n\n\"Here I am now, with my rare powers,\" thought the lamp. \"I have\nfaculties within me, but I cannot share them. They do not know that I\ncould cover these white walls with beautiful tapestry, or change them\ninto noble forests or, indeed, to anything else they might wish.\"\n\nThe lamp, however, was always kept clean and shining in a corner, where\nit attracted all eyes. Strangers looked upon it as lumber, but the old\npeople did not care for that; they loved it. One day--it was the\nwatchman's birthday--the old woman approached the lamp, smiling to\nherself, and said, \"I will have an illumination to-day, in honor of my\nold man.\" The lamp rattled in its metal frame, for it thought, \"Now at\nlast I shall have a light within me.\" But, after all, no wax light was\nplaced in the lamp--only oil, as usual.\n\nThe lamp burned through the whole evening and began to perceive too\nclearly that the gift of the stars would remain a hidden treasure all\nits life. Then it had a dream; for to one with its faculties, dreaming\nwas not difficult. It dreamed that the old people were dead and that it\nhad been taken to the iron foundry to be melted down. This caused the\nlamp quite as much anxiety as on the day when it had been called upon to\nappear before the mayor and the council at the town hall. But though it\nhad been endowed with the power of falling into decay from rust when it\npleased, it did not make use of this power. It was therefore put into\nthe melting furnace and changed into as elegant an iron candlestick as\nyou could wish to see--one intended to hold a wax taper. The candlestick\nwas in the form of an angel holding a nosegay, in the center of which\nthe wax taper was to be placed. It was to stand on a green writing table\nin a very pleasant room, where there were many books scattered about and\nsplendid paintings on the walls.\n\nThe owner of the room was a poet and a man of intellect. Everything he\nthought or wrote was pictured around him. Nature showed herself to him\nsometimes in the dark forests, sometimes in cheerful meadows where the\nstorks were strutting about, or on the deck of a ship sailing across the\nfoaming sea, with the clear, blue sky above, or at night in the\nglittering stars.\n\n\"What powers I possess!\" said the lamp, awaking from its dream. \"I could\nalmost wish to be melted down; but no, that must not be while the old\npeople live. They love me for myself alone; they keep me bright and\nsupply me with oil. I am as well off as the picture of the Congress, in\nwhich they take so much pleasure.\" And from that time it felt at rest in\nitself, and not more so than such an honorable old lamp really deserved\nto be.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE SHEPHERDESS AND THE CHIMNEY SWEEP\n\n\nHAVE you ever seen an old wooden cabinet, quite worn black with age, and\nornamented with all sorts of carved figures and flourishes?\n\nJust such a one stood in a certain parlor. It was a legacy from the\ngreat-grandmother, and was covered from top to bottom with carved roses\nand tulips. The most curious flourishes were on it, too; and between\nthem peered forth little stags' heads, with their zigzag antlers. On the\ndoor panel had been carved the entire figure of a man, a most ridiculous\nman to look at, for he grinned--you could not call it smiling or\nlaughing--in the drollest way. Moreover, he had crooked legs, little\nhorns upon his forehead, and a long beard.\n\nThe children used to call him the \"crooked-legged\nfield-marshal-major-general-corporal-sergeant,\" which was a long, hard\nname to pronounce. Very few there are, whether in wood or in stone, who\ncould get such a title. Surely to have cut him out in wood was no\ntrifling task. However, there he was. His eyes were always fixed upon\nthe table below, and toward the mirror, for upon this table stood a\ncharming little porcelain shepherdess, her mantle gathered gracefully\nabout her and fastened with a red rose. Her shoes and hat were gilded,\nand her hand held a shepherd's crook; she was very lovely. Close by her\nstood a little chimney sweep, also of porcelain. He was as clean and\nneat as any other figure. Indeed, he might as well have been made a\nprince as a sweep, since he was only make-believe; for though everywhere\nelse he was as black as a coal, his round, bright face was as fresh and\nrosy as a girl's. This was certainly a mistake--it ought to have been\nblack.\n\nThere he stood so prettily, with his ladder in his hand, quite close to\nthe shepherdess. From the first he had been placed there, and he always\nremained on the same spot; for they had promised to be true to each\nother. They suited each other exactly--they were both young, both of the\nsame kind of porcelain, and both equally fragile.\n\nClose to them stood another figure three times as large as themselves.\nIt was an old Chinaman, a mandarin, who could nod his head. He was of\nporcelain, too, and he said he was the grandfather of the shepherdess; but\nthis he could not prove. He insisted that he had authority over her, and\nso when the crooked-legged field-marshal-major-general-corporal-sergeant\nmade proposals to the little shepherdess, he nodded his head, in token\nof his consent.\n\n\"You will have a husband,\" said the old mandarin to her, \"a husband who,\nI verily believe, is of mahogany wood. You will be the wife of a\nfield-marshal-major-general-corporal-sergeant, of a man who has a whole\ncabinet full of silver plate, besides a store of no one knows what in\nthe secret drawers.\"\n\n\"I will never go into that dismal cabinet,\" declared the little\nshepherdess. \"I have heard it said that there are eleven porcelain\nladies already imprisoned there.\"\n\n\"Then,\" rejoined the mandarin, \"you will be the twelfth, and you will be\nin good company. This very night, when the old cabinet creaks, we shall\nkeep the wedding, as surely as I am a Chinese mandarin.\" And upon this\nhe nodded his head and fell asleep.\n\nBut the little shepherdess wept, and turned to the beloved of her heart,\nthe porcelain chimney sweep.\n\n\"I believe I must ask you,\" she said, \"to go out with me into the wide\nworld, for here it is not possible for us to stay.\"\n\n\"I will do in everything as you wish,\" replied the little chimney sweep.\n\"Let us go at once. I am sure I can support you by my trade.\"\n\n\"If we were only down from the table,\" said she. \"I shall not feel safe\ntill we are far away out in the wide world and free.\"\n\nThe little chimney sweep comforted her, and showed her how to set her\nlittle foot on the carved edges, and on the gilded foliage twining round\nthe leg of the table, till at last they both reached the floor. But,\nturning for a last look at the old cabinet, they saw that everything was\nin commotion. All the carved stags stretched their heads farther out\nthan before, raised their antlers, and moved their throats, while the\ncrooked-legged field-marshal-major-general-corporal-sergeant sprang up\nand shouted to the old Chinese mandarin, \"Look! they are eloping! they\nare eloping!\"\n\nThey were not a little frightened at this, and jumped quickly into an\nopen drawer in the window seat.\n\nHere lay three or four packs of cards that were not quite complete, and\na little doll's theater, which had been set up as nicely as could be. A\nplay was going on, and all the queens sat in the front row, and fanned\nthemselves with the flowers which they held in their hands, while behind\nthem stood the knaves, each with two heads, one above and one below, as\nplaying cards have. The play was about two persons who were not allowed\nto marry, and the shepherdess cried, for it seemed so like her own\nstory.\n\n\"I cannot bear this!\" she said. \"Let us leave the drawer.\"\n\nBut when she had again reached the floor she looked up at the table and\nsaw that the old Chinese mandarin was awake, and that he was rocking\nhis whole body to and fro with rage.\n\n\"The old mandarin is coming!\" cried she, and down she fell on her\nporcelain knees, so frightened was she.\n\n\"I have thought of a plan,\" said the chimney sweep. \"Suppose we creep\ninto the jar of perfumes, the potpourri vase which stands in the corner.\nThere we can rest upon roses and lavender, and throw salt in his eyes if\nhe comes near.\"\n\n\"That will not do at all,\" she said. \"Besides, I know that the old\nmandarin and the potpourri vase were once betrothed; and no doubt some\nslight friendship still exists between them. No, there is no help for\nit; we must wander forth together into the wide world.\"\n\n\"Have you really the courage to go out into the wide world with me?\"\nasked the chimney sweep. \"Have you considered how large it is, and that\nif we go, we can never come back?\"\n\n\"I have,\" replied she.\n\nAnd the chimney sweep looked earnestly at her and said, \"My way lies\nthrough the chimney. Have you really the courage to go with me through\nthe stove, and creep through the flues and the tunnel? Well do I know\nthe way! we shall come out by the chimney, and then I shall know how to\nmanage. We shall mount so high that they can never reach us, and at the\ntop there is an opening that leads out into the wide world.\"\n\nAnd he led her to the door of the stove.\n\n\"Oh, how black it looks!\" she said. Still she went on with him, through\nthe stove, the flues, and the tunnel, where it was as dark as pitch.\n\n\"Now we are in the chimney,\" said he; \"and see what a lovely star shines\nabove us.\"\n\nThere actually was a star in the sky, that was shining right down upon\nthem, as if to show them the way. Now they climbed and crept--a\nfrightful way it was, so steep and high! But he went first to guide, and\nto smooth the way as much as he could. He showed her the best places on\nwhich to set her little china foot, till at last they came to the edge\nof the chimney and sat down to rest, for they were very tired, as may\nwell be supposed.\n\nThe sky and all its stars were above them, and below lay all the roofs\nof the town. They saw all around them the great, wide world. It was not\nlike what the poor little shepherdess had fancied it, and she leaned her\nlittle head upon her chimney sweep's shoulder and wept so bitterly that\nthe gilding was washed from her golden sash.\n\n\"This is too much,\" said she; \"it is more than I can bear. The world is\ntoo large! I wish I were safe back again upon the little table under the\nmirror. I shall never be happy till I am there once more. I have\nfollowed you out into the wide world. Surely, if you really love me, you\nwill follow me back.\"\n\nThe chimney sweep tried to reason with her. He reminded her of the old\nmandarin, and the crooked-legged field-marshal-major-general-corporal-sergeant,\nbut she wept so bitterly, and kissed her little chimney sweep so fondly,\nthat he could not do otherwise than as she wished, foolish as it was.\n\nSo they climbed down the chimney, though with the greatest difficulty,\ncrept through the flues, and into the stove, where they paused to listen\nbehind the door, to discover what might be going on in the room.\n\nAll was quiet, and they peeped out. Alas! there on the floor lay the old\nmandarin. He had fallen from the table in his attempt to follow the\nrunaways, and had broken into three pieces. His whole back had come off\nin a single piece, and his head had rolled into a corner. The\ncrooked-legged field-marshal-major-general-corporal-sergeant stood where\nhe had always stood, reflecting upon what had happened.\n\n\"This is shocking!\" said the little shepherdess. \"My old grandfather is\nbroken in pieces, and we are the cause of it,\" and she wrung her little\nhands.\n\n\"He can be riveted,\" said the chimney sweep; \"he can certainly be\nriveted. Do not grieve so! If they cement his back and put a rivet\nthrough his neck, he will be just as good as new, and will be able to\nsay as many disagreeable things to us as ever.\"\n\n\"Do you really think so?\" asked she. Then they climbed again up to the\nplace where they had stood before.\n\n\"How far we have been,\" observed the chimney sweep, \"and since we have\ngot no farther than this, we might have saved ourselves all the\ntrouble.\"\n\n\"I wish grandfather were mended,\" said the shepherdess; \"I wonder if it\nwill cost very much.\"\n\nMended he was. The family had his back cemented and his neck riveted, so\nthat he was as good as new, only he could not nod.\n\n\"You have become proud since you were broken to shivers,\" observed the\ncrooked-legged field-marshal-major-general-corporal-sergeant, \"but I\nmust say, for my part, I don't see much to be proud of. Am I to have\nher, or am I not? Just answer me that.\"\n\nThe chimney sweep and the shepherdess looked most piteously at the old\nmandarin. They were so afraid that he would nod his head. But he could\nnot, and it would have been beneath his dignity to have confessed to\nhaving a rivet in his neck. So the young porcelain people always\nremained together, and they blessed the grandfather's rivet and loved\neach other till they were broken in pieces.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE DROP OF WATER\n\n\nYOU know, surely, what the microscope is--that wonderful little glass\nwhich makes everything appear a hundred times larger than it really is.\n\nIf you look through a microscope at a single drop of ditch water, you\nwill see a thousand odd-looking creatures, such as you never could\nimagine dwelled in water. They do not look unlike a whole plateful of\nshrimps, all jumping and crowding upon each other. So fierce are these\nlittle creatures that they will tear off each other's arms and legs\nwithout the least mercy, and yet after their fashion they look merry and\nhappy.\n\nNow there was once an old man, whom his neighbors called Cribbley\nCrabbley--a curious name, to be sure, which meant something like\n\"creep-and-crawl.\" He always liked to make the most of everything, and\nwhen he could not manage it in the ordinary way, he tried magic.\n\nOne day he sat looking through his microscope at a drop of water that\nhad been brought from a neighboring ditch. What a scene of scrambling\nand swarming it was, to be sure! All the thousands of little imps in the\nwater jumped and sprang about, devouring each other, or tearing each\nother to bits.\n\n\"Upon my word this is really shocking. There must surely be some way to\nmake them live in peace and quiet, so that each attends only to his own\nconcerns.\" And he thought and thought, but still could not hit upon any\nplan, so he must needs have recourse to conjuring.\n\n\"I must give them color so that they may be seen more plainly,\" said he.\nAccordingly he poured something that looked like a drop of red wine--but\nwhich in reality was witch's blood--upon the drop of water. Immediately\nall the strange little creatures became red all over, and looked for all\nthe world like a whole town full of naked red Indians.\n\n\"Why, what have you here?\" asked another old magician, who had no name\nat all, which made him even more remarkable than Cribbley Crabbley.\n\n\"If you can find out what it is,\" replied Cribbley Crabbley, \"I will\ngive it you; but I warn you you'll not do so easily.\"\n\nThe conjurer without a name looked through the microscope, and it seemed\nto him that the scene before him was a whole town, in which the people\nran about naked in the wildest way. It was quite shocking! Still more\nhorrible was it to see how they kicked and cuffed, struggled and fought,\npecked, bit, tore, and swallowed, each his neighbor. Those that were\nunder wanted to be at the top, while those that chanced to be at the top\nmust needs thrust themselves underneath.\n\n\"And now look, his leg is longer than mine, so off with it!\" one seemed\nto be saying. Another had a little lump behind his ear,--an innocent\nlittle lump enough,--but it seemed to pain him, and therefore the others\nseemed determined that it should pain him more. So they hacked at it,\nand dragged the poor thing about, and at last ate him up, all on account\nof the little lump. One only of the creatures was quiet, a modest\nlittle maid, who sat by herself evidently wishing for nothing but peace\nand quietness. The others would not have it so, however. They soon\npulled the little damsel forward, cuffed and tore her, and then ate her\nup.\n\n\"This is uncommonly droll and amusing!\" said the nameless magician.\n\n\"Yes. But what do you think it is?\" asked Cribbley Crabbley. \"Can you\nmake it out?\"\n\n\"It is easy enough to guess, to be sure,\" was the reply of the nameless\nmagician; \"easy enough. It is either Paris or Copenhagen, or some other\ngreat city; I don't know which, for they are all alike. It is some great\ncity, of course.\"\n\n\"It is a drop of ditch-water,\" said Cribbley Crabbley.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE SWINEHERD\n\n\nTHERE was once a poor prince who had a kingdom, but it was a very small\none. Still it was quite large enough to admit of his marrying, and he\nwished to marry.\n\nIt was certainly rather bold of him to say, as he did, to the emperor's\ndaughter, \"Will you have me?\" But he was renowned far and wide, and\nthere were a hundred princesses who would have answered, \"Yes,\" and,\n\"Thank you kindly.\" We shall see what this princess said. Listen!\n\nIt happened that where the prince's father lay buried there grew a rose\ntree, a most beautiful rose tree, which blossomed only once in five\nyears, and even then bore only one flower. Ah, but that was a rose! It\nsmelled so sweet that all cares and sorrows were forgotten by those who\ninhaled its fragrance!\n\nMoreover, the prince had a nightingale that could sing in such a manner\nthat it seemed as if all sweet melodies dwelt in her little throat. Now\nthe princess was to have the rose and the nightingale; and they were\naccordingly put into large silver caskets and sent to her.\n\nThe emperor had them brought into a large hall, where the princess and\nthe ladies of the court were playing at \"Visiting.\" When she saw the\ncaskets with the presents, the princess clapped her hands for joy.\n\n\"Ah, if it should be a little pussy cat,\" exclaimed she. Instead, the\nrose tree, with its beautiful rose, came to view.\n\n\"Oh, how prettily it is made!\" said all the court ladies.\n\n\"It is more than pretty,\" said the emperor; \"it is charming.\"\n\nThe princess touched it and was ready to cry. \"Fie, papa,\" said she, \"it\nis not made at all. It is natural!\"\n\n\"Fie,\" said all the court ladies; \"it is natural!\"\n\n\"Let us see what the other casket contains before we get into bad\nhumor,\" proposed the emperor. So the nightingale came forth, and sang so\ndelightfully that at first no one could say anything ill-humored of her.\n\n\"_Superbe! charmant!_\" exclaimed the ladies, for they all used to\nchatter French, and each worse than her neighbor.\n\n\"How much the bird reminds me of the musical box that belonged to our\nblessed empress!\" remarked an old knight. \"Oh! yes, these are the same\ntunes, the same execution.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" said the emperor, and at the remembrance he wept like a\nchild.\n\n\"I still hope it is not a real bird,\" said the princess.\n\n\"Yes, it is a real bird,\" said those who had brought it.\n\n\"Well, then, let the bird fly,\" returned the princess. And she\npositively refused to see the prince.\n\nHowever, he was not to be discouraged. He stained his face brown and\nblack, pulled his cap over his ears, and knocked at the door of the\ncastle.\n\n\"Good day to my lord the emperor,\" said he. \"Can I have employment here\nat the palace?\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" said the emperor. \"It just occurs to me that I want some one\nto take care of the pigs, there are so many of them.\"\n\nSo the prince came to be the imperial swineherd.\n\nHe had a miserable little room, close by the pigsty, and here he was\nobliged to stay; and he sat the whole day long and worked. By evening he\nhad made a pretty little saucepan. Little bells were hung all around it;\nand when the pot was boiling, the bells tinkled in the most charming\nmanner, and played the old melody,\n\n          \"Ach, du lieber Augustin,\n           Alles ist weg, weg, weg.\"\n\nBut what was still more curious, whoever held his finger in the smoke of\nthis saucepan, at once smelled all the dishes that were cooking on every\nhearth of the city. This, you see, was something quite different from\nthe rose.\n\nNow the princess happened to walk that way with her court ladies, and\nwhen she heard the tune she stood quite still and seemed pleased, for\nshe could play \"Dearest Augustine.\" It was the only piece she knew, and\nshe played it with one finger.\n\n\"Why, that is the piece that I play on the piano!\" said the princess.\n\"That swineherd must certainly have been well educated. Go in and ask\nhim the price of the instrument.\"\n\nSo one of the court ladies had to go in, but she drew on wooden slippers\nfirst.\n\n\"What will you take for the saucepan?\" inquired the lady.\n\n\"I must have ten kisses from the princess,\" said the swineherd.\n\n\"Heaven preserve us!\" exclaimed the maid of honor.\n\n\"I cannot sell it for less,\" answered the swineherd.\n\n\"Well, what does he say?\" asked the princess.\n\n\"I cannot tell you, really,\" replied the lady. \"It is too dreadful.\"\n\n\"Then you may whisper it.\" So the lady whispered it.\n\n\"He is an impudent fellow,\" said the princess, and she walked on. But\nwhen she had gone a little way, the bells again tinkled prettily,\n\n          \"Ah! thou dearest Augustine,\n           All is gone, gone, gone.\"\n\n\"Stay!\" said the princess. \"Ask him if he will have ten kisses from the\nladies of my court.\"\n\n\"No, thank you!\" answered the swineherd. \"Ten kisses from the princess,\nor I keep the saucepan myself.\"\n\n\"How tiresome! That must not be either!\" said the princess; \"but do you\nall stand before me, that no one may see us.\"\n\nThe court ladies placed themselves in front of her, and spread out their\ndresses. So the swineherd got ten kisses, and the princess got the\nsaucepan.\n\nThat was delightful! The saucepan was kept boiling all the evening and\nthe whole of the following day. They knew perfectly well what was\ncooking on every hearth in the city, from the chamberlain's to the\ncobbler's. The court ladies danced and clapped their hands.\n\n\"We know who has soup, and who has pancakes for dinner to-day; who has\ncutlets, and who has eggs. How interesting!\"\n\n\"Yes, but keep my secret, for I am an emperor's daughter.\"\n\nThe prince--that is, the swineherd, for no one knew that he was other\nthan an ill-favored swineherd--let not a day pass without working at\nsomething. At last he constructed a rattle, which, when it was swung\nround and round, played all the waltzes and jig tunes which have been\nheard since the creation of the world.\n\n\"Ah, that is _superbe_!\" said the princess, when she passed by. \"I have\nnever heard prettier compositions. Go in and ask him the price of the\ninstrument. But mind, he shall have no more kisses.\"\n\n\"He will have a hundred kisses from the princess,\" said the lady who had\nbeen to ask.\n\n\"He is not in his right senses,\" said the princess, and walked on. But\nwhen she had gone a little way she stopped again. \"One must encourage\nart,\" said she; \"I am the emperor's daughter. Tell him he shall, as on\nyesterday, have ten kisses from me, and may take the rest from the\nladies of the court.\"\n\n\"Oh, but we should not like that at all,\" said the ladies.\n\n\"What are you muttering?\" asked the princess. \"If I can kiss him, surely\nyou can! Remember I give you food and wages.\"\n\n\"A hundred kisses from the princess,\" said he, \"or else let every one\nkeep his own.\"\n\n\"Stand round,\" said she, and all the ladies stood round as before.\n\n\"What can be the reason for such a crowd close by the pigsty?\" asked the\nemperor, who happened just then to step out on the balcony. He rubbed\nhis eyes and put on his spectacles.\n\n\"They are the ladies of the court. I must go and see what they are\nabout.\" So he pulled up his slippers at the heel, for he had trodden\nthem down.\n\nAs soon as he had got into the courtyard he moved very softly, and the\nladies were so much engrossed with counting the kisses that they did not\nperceive the emperor. He rose on his tiptoes.\n\n\"What is all this?\" said he, when he saw what was going on, and he boxed\nthe princess's ear with his slipper, just as the swineherd was taking\nthe eighty-sixth kiss.\n\n\"Be off with you! March out!\" cried the emperor, for he was very angry.\nBoth princess and swineherd were thrust out of the city, and the\nprincess stood and wept, while the swineherd scolded, and the rain\npoured down.\n\n\"Alas, unhappy creature that I am!\" said the princess. \"If I had but\nmarried the handsome young prince! Ah, how unfortunate I am!\"\n\nThe swineherd went behind a tree, washed the black and brown from his\nface, threw off his dirty clothing, and stepped forth in his princely\nrobes. He looked so noble that the princess could not help bowing before\nhim.\n\n\"I have come to despise thee,\" said he. \"Thou wouldst not have an\nhonorable prince! Thou couldst not prize the rose and the nightingale,\nbut thou wast ready to kiss the swineherd for the sake of a trumpery\nplaything. Thou art rightly served.\"\n\nHe then went back to his own little kingdom, where he shut the door of\nhis palace before her very eyes. Now she might well sing,\n\n          \"Ah! thou dearest Augustine,\n           All is gone, gone, gone.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE METAL PIG\n\n\nIN THE city of Florence, not far from the Piazza del Granduca, runs a\nlittle cross street called Porta Rosa. In this street, just in front of\nthe market place where vegetables are sold, stands a pig, made of brass\nand curiously formed. The color has been changed by age to dark green,\nbut clear, fresh water pours from the snout, which shines as if it had\nbeen polished--and so indeed it has, for hundreds of poor people and\nchildren seize it in their hands as they place their mouths close to the\nmouth of the animal to drink. It is quite a picture to see a half-naked\nboy clasping the well-formed creature by the head as he presses his rosy\nlips against its jaws. Every one who visits Florence can very quickly\nfind the place; he has only to ask the first beggar he meets for the\nMetal Pig, and he will be told where it is.\n\nIt was late on a winter evening. The mountains were covered with snow,\nbut the moon shone brightly, and moonlight in Italy is as good as the\nlight of gray winter's day in the north. Indeed, it is better, for the\nclear air seems to raise us above the earth; while in the north a cold,\ngray, leaden sky appears to press us down to earth, even as the cold,\ndamp earth shall one day press on us in the grave.\n\nIn the garden of the grand duke's palace, under the roof of one of the\nwings, where a thousand roses bloom in winter, a little ragged boy had\nbeen sitting the whole day long. The boy might serve as a type of Italy:\nlovely and smiling, and yet suffering. He was hungry and thirsty, but no\none gave him anything; and when it became dark and they were about to\nclose the gardens, the porter turned him out. A long time he stood\nmusing on the bridge which crosses the Arno and looking at the\nglittering stars that were reflected in the water which flowed between\nhim and the wonderful marble bridge Delia Trinita. He then walked away\ntowards the Metal Pig, half knelt down, clasped it with his arms, and,\nputting his mouth to the shining snout, drank deep draughts of the fresh\nwater. Close by lay a few salad leaves and two chestnuts, which were to\nserve for his supper. No one was in the street but himself. It belonged\nonly to him. He boldly seated himself on the pig's back, leaned forward\nso that his curly head could rest on the head of the animal, and, before\nhe was aware, fell asleep.\n\nIt was midnight. The Metal Pig raised himself gently, and the boy heard\nhim say quite distinctly, \"Hold tight, little boy, for I am going to\nrun\"; and away he started for a most wonderful ride. First they arrived\nat the Piazza del Granduca, and the metal horse which bears the duke's\nstatue neighed aloud. The painted coats of arms on the old council house\nshone like transparent pictures, and Michelangelo's \"David\" swung his\nsling. It was as if everything had life. The metallic groups of figures,\namong which were \"Perseus\" and \"The Rape of the Sabines,\" looked like\nliving persons, and cries of terror sounded from them all across the\nnoble square. By the Palazzo degli Uffizi, in the arcade where the\nnobility assembled for the carnival, the Metal Pig stopped. \"Hold fast,\"\nsaid the animal, \"hold fast, for I am going upstairs.\"\n\nThe little boy said not a word. He was half pleased and half afraid.\nThey entered a long gallery, where the boy had been before. The walls\nwere resplendent with paintings, and here and there stood statues and\nbusts, all in a clear light as if it were day. The grandest sight\nappeared when the door of a side room opened. The little boy could\nremember what beautiful things he had seen there, but to-night\neverything shone in its brightest colors. Here stood the figure of a\nbeautiful woman, as radiantly beautiful as nature and the art of one of\nthe great masters could make her. Her graceful limbs appeared to move;\ndolphins sprang at her feet, and immortality shone from her eyes. The\nworld called her the \"Venus de' Medici.\" By her side were statues of\nstone, in which the spirit of life breathed; figures of men, one of whom\nwhetted his sword and was named \"The Grinder\"; fighting gladiators, for\nwhom the sword had been sharpened, and who strove for the goddess of\nbeauty. The boy was dazzled by so much glitter, for the walls were\ngleaming with bright colors. Life and movement were in everything.\n\nAs they passed from hall to hall, beauty showed itself in whatever they\nsaw; and, as the Metal Pig went step by step from one picture to\nanother, the little boy could see it all plainly. One glory eclipsed\nanother; yet there was one picture that fixed itself on the little boy's\nmemory more especially, because of the happy children it represented;\nfor these the little boy had seen in daylight. Many pass this picture\nwith indifference, and yet it contains a treasure of poetic feeling. It\nrepresents Christ descending into Hades. It is not those who are lost\nthat one sees, but the heathen of olden times.\n\nThe Florentine, Angiolo Bronzino, painted this picture. Most beautiful\nis the expression on the faces of two children who appear to have full\nconfidence that they shall reach heaven at last. They are embracing each\nother, and one little one stretches out his hand towards another who\nstands below them, and points to himself as if he were saying, \"I am\ngoing to heaven.\" The older people stand as if uncertain yet hopeful,\nand bow in humble adoration to the Lord Jesus. On this picture the boy's\neyes rested longer than on any other, and the Metal Pig stood still\nbefore it. A low sigh was heard. Did it come from the picture or from\nthe animal? The boy raised his hands toward the smiling children, and\nthen the pig ran off with him through the open vestibule.\n\n\"Thank you, thank you, you beautiful animal,\" said the little boy,\ncaressing the Metal Pig as it ran down the steps.\n\n\"Thanks to yourself also,\" replied the Metal Pig. \"I have helped you and\nyou have helped me, for it is only when I have an innocent child on my\nback that I receive the power to run. Yes, as you see, I can even\nventure under the rays of the lamp in front of the picture of the\nMadonna, but I must not enter the church. Still, from without, and while\nyou are upon my back, I may look in through the open door. Do not get\ndown yet, for if you do, then I shall be lifeless, as you have seen me\nin the daytime in the Porta Rosa.\"\n\n\"I will stay with you, my dear creature,\" said the little boy. So they\nwent on at a rapid pace through the streets of Florence, till they came\nto the square before the church of Santa Croce. The folding doors flew\nopen, and lights streamed from the altar, through the church, into the\ndeserted square. A wonderful blaze of light streamed from one of the\nmonuments in the left aisle, and a thousand moving stars formed a kind\nof glory round it. Even the coat of arms on the tombstone shone, and a\nred ladder on a blue field gleamed like fire. It was the grave of\nGalileo. The monument is unadorned, but the red ladder is an emblem of\nart--signifying that the way to glory leads up a shining ladder, on\nwhich the great prophets rise to heaven like Elijah of old. In the right\naisle of the church every statue on the richly carved sarcophagi seemed\nendowed with life. Here stood Michelangelo; there Dante, with the laurel\nwreath around his brow; Alfieri and Machiavelli; for here, side by side,\nrest the great men, the pride of Italy.\n\nThe church itself is very beautiful, even more beautiful than the marble\ncathedral at Florence, though not so large. It seemed as if the carved\nvestments stirred, and as if the marble figures which they covered\nraised their heads higher to gaze upon the brightly colored, glowing\naltar, where the white-robed boys swung the golden censers amid music\nand song; and the strong fragrance of incense filled the church and\nstreamed forth into the square. The boy stretched out his hands toward\nthe light, and at the same moment the Metal Pig started again, so\nrapidly that he was obliged to cling tightly to him. The wind whistled\nin his ears. He heard the church door creak on its hinges as it closed,\nand it seemed to him as if he had lost his senses; then a cold shudder\npassed over him, and he awoke.\n\nIt was morning. The Metal Pig stood in its old place on the Porta Rosa,\nand the boy found that he had nearly slipped off its back. Fear and\ntrembling came upon him as he thought of his mother. She had sent him\nout the day before to get some money, but he had not been able to get\nany, and now he was hungry and thirsty. Once more he clasped the neck of\nhis metal steed, kissed its nose, and nodded farewell to it. Then he\nwandered away into one of the narrowest streets, where there was\nscarcely room for a loaded donkey to pass. A great iron-bound door stood\najar; and, passing through, he climbed a brick staircase with dirty\nwalls, and a rope for balustrade, till he came to an open gallery hung\nwith rags. From here a flight of steps led down to a court, where from a\nfountain water was drawn up by iron rollers to the different stories of\nthe house. Many water buckets hung side by side. Sometimes the roller\nand the bucket danced in the air, splashing the water all over the\ncourt. Another broken-down staircase led from the gallery, and two\nRussian sailors running down it almost upset the poor boy. They were\ncoming from their nightly carousal. A woman, not very young, with an\nunpleasant face and a quantity of black hair, followed them. \"What have\nyou brought home?\" she asked when she saw the boy.\n\n\"Don't be angry,\" he pleaded. \"I received nothing, I have nothing at\nall\"; and he seized his mother's dress and would have kissed it. Then\nthey went into a little room. I need not describe it, but only say that\nthere stood in it an earthen pot with handles, made for holding fire,\nwhich in Italy is called a _marito_. This pot she took in her lap,\nwarmed her fingers, and pushed the boy with her elbow.\n\n\"Certainly you must have some money,\" she said. The boy began to cry,\nand then she struck him till he cried aloud.\n\n\"Be quiet, or I'll break your screaming head.\" She swung about the fire\npot which she held in her hand, while the boy crouched to the earth and\nscreamed. Then a neighbor came in, who also had a _marito_ under her\narm. \"Felicita,\" she said, \"what are you doing to the child?\"\n\n\"The child is mine,\" she answered; \"I can murder him if I like, and you\ntoo, Giannina.\"\n\nThen again she swung the fire pot about. The other woman lifted hers up\nto defend herself, and the two pots clashed so violently that they were\ndashed to pieces and fire and ashes flew about the room.\n\nThe boy rushed out at the sight, sped across the courtyard, and fled\nfrom the house. The poor child ran till he was quite out of breath. At\nlast he stopped at the church the doors of which were opened to him the\nnight before, and went in. Here everything was bright, and the boy knelt\ndown by the first tomb on his right hand, the grave of Michelangelo, and\nsobbed as if his heart would break. People came and went; the service\nwent on, but no one noticed the boy except an elderly citizen, who stood\nstill and looked at him for a moment and then went away like the rest.\nHunger and thirst overpowered the child, and he became quite faint and\nill. At last he crept into a corner behind the marble monuments and went\nto sleep. Towards evening he was awakened by a pull at his sleeve. He\nstarted up, and the same old citizen stood before him.\n\n\"Are you ill? Where do you live? Have you been here all day?\" were some\nof the questions asked by the old man. After hearing his answers, the\nold man took him to a small house in a back street close by. They\nentered a glovemaker's shop, where a woman sat sewing busily. A little\nwhite poodle, so closely shaved that his pink skin could plainly be\nseen, frisked about the room and gamboled over the boy.\n\n\"Innocent souls are soon intimate,\" said the woman, as she caressed both\nthe boy and the dog.\n\nThese good people gave the child food and drink, and said he should stay\nwith them all night, and that the next day the old man, who was called\nGiuseppe, would go and speak to his mother. A simple little bed was\nprepared for him, but to him who had so often slept on the hard stones\nit was a royal couch, and he slept sweetly and dreamed of the splendid\npictures, and of the Metal Pig. Giuseppe went out the next morning, and\nthe poor child was not glad to see him go, for he knew that the old man\nhad gone to his mother, and that perhaps he would have to return. He\nwept at the thought, and then played with the lively little dog and\nkissed it, while the old woman looked kindly at him to encourage him.\n\nWhat news did Giuseppe bring back? At first the boy could not find out,\nfor the old man talked to his wife, and she nodded and stroked the boy's\ncheek. Then she said, \"He is a good lad, he shall stay with us. He may\nbecome a clever glovemaker, like you. Look what delicate fingers he has.\nMadonna intended him for a glovemaker.\"\n\nSo the boy stayed with them, and the woman herself taught him to sew. He\nate well, and slept well, and became very merry. But at last he began to\ntease Bellissima, as the little dog was called. This made the woman\nangry, and she scolded him and threatened him, which made him unhappy,\nand he went and sat in his own room, full of sad thoughts. This chamber\nlooked out upon the street, in which hung skins to dry, and there were\nthick iron bars across his window. That night he lay awake, thinking of\nthe Metal Pig. Indeed, it was always in his thoughts. Suddenly he\nfancied he heard feet outside going pitapat. He sprang out of bed and\nwent to the window. Could it be the Metal Pig? But there was nothing to\nbe seen. Whatever he had heard had passed already.\n\n\"Go help the gentleman to carry his box of colors,\" said the woman the\nnext morning when their neighbor, the artist, passed by, carrying a\npaint box and a large roll of canvas. The boy instantly took the box and\nfollowed the painter. They walked on till they reached the picture\ngallery, and mounted the same staircase up which he had ridden that\nnight on the Metal Pig. He remembered all the pictures and statues,\nespecially the marble Venus, and again he looked at the Madonna with the\nSaviour and St. John. They stopped before the picture by Il Bronzino, in\nwhich Christ is represented as standing in the lower world, with the\nchildren smiling before him in the sweet expectation of entering heaven.\nThe poor boy smiled, too, for here was his heaven.\n\n\"You may go home now,\" said the painter, while the boy stood watching\nhim till he had set up his easel.\n\n\"May I see you paint?\" asked the boy. \"May I see you put the picture on\nthis white canvas?\"\n\n\"I am not going to paint,\" replied the artist, bringing out a piece of\nchalk. His hand moved quickly, and his eye measured the great picture,\nand though nothing appeared but a faint line, the figure of the Saviour\nwas as clearly visible as in the colored picture.\n\n\"Why don't you go?\" said the painter. Then the boy wandered home\nsilently, and seated himself on the table, and learned to sew gloves.\nBut all day long his thoughts were in the picture gallery, and so he\npricked his fingers and was awkward. But he did not tease Bellissima.\nWhen evening came, and the house door stood open, he slipped out. It was\na bright, beautiful, starlight evening, but rather cold. Away he went\nthrough the already deserted streets, and soon came to the Metal Pig. He\nstooped down and kissed its shining nose, and then seated himself on its\nback.\n\n\"You happy creature,\" he said; \"how I have longed for you! We must take\na ride to-night.\"\n\nBut the Metal Pig lay motionless, while the fresh stream gushed forth\nfrom its mouth. The little boy still sat astride its back, when he felt\nsomething pulling at his clothes. He looked down, and there was\nBellissima, little smooth-shaven Bellissima, barking as if she would\nhave said, \"Here I am, too. Why are you sitting there?\"\n\nA fiery dragon could not have frightened the little boy so much as did\nthe little dog in this place. Bellissima in the street and not dressed!\nas the old lady called it. What would be the end of this? The dog never\nwent out in winter, unless she was attired in a little lambskin coat,\nwhich had been made for her. It was fastened round the little dog's neck\nand body with red ribbons, and decorated with rosettes and little bells.\nThe dog looked almost like a little kid when she was allowed to go out\nin winter and trot after her mistress. Now, here she was in the cold,\nand not dressed. Oh, how would it end? All his fancies were quickly put\nto flight; yet he kissed the Metal Pig once more, and then took\nBellissima in his arms. The poor little thing trembled so with cold that\nthe boy ran homeward as fast as he could.\n\n\"What are you running away with there?\" asked two of the police whom he\nmet, and at whom the dog barked. \"Where have you stolen that pretty\ndog?\" they asked, and took it away from him.\n\n\"Oh, I have not stolen it. Do give it back to me,\" cried the boy,\ndespairingly.\n\n\"If you have not stolen it, you may say at home that they can send to\nthe watch-house for the dog.\" Then they told him where the watch-house\nwas, and went away with Bellissima.\n\nHere was trouble indeed. The boy did not know whether he had better\njump into the Arno or go home and confess everything. They would\ncertainly kill him, he thought.\n\n\"Well, I would gladly be killed,\" he reasoned; \"for then I should die\nand go to heaven.\" And so he went home, almost hoping for death.\n\nThe door was locked, and he could not reach the knocker. No one was in\nthe street, so he took up a stone and with it made a tremendous noise at\nthe door.\n\n\"Who is there?\" asked somebody from within.\n\n\"It is I,\" said he. \"Bellissima is gone. Open the door, and then kill\nme.\"\n\nThen, indeed, there was a great panic, for madam was so very fond of\nBellissima. She immediately looked at the wall where the dog's dress\nusually hung; and there was the little lambskin.\n\n\"Bellissima in the watch-house!\" she cried. \"You bad boy! How did you\nentice her out? Poor little delicate thing, with those rough policemen!\nAnd she'll be frozen with cold.\"\n\nGiuseppe went off at once, while his wife lamented and the boy wept.\nSeveral of the neighbors came in, and among them the painter. He took\nthe boy between his knees and questioned him. Soon he heard the whole\nstory, told in broken sentences, and also about the Metal Pig and the\nwonderful ride to the picture gallery, which was certainly rather\nincomprehensible. The painter, however, consoled the little fellow, and\ntried to soften the woman's anger, but she would not be pacified till\nher husband returned from the police with Bellissima. Then there was\ngreat rejoicing, and the painter caressed the boy and gave him a number\nof pictures.\n\nOh, what beautiful pictures those were--figures with funny heads! And,\nbest of all, the Metal Pig was there, too. Nothing could be more\ndelightful! By means of a few strokes it was made to appear on the\npaper; and even the house that stood behind it had been sketched. Oh, if\nhe could only draw and paint! He who could do this could conjure all the\nworld before him. The first leisure moment during the next day the boy\ngot a pencil, and on the back of one of the other drawings he attempted\nto copy the drawing of the Metal Pig, and he succeeded. Certainly it was\nrather crooked, rather up and down, one leg thick, and another thin.\nStill it was like the copy, and he was overjoyed at what he had done.\nThe pencil would not go quite as it ought, he had found, but the next\nday he tried again. A second pig was drawn by the side of the first, and\nthis looked a hundred times better. The third attempt was so good that\neverybody could see what it was meant to represent.\n\nAnd now the glovemaking went on but slowly. The orders given by the\nshops in the town were not finished quickly; for the Metal Pig had\ntaught the boy that all objects may be drawn upon paper, and Florence is\na picture book in itself for any one who chooses to turn over its pages.\nOn the Piazza della Trinita stands a slender pillar, and upon it is the\ngoddess of justice blindfolded, with her scales in her hand. She was\nsoon represented on paper, and it was the glovemaker's boy who placed\nher there. His collection of pictures increased, but as yet they were\nonly copies of lifeless objects, when one day Bellissima came gamboling\nbefore him. \"Stand still,\" cried he, \"and I will draw you beautifully,\nto put in my collection.\"\n\nBellissima would not stand still, so she must be bound fast in one\nposition. He tied her head and tail, but she barked and jumped and so\npulled and tightened the string that she was nearly strangled. And just\nthen her mistress walked in.\n\n\"You wicked boy! The poor little creature!\" was all she could utter.\n\nShe pushed the boy from her, thrust him away with her foot, called him a\nmost ungrateful, good-for-nothing, wicked boy, and forbade him to enter\nher house again. Then she wept, and kissed her little half-strangled\nBellissima. At this moment the painter entered the room--and here is the\nturning point of the story.\n\nIn the year 1834 there was an exhibition in the Academy of Arts at\nFlorence. Two pictures, placed side by side, attracted many people. The\nsmaller of the two represented a little boy sitting at a table drawing.\nBefore him was a little white poodle, curiously shaven, but as the\nanimal would not stand still, its head and tail had been fastened with a\nstring, to keep it in one position. The truthfulness and life in this\npicture interested every one. The painter was said to be a young\nFlorentine, who had been found in the streets when a child by an old\nglovemaker, who had brought him up. The boy had taught himself to draw.\nIt was also said that a young artist, now famous, had discovered this\ntalent in the child just as he was about to be sent away for having tied\nup madam's favorite little dog to use as a model.\n\nThe glovemaker's boy had become a really great painter, as the picture\nproved; but the larger picture by its side was a still greater proof of\nhis talent. It represented a handsome boy asleep, clothed in rags and\nleaning against the Metal Pig, in the street of the Porta Rosa. All the\nspectators knew the spot well. The child's arms were round the neck of\nthe Pig, and he was in a deep sleep. The lamp before the picture of the\nMadonna threw a strong light on the pale, delicate face of the child. It\nwas a beautiful picture. A large gilt frame surrounded it, and on one\ncorner of the frame a laurel wreath had been hung. But a black band,\ntwined unseen among the green leaves, and a streamer of crape hung down\nfrom it; for within the last few days the young artist had--died.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE FLYING TRUNK\n\n\nTHERE was once a merchant who was so rich that he could have paved a\nwhole street with gold, and would even then have had enough left for a\nsmall alley. He did not do so; he knew the value of money better than to\nuse it in this way. So clever was he that every shilling he put out\nbrought him a crown, and so it continued as long as he lived.\n\nHis son inherited his wealth, and lived a merry life with it. He went to\na masquerade every night, made kites out of five-pound notes, and threw\npieces of gold into the sea instead of stones, making ducks and drakes\nof them.\n\nIn this manner he soon lost all his money. At last he had nothing left\nbut a pair of slippers, an old dressing gown, and four shillings. And\nnow all his companions deserted him. They would not walk with him in\nthe streets, but one of them, who was very good-natured, sent him an old\ntrunk with this message, \"Pack up!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"it is all very well to say 'pack up.'\" But he had\nnothing left to pack, therefore he seated himself in the trunk.\n\nIt was a very wonderful trunk, for no sooner did any one press on the\nlock than the trunk could fly. He shut the lid and pressed the lock,\nwhen away flew the trunk up the chimney, with him in it, right up into\nthe clouds. Whenever the bottom of the trunk cracked he was in a great\nfright, for if the trunk had fallen to pieces, he would have turned a\ntremendous somersault over the trees. However, he arrived safely in\nTurkey. He hid the trunk in a wood under some dry leaves and then went\ninto the town. This he could do very well, for among the Turks people\nalways go about in dressing gowns and slippers, just as he was.\n\nHe happened to meet a nurse with a little child. \"I say, you Turkish\nnurse,\" cried he, \"what castle is that near the town, with the windows\nplaced so high?\"\n\n\"The Sultan's daughter lives there,\" she replied. \"It has been\nprophesied that she will be very unhappy about a lover, and therefore no\none is allowed to visit her unless the king and queen are present.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the merchant's son. So he went back to the wood,\nseated himself in his trunk, flew up to the roof of the castle, and\ncrept through the window into the room where the princess lay asleep on\nthe sofa. She awoke and was very much frightened, but he told her he was\na Turkish angel who had come down through the air to see her. This\npleased her very much. He sat down by her side and talked to her,\ntelling her that her eyes were like beautiful dark lakes, in which the\nthoughts swam about like little mermaids; and that her forehead was a\nsnowy mountain which contained splendid halls full of pictures. He\nrelated to her the story about the stork, who brings the beautiful\nchildren from the rivers. These stories delighted the princess, and when\nhe asked her if she would marry him, she consented immediately.\n\n[Illustration: \"Will you tell us a story?\" said the queen....]\n\n\"But you must come on Saturday,\" she said, \"for then my parents will\ntake tea with me. They will be very proud when they find that I am\ngoing to marry a Turkish angel. But you must think of some very pretty\nstories to tell them, for they like to hear stories better than\nanything. My mother prefers one that is deep and moral, but my father\nlikes something funny, to make him laugh.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" he replied, \"I shall bring you no other marriage portion\nthan a story\"; and so they parted. But the princess gave him a sword\nstudded with gold coins, and these he could make useful.\n\nHe flew away to the town and bought a new dressing gown, and afterwards\nreturned to the wood, where he composed a story so as to be ready by\nSaturday; and that was no easy matter. It was ready, however, when he\nwent to see the princess on Saturday. The king and queen and the whole\ncourt were at tea with the princess, and he was received with great\npoliteness.\n\n\"Will you tell us a story?\" said the queen; \"one that is instructive and\nfull of learning.\"\n\n\"Yes, but with something in it to laugh at,\" said the king.\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied, and commenced at once, asking them to listen\nattentively.\n\n\"There was once a bundle of matches that were exceedingly proud of their\nhigh descent. Their genealogical tree--that is, a great pine tree from\nwhich they had been cut--was at one time a large old tree in the wood.\nThe matches now lay between a tinder box and an old iron saucepan and\nwere talking about their youthful days. 'Ah! then we grew on the green\nboughs,' said they, 'and every morning and evening we were fed with\ndiamond drops of dew. Whenever the sun shone we felt his warm rays, and\nthe little birds would relate stories to us in their songs. We knew that\nwe were rich, for the other trees only wore their green dresses in\nsummer, while our family were able to array themselves in green, summer\nand winter. But the woodcutter came like a great disaster, and our\nfamily fell under the ax. The head of the house obtained a situation as\nmainmast in a very fine ship and can sail round the world whenever he\nwill. Other branches of the family were taken to different places, and\nour own office now is to kindle a light for common people. This is how\nsuch highborn people as we came to be in a kitchen.'\n\n\"'Mine has been a very different fate,' said the iron pot, which stood\nby the matches. 'From my first entrance into the world I have been used\nto cooking and scouring. I am the first in this house when anything\nsolid or useful is required. My only pleasure is to be made clean and\nshining after dinner and to sit in my place and have a little sensible\nconversation with my neighbors. All of us excepting the water bucket,\nwhich is sometimes taken into the courtyard, live here together within\nthese four walls. We get our news from the market basket, but it\nsometimes tells us very unpleasant things about the people and the\ngovernment. Yes, and one day an old pot was so alarmed that it fell down\nand was broken in pieces.'\n\n\"'You are talking too much,' said the tinder box; and the steel struck\nagainst the flint till some sparks flew out, crying, 'We want a merry\nevening, don't we?'\n\n\"'Yes, of course,' said the matches. 'Let us talk about those who are\nthe highest born.'\n\n\"'No, I don't like to be always talking of what we are,' remarked the\nsaucepan. 'Let us think of some other amusement; I will begin. We will\ntell something that has happened to ourselves; that will be very easy,\nand interesting as well. On the Baltic Sea, near the Danish shore--'\n\n\"'What a pretty commencement!' said the plates. 'We shall all like that\nstory, I am sure.'\n\n\"'Yes. Well, in my youth I lived in a quiet family where the furniture\nwas polished, the floors scoured, and clean curtains put up, every\nfortnight.'\n\n\"'What an interesting way you have of relating a story,' said the carpet\nbroom. 'It is easy to perceive that you have been a great deal in\nsociety, something so pure runs through what you say.'\n\n\"'That is quite true,' said the water bucket; and it made a spring with\njoy and splashed some water on the floor.\n\n\"Then the saucepan went on with its story, and the end was as good as\nthe beginning.\n\n\"The plates rattled with pleasure, and the carpet broom brought some\ngreen parsley out of the dust hole and crowned the saucepan. It knew\nthis would vex the others, but it thought, 'If I crown him to-day, he\nwill crown me to-morrow.'\n\n\"'Now let us have a dance,' said the fire tongs. Then how they danced\nand stuck one leg in the air! The chair cushion in the corner burst with\nlaughter at the sight.\n\n\"'Shall I be crowned now?' asked the fire tongs. So the broom found\nanother wreath for the tongs.\n\n\"'They are only common people after all,' thought the matches. The tea\nurn was now asked to sing, but she said she had a cold and could not\nsing unless she felt boiling heat within. They all thought this was\naffectation; they also considered it affectation that she did not wish\nto sing except in the parlor, when on the table with the grand people.\n\n\"In the window sat an old quill pen, with which the maid generally\nwrote. There was nothing remarkable about the pen, except that it had\nbeen dipped too deeply in the ink; but it was proud of that.\n\n\"'If the tea urn won't sing,' said the pen, 'she needn't. There's a\nnightingale in a cage outside, that can sing. She has not been taught\nmuch, certainly, but we need not say anything this evening about that.'\n\n\"'I think it highly improper,' said the teakettle, who was kitchen\nsinger and half brother to the tea urn, 'that a rich foreign bird should\nbe listened to here. Is it patriotic? Let the market basket decide what\nis right.'\n\n\"'I certainly am vexed,' said the basket, 'inwardly vexed, more than any\none can imagine. Are we spending the evening properly? Would it not be\nmore sensible to put the house in order? If each were in his own place,\nI would lead a game. This would be quite another thing.'\n\n\"'Let us act a play,' said they all. At the same moment the door opened\nand the maid came in. Then not one stirred; they remained quite still,\nalthough there was not a single pot among them that had not a high\nopinion of himself and of what he could do if he chose.\n\n\"'Yes, if we had chosen,' each of them thought, 'we might have spent a\nvery pleasant evening.'\n\n\"The maid took the matches and lighted them, and dear me, how they\nspluttered and blazed up!\n\n\"'Now then,' they thought, 'every one will see that we are the first.\nHow we shine! What a light we give!' But even while they spoke their\nlights went out.\"\n\n\"What a capital story!\" said the queen. \"I feel as if I were really in\nthe kitchen and could see the matches. Yes, you shall marry our\ndaughter.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said the king, \"thou shalt have our daughter.\" The king\nsaid \"thou\" to him because he was going to be one of the family. The\nwedding day was fixed, and on the evening before, the whole city was\nilluminated. Cakes and sweetmeats were thrown among the people. The\nstreet boys stood on tiptoe and shouted \"Hurrah,\" and whistled between\ntheir fingers. Altogether it was a very splendid affair.\n\n\"I will give them another treat,\" said the merchant's son. So he went\nand bought rockets and crackers and every kind of fireworks that could\nbe thought of, packed them in his trunk, and flew up with it into the\nair. What a whizzing and popping they made as they went off! The Turks,\nwhen they saw the sight, jumped so high that their slippers flew about\ntheir ears. It was easy to believe after this that the princess was\nreally going to marry a Turkish angel.\n\nAs soon as the merchant's son had come down to the wood after the\nfireworks, he thought, \"I will go back into the town now and hear what\nthey think of the entertainment.\" It was very natural that he should\nwish to know. And what strange things people did say, to be sure! Every\none whom he questioned had a different tale to tell, though they all\nthought it very beautiful.\n\n\"I saw the Turkish angel myself,\" said one. \"He had eyes like glittering\nstars and a head like foaming water.\"\n\n\"He flew in a mantle of fire,\" said another, \"and lovely little cherubs\npeeped out from the folds.\"\n\nHe heard many more fine things about himself and that the next day he\nwas to be married. After this he went back to the forest to rest himself\nin his trunk. It had disappeared! A spark from the fireworks which\nremained had set it on fire. It was burned to ashes. So the merchant's\nson could not fly any more, nor go to meet his bride. She stood all day\non the roof, waiting for him, and most likely she is waiting there\nstill, while he wanders through the world telling fairy tales--but none\nof them so amusing as the one he related about the matches.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE BUTTERFLY\n\n\nTHERE was once a butterfly who wished for a bride; and, as may be\nsupposed, he wanted to choose a very pretty one from among the flowers.\nHe glanced with a very critical eye at all the flower beds and found\nthat the flowers were seated quietly and demurely on their stalks, just\nas maidens should sit. But there was a great number of them, and it\nappeared as if making his choice would become very wearisome. The\nbutterfly did not like to take too much trouble, so he flew off on a\nvisit to the daisies.\n\nThe French call this flower Marguerite and say that it can prophesy.\nLovers pluck off the leaves, and as they pluck each leaf they ask a\nquestion about their sweethearts, thus: \"Does he or she love me? Dearly?\nDistractedly? Very much? A little? Not at all?\" and so on. Each one\nspeaks these words in his own language.\n\nThe butterfly came, also, to Marguerite to inquire, but he did not pluck\noff her leaves; he pressed a kiss on each of them, for he thought there\nwas always more to be done by kindness.\n\n\"Darling Marguerite daisy,\" he said to her, \"you are the wisest woman of\nthem all. Pray tell me which of the flowers I shall choose for my wife.\nWhich will be my bride? When I know, I will fly directly to her and\npropose.\"\n\nBut Marguerite did not answer him. She was offended that he should call\nher a woman when she was only a girl; there is a great difference. He\nasked her a second time, and then a third, but she remained dumb,\nanswering him not at all. Then he would wait no longer, but flew away to\ncommence his wooing at once. It was in the early spring, when the crocus\nand the snowdrop were in full bloom.\n\n\"They are very pretty,\" thought the butterfly; \"charming little lasses,\nbut they are rather stiff and formal.\"\n\nThen, as young lads often do, he looked out for the older girls. He next\nflew to the anemones, but these were rather sour to his taste. The\nviolet was a little too sentimental; the lime blossoms were too\nsmall--and, besides, there was such a large family of them. The apple\nblossoms, though they looked like roses, bloomed to-day, but might fall\noff to-morrow with the first wind that blew; and he thought a marriage\nwith one of them might last too short a time. The pea blossom pleased\nhim most of all. She was white and red, graceful and slender, and\nbelonged to those domestic maidens who have a pretty appearance, yet can\nbe useful in the kitchen. He was just about to make her an offer when,\nclose by her, he saw a pod, with a withered flower hanging at the end.\n\n\"Who is that?\" he asked.\n\n\"That is my sister,\" replied the pea blossom.\n\n\"Oh, indeed! and you will be like her some day,\" said he. And at once he\nflew away, for he felt quite shocked.\n\nA honeysuckle hung forth from the hedge, in full bloom; but there were\nso many girls like her, with long faces and sallow complexions! No, he\ndid not like her. But which one did he like?\n\nSpring went by, and summer drew toward its close. Autumn came, but he\nhad not decided. The flowers now appeared in their most gorgeous robes,\nbut all in vain--they had not the fresh, fragrant air of youth. The\nheart asks for fragrance even when it is no longer young, and there is\nvery little of that to be found in the dahlias or the dry\nchrysanthemums. Therefore the butterfly turned to the mint on the\nground. This plant, you know, has no blossom, but is sweetness all over;\nit is full of fragrance from head to foot, with the scent of a flower in\nevery leaf.\n\n\"I will take her,\" said the butterfly; and he made her an offer. But the\nmint stood silent and stiff as she listened to him. At last she said:\n\n\"I can give you friendship if you like, nothing more. I am old, and you\nare old, but we may live for each other just the same. As to marrying,\nhowever, no! that would appear ridiculous at our age.\"\n\nAnd so it happened that the butterfly got no wife at all. He had been\ntoo long choosing, which is always a bad plan, and became what is called\nan old bachelor.\n\nIt was late in the autumn, with rainy and cloudy weather. The cold wind\nblew over the bowed backs of the willows, so that they creaked again. It\nwas not the weather for flying about in summer clothes, but fortunately\nthe butterfly was not out in it. By a happy chance he had got a shelter.\nIt was in a room heated by a stove and as warm as summer. He could live\nhere, he said, well enough.\n\n\"But it is not enough merely to exist,\" said he. \"I need freedom,\nsunshine, and a little flower for a companion.\"\n\nSo he flew against the window-pane and was seen and admired by those in\nthe room, who caught him and stuck him on a pin in a box of curiosities.\nThey could not do more for him.\n\n\"Now I am perched on a stalk like the flowers,\" said the butterfly. \"It\nis not very pleasant, certainly. I imagine it is something like being\nmarried, for here I am stuck fast.\" And with this thought he consoled\nhimself a little.\n\n\"That seems very poor consolation,\" said one of the plants in the room,\nthat grew in a pot.\n\n\"Ah,\" thought the butterfly, \"one can't very well trust these plants in\npots; they have had too much to do with human beings.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOBLIN AND THE HUCKSTER\n\n\nTHERE was once a regular student, who lived in a garret and had no\npossessions. And there was also a regular huckster, to whom the house\nbelonged, and who occupied the ground floor. A goblin lived with the\nhuckster because at Christmas he always had a large dishful of jam, with\na great piece of butter in the middle. The huckster could afford this,\nand therefore the goblin remained with him--which was very shrewd of the\ngoblin.\n\nOne evening the student came into the shop through the back door to buy\ncandles and cheese for himself; he had no one to send, and therefore he\ncame himself. He obtained what he wished, and then the huckster and his\nwife nodded good evening to him. The huckster's wife was a woman who\ncould do more than merely nod, for she usually had plenty to say for\nherself. The student nodded also, as he turned to leave, then suddenly\nstopped and began reading the piece of paper in which the cheese was\nwrapped. It was a leaf torn out of an old book; a book that ought not to\nhave been torn up, for it was full of poetry.\n\n\"Yonder lies some more of the same sort,\" said the huckster. \"I gave an\nold woman a few coffee berries for it; you shall have the rest for\nsixpence if you will.\"\n\n\"Indeed I will,\" said the student. \"Give me the book instead of the\ncheese; I can eat my bread and butter without cheese. It would be a sin\nto tear up a book like this. You are a clever man and a practical man,\nbut you understand no more about poetry than that cask yonder.\"\n\nThis was a very rude speech, especially against the cask, but the\nhuckster and the student both laughed, for it was only said in fun. The\ngoblin, however, felt very angry that any man should venture to say such\nthings to a huckster who was a householder and sold the best butter. As\nsoon as it was night, the shop closed, and every one in bed except the\nstudent, the goblin stepped softly into the bedroom where the huckster's\nwife slept, and took away her tongue, which of course she did not then\nwant. Whatever object in the room he placed this tongue upon,\nimmediately received voice and speech and was able to express its\nthoughts and feelings as readily as the lady herself could do. It could\nonly be used by one object at a time, which was a good thing, as a\nnumber speaking at once would have caused great confusion. The goblin\nlaid the tongue upon the cask, in which lay a quantity of old\nnewspapers.\n\n\"Is it really true,\" he asked, \"that you do not know what poetry is?\"\n\n\"Of course I know,\" replied the cask. \"Poetry is something that always\nstands in the corner of a newspaper and is sometimes cut out. And I may\nventure to affirm that I have more of it in me than the student has,\neven if I am only a poor tub of the huckster's.\"\n\nThen the goblin placed the tongue on the coffee mill, and how it did go,\nto be sure! Then he put it on the butter-tub, and the cash-box, and\nthey all expressed the same opinion as the waste-paper tub. A majority\nmust always be respected.\n\n\"Now I shall go and tell the student,\" said the goblin. With these words\nhe went quietly up the back stairs to the garret, where the student\nlived. The student's candle was burning still, and the goblin peeped\nthrough the keyhole and saw that he was reading in the torn book which\nhe had bought out of the shop. But how light the room was! From the book\nshot forth a ray of light which grew broad and full like the stem of a\ntree, from which bright rays spread upward and over the student's head.\nEach leaf was fresh, and each flower was like a beautiful female\nhead--some with dark and sparkling eyes and others with eyes that were\nwonderfully blue and clear. The fruit gleamed like stars, and the room\nwas filled with sounds of beautiful music. The little goblin had never\nimagined, much less seen or heard of, any sight so glorious as this. He\nstood still on tiptoe, peeping in, till the light went out. The student\nno doubt had blown out his candle and gone to bed, but the little\ngoblin remained standing there, listening to the music which still\nsounded, soft and beautiful--a sweet cradle song for the student who had\nlain down to rest.\n\n\"This is a wonderful place,\" said the goblin; \"I never expected such a\nthing. I should like to stay here with the student.\" Then the little man\nthought it over, for he was a sensible sprite. At last he sighed, \"But\nthe student has no jam!\" So he went downstairs again to the huckster's\nshop, and it was a good thing he got back when he did, for the cask had\nalmost worn out the lady's tongue. He had given a description of all\nthat he contained on one side, and was just about to turn himself over\nto the other side to describe what was there, when the goblin entered\nand restored the tongue to the lady. From that time forward, the whole\nshop, from the cash-box down to the pine-wood logs, formed their\nopinions from that of the cask. They all had such confidence in him and\ntreated him with so much respect that when, in the evening, the huckster\nread the criticisms on theatricals and art, they fancied it must all\ncome from the cask.\n\nAfter what he had seen, the goblin could no longer sit and listen\nquietly to the wisdom and understanding downstairs. As soon as the\nevening light glimmered in the garret, he took courage, for it seemed to\nhim that the rays of light were strong cables, drawing him up and\nobliging him to go and peep through the keyhole. While there, a feeling\nof vastness came over him, such as we experience by the ever-moving sea\nwhen the storm breaks forth, and it brought tears into his eyes. He did\nnot himself know why he wept, yet a kind of pleasant feeling mingled\nwith his tears. \"How wonderfully glorious it would be to sit with the\nstudent under such a tree!\" But that was out of the question; he must be\ncontent to look through the keyhole and be thankful for even that.\n\nThere he stood on the cold landing, with the autumn wind blowing down\nupon him through the trapdoor. It was very cold, but the little creature\ndid not really feel it till the light in the garret went out and the\ntones of music died away. Then how he shivered and crept downstairs\nagain to his warm corner, where he felt at home and comfortable! And\nwhen Christmas came again and brought the dish of jam and the great\nlump of butter, he liked the huckster best of all.\n\nSoon after, the goblin was waked in the middle of the night by a\nterrible noise and knocking against the window shutters and the house\ndoors and by the sound of the watchman's horn. A great fire had broken\nout, and the whole street seemed full of flames. Was it in their house\nor a neighbor's? No one could tell, for terror had seized upon all. The\nhuckster's wife was so bewildered that she took her gold earrings out of\nher ears and put them in her pocket, that she might save something at\nleast. The huckster ran to get his business papers, and the servant\nresolved to save her black silk mantle, which she had managed to buy.\nAll wished to keep the best things they had. The goblin had the same\nwish, for with one spring he was upstairs in the student's room. He\nfound him standing by the open window and looking quite calmly at the\nfire, which was raging in the house of a neighbor opposite.\n\nThe goblin caught up the wonderful book, which lay on the table, and\npopped it into his red cap, which he held tightly with both hands. The\ngreatest treasure in the house was saved, and he ran away with it to the\nroof and seated himself on the chimney. The flames of the burning house\nopposite illuminated him as he sat with both hands pressed tightly over\nhis cap, in which the treasure lay. It was then that he understood what\nfeelings were really strongest in his heart and knew exactly which way\nthey tended. Yet, when the fire was extinguished and the goblin again\nbegan to reflect, he hesitated, and said at last, \"I must divide myself\nbetween the two; I cannot quite give up the huckster, because of the\njam.\"\n\nThis is a representation of human nature. We are like the goblin; we all\ngo to visit the huckster, \"because of the jam.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nEVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE\n\n\nMORE than a hundred years ago, behind the wood and by a deep lake, stood\nan old baronial mansion. Round it lay a deep moat, in which grew reeds\nand rushes, and close by the bridge, near the entrance gate, stood an\nold willow that bent itself over the moat.\n\nFrom a narrow lane one day sounded the clang of horns and the trampling\nof horses. The little girl who kept the geese hastened to drive them\naway from the bridge before the hunting party came galloping up to it.\nThey came, however, with such haste that the girl was obliged to climb\nup and seat herself on the parapet of the bridge, lest they should ride\nover her. She was scarcely more than a child, with a pretty, delicate\nfigure, a gentle expression of face, and two bright blue eyes--all of\nwhich the baron took no note of; but as he galloped past, he reversed\nthe whip held in his hand, and in rough play gave the little\ngoose-watcher such a push with the butt end that she fell backward into\nthe ditch.\n\n\"Everything in its right place,\" cried he. \"Into the puddle with you!\"\nand then he laughed aloud at what he called his own wit, and the rest\njoined with him. The whole party shouted and screamed, and the dogs\nbarked loudly.\n\nFortunately for herself, the poor girl in falling caught hold of one of\nthe overhanging branches of the willow tree, by which she was able to\nkeep herself from falling into the muddy pool. As soon as the baron,\nwith his company and his dogs, had disappeared through the castle gate,\nshe tried to raise herself by her own exertions; but the bough broke off\nat the top, and she would have fallen backwards among the reeds if a\nstrong hand had not at that moment seized her from above. It was the\nhand of a peddler, who, at a short distance, had witnessed the whole\naffair and hastened up to give assistance.\n\n\"Everything in its right place,\" he said, imitating the noble baron, as\nhe drew the little maiden up on dry ground. He would have restored the\nbough to the place from which it had been broken off, but \"everything in\nits right place\" is not always so easy to arrange, so he stuck the bough\nin the soft earth. \"Grow and prosper as much as you can,\" said he, \"till\nyou produce a good flute for some of them over there. With the\npermission of the noble baron and his family, I should like them to hear\nmy challenge.\"\n\nSo he betook himself to the castle, but not into the noble hall; he was\ntoo humble for that. He went to the servants' apartments, and the men\nand maids examined and turned over his stock of goods, while from above,\nwhere the company were at table, came sounds of screaming and shouting\nwhich they called singing--and indeed they did their best. Loud\nlaughter, mingled with the howling of dogs, sounded through the open\nwindows. All were feasting and carousing. Wine and strong ale foamed in\nthe jugs and glasses; even the dogs ate and drank with their masters.\nThe peddler was sent for, but only to make fun for them. The wine had\nmounted to their heads, and the sense had flown out. They poured wine\ninto a stocking for him to drink with them--quickly, of course--and this\nwas considered a rare jest and occasioned fresh bursts of laughter. At\ncards, whole farms, with their stock of peasants and cattle, were staked\non a card and lost.\n\n\"Everything in its right place,\" said the peddler, when he at last\nescaped from what he called the Sodom and Gomorrah up there. \"The open\nhighroad is my right place; that house did not suit me at all.\" As he\nstepped along, he saw the little maiden keeping watch over the geese,\nand she nodded to him in a friendly way.\n\nDays and weeks passed, and it soon became evident that the willow branch\nwhich had been stuck in the ground by the peddler, near to the castle\nmoat, had taken root, for it remained fresh and green and put forth new\ntwigs.\n\nThe little girl saw that the branch must have taken root, and she was\nquite joyful about it. \"This tree,\" she said, \"must be my tree now.\"\n\nThe tree certainly flourished, but at the castle, what with feasting and\ngambling, everything went to ruin; for these two things are like\nrollers, upon which no man can possibly stand securely. Six years had\nnot passed away before the noble baron wandered out of the castle gate a\npoor man, and the mansion was bought by a rich dealer. This dealer was\nno other than the man of whom he had made fun and for whom he had poured\nwine into a stocking to drink. But honesty and industry are like\nfavorable winds to a ship, and they had brought the peddler to be master\nof the baron's estates. From that hour no more card playing was\npermitted there.\n\nThe new proprietor took to himself a wife, and who should it be but the\nlittle goose-watcher, who had always remained faithful and good, and who\nlooked as beautiful and fine in her new clothes as if she had been a\nhighly born lady. It would be too long a story in these busy times to\nexplain how all this came about, but it really did happen, and the most\nimportant part is to come.\n\nIt was pleasant to live in the old court now. The mistress herself\nmanaged the housekeeping within, and the master superintended the\nestate. Their home overflowed with blessings, for where rectitude leads\nthe way, prosperity is sure to follow. The old house was cleaned and\npainted, the moat dried up, and fruit trees planted in it. The floors of\nthe house were polished as smoothly as a draftboard, and everything\nlooked bright and cheerful.\n\nDuring the long winter evenings the lady of the house sat with her\nmaidens at the spinning wheel in the great hall. Her husband, in his old\nage, had been made a magistrate. Every Sunday evening he read the Bible\nwith his family, for children had come to him and were all instructed in\nthe best manner, although they were not all equally clever--as is the\ncase in all families. In the meantime, the willow branch at the castle\ngate had grown into a splendid tree and stood free and unrestrained.\n\n\"That is our genealogical tree,\" said the old people, \"and the tree must\ntherefore be honored and esteemed, even by those who are not very wise.\"\n\nA hundred years passed away, and the place presented a much-changed\naspect. The lake had been converted into moorland, and the old baronial\ncastle had almost disappeared. A pool of water, the deep moat, and the\nruins of some of the walls were all that remained. Close by grew a\nmagnificent willow tree, with overhanging branches--the same\ngenealogical tree of former times. Here it still stood, showing to what\nbeauty a willow can attain when left to itself. To be sure, the trunk\nwas split through, from the root to the top, and the storm had slightly\nbent it; but it stood firm through all, and from every crevice and\nopening into which earth had been carried by the wind, shot forth\nblossoms and flowers. Near the top, where the large boughs parted, the\nwild raspberry twined its branches and looked like a hanging garden.\nEven the little mistletoe had here struck root, and flourished, graceful\nand delicate, among the branches of the willow, which were reflected in\nthe dark waters beneath it. Sometimes the wind from the sea scattered\nthe willow leaves. A path led through the field, close by the tree.\n\nOn the top of a hill, near the forest, with a splendid prospect before\nit, stood the new baronial hall, with panes of such transparent glass in\nthe windows that there appeared to be none. The grand flight of steps\nleading to the entrance looked like a bower of roses and broad-leaved\nplants. The lawn was as fresh and green as if each separate blade of\ngrass were cleaned morning and evening. In the hall hung costly\npictures. The chairs and sofas were of silk and velvet and looked almost\nas if they could move of themselves. There were tables with white marble\ntops, and books bound in velvet and gold. Here, indeed, resided wealthy\npeople, people of rank--the new baron and his family.\n\nEach article was made to harmonize with the other furnishings. The\nfamily motto still was, \"Everything in its right place.\" Therefore the\npictures which were once the honor and glory of the old house now hung\nin the passage leading to the servants' hall. They were considered mere\nlumber; especially two old portraits, one of a man in a wig and a\nrose-colored coat, the other of a lady with frizzed and powdered hair,\nholding a rose in her hand, each surrounded by a wreath of willow\nleaves. Both the pictures had many holes in them, for the little barons\nalways set up the two old people as targets for their bows and arrows;\nand yet these were pictures of the magistrate and his lady, from whom\nthe present family were descended. \"But they did not properly belong to\nour family,\" said one of the little barons; \"he was a peddler, and she\nkept the geese. They were not like papa and mamma.\" So the pictures,\nbeing old, were considered worthless; and the motto being \"Each in its\nright place,\" the great-grandfather and the great-grandmother of the\nfamily were sent into the passage leading to the servants' hall.\n\nThe son of the clergyman of the place was tutor at the great house. One\nday he was out walking with his pupils--the little barons--and their\neldest sister, who had just been confirmed. They took the path through\nthe fields, which led past the old willow tree. While they walked, the\nyoung lady made a wreath of hedge blossoms and wild flowers, \"each in\nits right place,\" and the wreath was, as a whole, very pretty. At the\nsame time she heard every word uttered by the son of the clergyman. She\nliked very much to hear him talk of the wonders of nature and of the\ngreat men and women of history. She had a healthy mind, with nobility\nof thought and feeling, and a heart full of love for all God's creation.\n\nThe walking party halted at the old willow tree; the youngest of the\nbarons wanted a branch from it to make a flute, as he had already made\nthem from other willows. The tutor broke off a branch. \"Oh, don't do\nthat,\" exclaimed the young baroness; but it was already done. \"I am so\nsorry,\" she continued; \"that is our famous old tree, and I love it very\nmuch. They laugh at me for it at home, but I don't mind. There is a\nstory told about that tree.\"\n\nThen she told him what we already know: about the old castle, and about\nthe peddler and the girl with the geese, who had met at this spot for\nthe first time and were the ancestors of the noble family to which the\nyoung baroness belonged. \"The good old folks would not be ennobled,\"\nsaid she. \"Their motto was 'Everything in its right place,' and they\nthought it would not be right for them to purchase a title with money.\nMy grandfather, the first baron, was their son. He was a very learned\nman, known and appreciated by princes and princesses, and was present at\nall the festivals at court. At home, they all love him best, but I\nscarcely know why. There seems to me something in the first old pair\nthat draws my heart towards them. How sociable, how patriarchal, it must\nhave been in the old house, where the mistress sat at the spinning wheel\nwith her maids while her husband read aloud to them from the Bible!\"\n\n\"They must have been charming, sensible people,\" said the tutor, and\nthen the conversation turned upon nobles and commoners. It was almost as\nif the tutor did not belong to an inferior class, he spoke so wisely\nupon the purpose and intention of nobility.\n\n\"It is certainly good fortune to belong to a family that has\ndistinguished itself in the world, and to inherit the energy which spurs\nus on to progress in everything noble and useful. It is pleasant to bear\na family name that is like a card of admission to the highest circles.\nTrue nobility is always great and honorable. It is a coin which has\nreceived the impression of its own value. It is a mistake of the present\nday, into which many poets have fallen, to affirm that all who are\nnoble by birth must therefore be wicked or foolish, and that the lower\nwe descend in society the oftener we find great and shining characters.\nI feel that this is quite false. In all classes can be found men and\nwomen possessing kindly and beautiful traits.\n\n\"My mother told me of one, and I could tell you of many more. She was\nonce on a visit to a nobleman's house in the town; my grandmother, I\nbelieve, had been brought up in the family. One day, when my mother and\nthe nobleman happened to be alone, an old woman came limping into the\ncourt on crutches. She was accustomed to come every Sunday and always\ncarried away a gift with her. 'Ah, there is the poor old woman,' said\nthe nobleman; 'what pain it is for her to walk!' And before my mother\nunderstood what he said, he had left the room and run downstairs to the\nold woman. Though seventy years old himself, the old nobleman carried to\nthe woman the gift she had come to receive, to spare her the pain of\nwalking any farther. This is only a trifling circumstance, but, like the\ntwo mites given by the widow in the Bible, it wakes an echo in the\nheart.\n\n\"These are subjects of which poets should write and sing, for they\nsoften and unite mankind into one brotherhood. But when a mere sprig of\nhumanity, because it has noble ancestors of good blood, rears up and\nprances like an Arabian horse in the street or speaks contemptuously of\ncommon people, then it is nobility in danger of decay--a mere pretense,\nlike the mask which Thespis invented. People are glad to see such\npersons turned into objects of satire.\"\n\nThis was the tutor's speech--certainly rather a long one, but he had\nbeen busily engaged in cutting the flute while he talked.\n\nThere was a large party at the Hall that evening. The grand salon was\ncrowded with guests--some from the neighborhood, some from the capital.\nThere was a bevy of ladies richly dressed with, and without, taste; a\ngroup of the clergy from the adjoining parishes, in a corner together,\nas grave as though met for a funeral. A funeral party it certainly was\nnot, however; it was meant for a party of pleasure, but the pleasure was\nyet to come. Music and song filled the rooms, first one of the party\nvolunteering, then another. The little baron brought out his flute, but\nneither he nor his father, who tried it after him, could make anything\nof it. It was pronounced a failure.\n\n\"But you are a performer, too, surely,\" said a witty gentleman,\naddressing the tutor. \"You are of course a flute player as well as a\nflute maker. You are a universal genius, I hear, and genius is quite the\nrage nowadays--nothing like genius. Come now; I am sure you will be so\ngood as to enchant us by playing on this little instrument.\" He handed\nit over, announcing in a loud voice that the tutor was going to favor\nthe company with a solo on the flute.\n\nIt was easy to see that these people wanted to make fun of him, and he\nrefused to play. But they pressed him so long and so urgently that at\nlast, in very weariness, he took the flute and raised it to his lips.\n\nIt was a strange flute! A sound issued from it, loud, shrill, and\nvibrating, like that sent forth by a steam engine--nay, far louder. It\nthrilled through the house, through garden and woodland, miles out into\nthe country; and with the sound came also a strong, rushing wind, its\nstormy breath clearly uttering the words, \"Everything in its right\nplace!\"\n\nForthwith the baron, the master of the Hall, was caught up by the wind,\ncarried out at the window, and was shut up in the porter's lodge in a\ntrice. The porter himself was borne up, not into the drawing room--no,\nfor that he was not fit--but into the servants' hall, where the proud\nlackeys in their silk stockings shook with horror to see so low a person\nsit at table with them.\n\nBut in the grand salon the young baroness was wafted to the seat of\nhonor, where she was worthy to sit, and the tutor's place was by her\nside. There they sat together, for all the world like bride and\nbridegroom. An old count, descended from one of the noblest houses in\nthe land, retained his seat, not so much as a breath of air disturbing\nhim, for the flute was strictly just. The witty young gentleman, who had\nbeen the occasion of all this tumult, was whirled out headforemost to\njoin geese and ganders in the poultry yard.\n\nHalf a mile out in the country the flute wrought wonders. The family of\na rich merchant, who drove with four horses, were all precipitated from\nthe carriage window. Two farmers, who had of late grown too wealthy to\nknow their nearest relations, were puffed into a ditch. It was a\ndangerous flute. Luckily, at the first sound it uttered, it burst and\nwas then put safely away in the tutor's pocket. \"Everything in its right\nplace!\"\n\nNext day no more was said about the adventure than as if it had never\nhappened. The affair was hushed up, and all things were the same as\nbefore, except that the two old portraits of the peddler and the goose\ngirl continued to hang on the walls of the salon, whither the wind had\nblown them. Here some connoisseur chanced to see them, and because he\npronounced them to be painted by a master hand, they were cleaned and\nrestored and ever after held in honor. Their value had not been known\nbefore.\n\n\"Everything in its right place!\" So shall it be, all in good time, never\nfear. Not in this world, perhaps. That would be expecting rather too\nmuch.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE REAL PRINCESS\n\n\nTHERE was once a prince who wanted to marry a princess. But she must be\na real princess, mind you. So he traveled all round the world, seeking\nsuch a one, but everywhere something was in the way. Not that there was\nany lack of princesses, but he could not seem to make out whether they\nwere real princesses; there was always something not quite satisfactory.\nTherefore, home he came again, quite out of spirits, for he wished so\nmuch to marry a real princess.\n\nOne evening a terrible storm came on. It thundered and lightened, and\nthe rain poured down; indeed, it was quite fearful. In the midst of it\nthere came a knock at the town gate, and the old king went out to open\nit.\n\nIt was a princess who stood outside. But O dear, what a state she was in\nfrom the rain and bad weather! The water dropped from her hair and\nclothes, it ran in at the tips of her shoes and out at the heels; yet\nshe insisted she was a real princess.\n\n\"Very well,\" thought the old queen; \"that we shall presently see.\" She\nsaid nothing, but went into the bedchamber and took off all the bedding,\nthen laid a pea on the sacking of the bedstead. Having done this, she\ntook twenty mattresses and laid them upon the pea and placed twenty\neider-down beds on top of the mattresses.\n\nThe princess lay upon this bed all the night. In the morning she was\nasked how she had slept.\n\n\"Oh, most miserably!\" she said. \"I scarcely closed my eyes the whole\nnight through. I cannot think what there could have been in the bed. I\nlay upon something so hard that I am quite black and blue all over. It\nis dreadful!\"\n\nIt was now quite evident that she was a real princess, since through\ntwenty mattresses and twenty eider-down beds she had felt the pea. None\nbut a real princess could have such delicate feeling.\n\nSo the prince took her for his wife, for he knew that in her he had\nfound a true princess. And the pea was preserved in the cabinet of\ncuriosities, where it is still to be seen unless some one has stolen it.\n\nAnd this, mind you, is a real story.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES\n\n\nMANY years ago there was an emperor who was so fond of new clothes that\nhe spent all his money on them. He did not give himself any concern\nabout his army; he cared nothing about the theater or for driving about\nin the woods, except for the sake of showing himself off in new clothes.\nHe had a costume for every hour in the day, and just as they say of a\nking or emperor, \"He is in his council chamber,\" they said of him, \"The\nemperor is in his dressing room.\"\n\nLife was merry and gay in the town where the emperor lived, and numbers\nof strangers came to it every day. Among them there came one day two\nrascals, who gave themselves out as weavers and said that they knew how\nto weave the most exquisite stuff imaginable. Not only were the colors\nand patterns uncommonly beautiful, but the clothes that were made of the\nstuff had the peculiar property of becoming invisible to every person\nwho was unfit for the office he held or who was exceptionally stupid.\n\n\"Those must be valuable clothes,\" thought the emperor. \"By wearing them\nI should be able to discover which of the men in my empire are not fit\nfor their posts. I should distinguish wise men from fools. Yes, I must\norder some of the stuff to be woven for me directly.\" And he paid the\nswindlers a handsome sum of money in advance, as they required.\n\nAs for them, they put up two looms and pretended to be weaving, though\nthere was nothing whatever on their shuttles. They called for a quantity\nof the finest silks and of the purest gold thread, all of which went\ninto their own bags, while they worked at their empty looms till late\ninto the night.\n\n\"I should like to know how those weavers are getting on with the stuff,\"\nthought the emperor. But he felt a little queer when he reflected that\nthose who were stupid or unfit for their office would not be able to see\nthe material. He believed, indeed, that he had nothing to fear for\nhimself, but still he thought it better to send some one else first, to\nsee how the work was coming on. All the people in the town had heard of\nthe peculiar property of the stuff, and every one was curious to see how\nstupid his neighbor might be.\n\n\"I will send my faithful old prime minister to the weavers,\" thought the\nemperor. \"He will be best capable of judging of this stuff, for he is a\nman of sense and nobody is more fit for his office than he.\"\n\nSo the worthy old minister went into the room where the two swindlers\nsat working the empty looms. \"Heaven save us!\" thought the old man,\nopening his eyes wide. \"Why, I can't see anything at all!\" But he took\ncare not to say so aloud.\n\nBoth the rogues begged him to step a little nearer and asked him if he\ndid not think the patterns very pretty and the coloring fine. They\npointed to the empty loom as they did so, and the poor old minister\nkept staring as hard as he could--but without being able to see anything\non it, for of course there was nothing there to see.\n\n\"Heaven save us!\" thought the old man. \"Is it possible that I am a fool?\nI have never thought it, and nobody must know it. Is it true that I am\nnot fit for my office? It will never do for me to say that I cannot see\nthe stuffs.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, do you say nothing about the cloth?\" asked the one who was\npretending to go on with his work.\n\n\"Oh, it is most elegant, most beautiful!\" said the dazed old man, as he\npeered again through his spectacles. \"What a fine pattern, and what fine\ncolors! I will certainly tell the emperor how pleased I am with the\nstuff.\"\n\n\"We are glad of that,\" said both the weavers; and then they named the\ncolors and pointed out the special features of the pattern. To all of\nthis the minister paid great attention, so that he might be able to\nrepeat it to the emperor when he went back to him.\n\nAnd now the cheats called for more money, more silk, and more gold\nthread, to be able to proceed with the weaving, but they put it all\ninto their own pockets, and not a thread went into the stuff, though\nthey went on as before, weaving at the empty looms.\n\nAfter a little time the emperor sent another honest statesman to see how\nthe weaving was progressing, and if the stuff would soon be ready. The\nsame thing happened with him as with the minister. He gazed and gazed,\nbut as there was nothing but empty looms, he could see nothing else.\n\n\"Is not this an exquisite piece of stuff?\" asked the weavers, pointing\nto one of the looms and explaining the beautiful pattern and the colors\nwhich were not there to be seen.\n\n\"I am not stupid, I know I am not!\" thought the man, \"so it must be that\nI am not fit for my good office. It is very strange, but I must not let\nit be noticed.\" So he praised the cloth he did not see and assured the\nweavers of his delight in the lovely colors and the exquisite pattern.\n\"It is perfectly charming,\" he reported to the emperor.\n\nEverybody in the town was talking of the splendid cloth. The emperor\nthought he should like to see it himself while it was still on the\nloom. With a company of carefully selected men, among whom were the two\nworthy officials who had been there before, he went to visit the crafty\nimpostors, who were working as hard as ever at the empty looms.\n\n\"Is it not magnificent?\" said both the honest statesmen. \"See, your\nMajesty, what splendid colors, and what a pattern!\" And they pointed to\nthe looms, for they believed that others, no doubt, could see what they\ndid not.\n\n\"What!\" thought the emperor. \"I see nothing at all. This is terrible! Am\nI a fool? Am I not fit to be emperor? Why nothing more dreadful could\nhappen to me!\"\n\n\"Oh, it is very pretty! it has my highest approval,\" the emperor said\naloud. He nodded with satisfaction as he gazed at the empty looms, for\nhe would not betray that he could see nothing.\n\nHis whole suite gazed and gazed, each seeing no more than the others;\nbut, like the emperor, they all exclaimed, \"Oh, it is beautiful!\" They\neven suggested to the emperor that he wear the splendid new clothes for\nthe first time on the occasion of a great procession which was soon to\ntake place.\n\n\"Splendid! Gorgeous! Magnificent!\" went from mouth to mouth. All were\nequally delighted with the weavers' workmanship. The emperor gave each\nof the impostors an order of knighthood to be worn in their buttonholes,\nand the title Gentleman Weaver of the Imperial Court.\n\nBefore the day on which the procession was to take place, the weavers\nsat up the whole night, burning sixteen candles, so that people might\nsee how anxious they were to get the emperor's new clothes ready. They\npretended to take the stuff from the loom, they cut it out in the air\nwith huge scissors, and they stitched away with needles which had no\nthread in them. At last they said, \"Now the clothes are finished.\"\n\nThe emperor came to them himself with his grandest courtiers, and each\nof the rogues lifted his arm as if he held something, saying, \"See! here\nare the trousers! here is the coat! here is the cloak,\" and so on. \"It\nis as light as a spider's web. One would almost feel as if one had\nnothing on, but that is the beauty of it!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said all the courtiers, but they saw nothing, for there was\nnothing to see.\n\n\"Will your Majesty be graciously pleased to take off your clothes so\nthat we may put on the new clothes here, before the great mirror?\"\n\nThe emperor took off his clothes, and the rogues pretended to put on\nfirst one garment and then another of the new ones they had pretended to\nmake. They pretended to fasten something round his waist and to tie on\nsomething. This they said was the train, and the emperor turned round\nand round before the mirror.\n\n\"How well his Majesty looks in the new clothes! How becoming they are!\"\ncried all the courtiers in turn. \"That is a splendid costume!\"\n\n\"The canopy that is to be carried over your Majesty in the procession is\nwaiting outside,\" said the master of ceremonies.\n\n\"Well, I am ready,\" replied the emperor. \"Don't the clothes look well?\"\nand he turned round and round again before the mirror, to appear as if\nhe were admiring his new costume.\n\nThe chamberlains, who were to carry the train, stooped and put their\nhands near the floor as if they were lifting it; then they pretended to\nbe holding something in the air. They would not let it be noticed that\nthey could see and feel nothing.\n\nSo the emperor went along in the procession, under the splendid canopy,\nand every one in the streets said: \"How beautiful the emperor's new\nclothes are! What a splendid train! And how well they fit!\"\n\nNo one wanted to let it appear that he could see nothing, for that would\nprove him not fit for his post. None of the emperor's clothes had been\nso great a success before.\n\n\"But he has nothing on!\" said a little child.\n\n\"Just listen to the innocent,\" said its father; and one person whispered\nto another what the child had said. \"He has nothing on; a child says he\nhas nothing on!\"\n\n\"But he has nothing on,\" cried all the people. The emperor was startled\nby this, for he had a suspicion that they were right. But he thought, \"I\nmust face this out to the end and go on with the procession.\" So he held\nhimself more stiffly than ever, and the chamberlains held up the train\nthat was not there at all.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nGREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS\n\n\nIN A VILLAGE there once lived two men of the same name. Both of them\nwere called Claus. But because one of them owned four horses while the\nother had but one, people called the one who had the four horses Big, or\nGreat, Claus and the one who owned but a single horse Little Claus. Now\nI shall tell you what happened to each of them, for this is a true\nstory.\n\nAll the days of the week Little Claus was obliged to plow for Great\nClaus and to lend him his one horse; then once a week, on Sunday, Great\nClaus helped Little Claus with his four horses, but always on a holiday.\n\n\"Hurrah!\" How Little Claus would crack his whip over the five, for they\nwere as good as his own on that one day.\n\nThe sun shone brightly, and the church bells rang merrily as the people\npassed by. The people were dressed in their best, with their prayer\nbooks under their arms, for they were going to church to hear the\nclergyman preach. They looked at Little Claus plowing with five horses,\nand he was so proud and merry that he cracked his whip and cried,\n\"Gee-up, my fine horses.\"\n\n\"You mustn't say that,\" said Great Claus, \"for only one of them is\nyours.\"\n\nBut Little Claus soon forgot what it was that he ought not to say, and\nwhen any one went by he would call out, \"Gee-up, my fine horses.\"\n\n\"I must really beg you not to say that again,\" said Great Claus as he\npassed; \"for if you do, I shall hit your horse on the head so that he\nwill drop down dead on the spot, and then it will be all over with him.\"\n\n\"I will certainly not say it again, I promise you,\" said Little Claus.\nBut as soon as any one came by, nodding good day to him, he was so\npleased, and felt so grand at having five horses plowing his field, that\nagain he cried out, \"Gee-up, all my horses.\"\n\n\"I'll gee-up your horses for you,\" said Great Claus, and he caught up\nthe tethering mallet and struck Little Claus's one horse on the head, so\nthat it fell down dead.\n\n\"Oh, now I haven't any horse at all!\" cried Little Claus, and he began\nto weep. But after a while he flayed the horse and hung up the skin to\ndry in the wind.\n\nThen he put the dried skin into a bag, and hanging it over his shoulder,\nwent off to the next town to sell it. He had a very long way to go and\nwas obliged to pass through a great, gloomy wood. A dreadful storm came\nup. He lost his way, and before he found it again, evening was drawing\non. It was too late to get to the town, and too late to get home before\nnightfall.\n\nNear the road stood a large farmhouse. The shutters outside the windows\nwere closed, but lights shone through the crevices and at the top. \"They\nmight let me stay here for the night,\" thought Little Claus. So he went\nup to the door and knocked. The door was opened by the farmer's wife,\nbut when he explained what it was that he wanted, she told him to go\naway; her husband, she said, was not at home, and she could not let any\nstrangers in.\n\n\"Then I shall have to lie out here,\" said Little Claus to himself, as\nthe farmer's wife shut the door in his face.\n\nClose to the farmhouse stood a tall haystack, and between it and the\nhouse was a small shed with a thatched roof. \"I can lie up there,\" said\nLittle Claus, when he saw the roof. \"It will make a capital bed, but I\nhope the stork won't fly down and bite my legs.\" A stork was just then\nstanding near his nest on the house roof.\n\nSo Little Claus climbed onto the roof of the shed and proceeded to make\nhimself comfortable. As he turned round to settle himself, he discovered\nthat the wooden shutters did not reach to the tops of the windows. He\ncould look over them straight into the room, in which a large table was\nlaid with wine, roast meat, and a fine, great fish. The farmer's wife\nand the sexton were sitting at the table all by themselves, and she was\npouring out wine for him, while his fork was in the fish, which he\nseemed to like the best.\n\n\"If I could only get some too,\" thought Little Claus, and as he\nstretched his neck toward the window he spied a large, beautiful cake.\nGoodness! what a glorious feast they had before them.\n\nAt that moment some one came riding down the road towards the farm. It\nwas the farmer himself, returning. He was a good man enough, but he had\none very singular prejudice--he could not bear the sight of a sexton,\nand if he came on one he fell into a terrible rage. This was the reason\nthat the sexton had gone to visit the farmer's wife during his absence\nfrom home and that the good wife had put before him the best she had.\n\nWhen they heard the farmer they were frightened, and the woman begged\nthe sexton to creep into a large empty chest which stood in a corner. He\ndid so with all haste, for he well knew how the farmer felt toward a\nsexton. The woman hid the wine and all the good things in the oven, for\nif her husband were to see them, he would certainly ask why they had\nbeen provided.\n\n\"O dear!\" sighed Little Claus, on the shed roof, as he saw the good\nthings disappear.\n\n\"Is any one up there?\" asked the farmer, looking up where Little Claus\nwas. \"What are you doing up there? You had better come with me into the\nhouse.\"\n\nThen Little Claus told him how he had lost his way, and asked if he\nmight have shelter for the night.\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied the farmer; \"but the first thing is to have\nsomething to eat.\"\n\nThe wife received them both in a friendly way, and laid the table,\nbringing to it a large bowl of porridge. The farmer was hungry and ate\nwith a good appetite. But Little Claus could not help thinking of the\ncapital roast meat, fish, and cake, which he knew were hidden in the\noven.\n\nHe had put his sack with the hide in it under the table by his feet,\nfor, we must remember, he was on his way to the town to sell it. He did\nnot relish the porridge, so he trod on the sack and made the dried skin\nsqueak quite loudly.\n\n\"Hush!\" said Little Claus to his bag, at the same time treading upon it\nagain, to make it squeak much louder than before.\n\n\"Hollo! what's that you've got in your bag?\" asked the farmer.\n\n\"Oh, it's a magician,\" said Little Claus, \"and he says we needn't eat\nthe porridge, for he has charmed the oven full of roast meat, fish, and\ncake.\"\n\n\"What?\" cried the farmer, and he opened the oven with all speed and saw\nall the nice things the woman had hidden, but which he believed the\nmagician had conjured up for their special benefit.\n\nThe farmer's wife did not say a word, but set the food before them; and\nthey both made a hearty meal of the fish, the meat, and the cake. Little\nClaus now trod again upon his sack and made the skin squeak.\n\n\"What does he say now?\" inquired the farmer.\n\n\"He says,\" promptly answered Little Claus, \"that he has conjured up\nthree bottles of wine, which are standing in the corner near the stove.\"\nSo the woman was obliged to bring the wine which she had hidden, and the\nfarmer and Little Claus became right merry. Would not the farmer like to\nhave such a conjurer as Little Claus carried about in his sack?\n\n\"Can he conjure up the Evil One?\" inquired the farmer. \"I shouldn't mind\nseeing him now, when I'm in such a merry mood.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Little Claus, \"he will do anything that I please\"; and he\ntrod on the bag till it squeaked. \"You hear him answer, 'Yes, only the\nEvil One is so ugly that you had better not see him.'\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm not afraid. What will he look like?\"\n\n\"Well, he will show himself to you in the image of a sexton.\"\n\n\"Nay, that's bad indeed. You must know that I can't abide a sexton.\nHowever, it doesn't matter, for I know he's a demon, and I shan't mind\nso much. Now my courage is up! Only he mustn't come too close.\"\n\n\"I'll ask him about it,\" said Little Claus, putting his ear down as he\ntrod close to the bag.\n\n\"What does he say?\"\n\n\"He says you can go along and open the chest in the corner, and there\nyou'll see him cowering in the dark. But hold the lid tight, so that he\ndoesn't get out.\"\n\n\"Will you help me to hold the lid,\" asked the farmer, going along to the\nchest in which his wife had hidden the sexton, who was shivering with\nfright.\n\nThe farmer opened the lid a wee little way and peeped in. \"Ha!\" he\ncried, springing backward. \"I saw him, and he looks exactly like our\nsexton. It was a shocking sight!\"\n\nThey must needs drink after this, and there they sat till far into the\nnight.\n\n\"You must sell me your conjurer,\" said the farmer. \"Ask anything you\nlike for him. Nay, I'll give you a bushel of money for him.\"\n\n\"No, I can't do that,\" said Little Claus. \"You must remember how much\nbenefit I can get from such a conjurer.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I should so like to have him!\" said the farmer, and he went on\nbegging for him.\n\n\"Well,\" said Little Claus at last, \"since you have been so kind as to\ngive me a night's shelter, I won't say nay. You must give me a bushel of\nmoney, only I must have it full to the brim.\"\n\n\"You shall have it,\" said the farmer; \"but you must take that chest away\nwith you. I won't have it in the house an hour longer. You could never\nknow that he might not still be inside.\"\n\nSo Little Claus gave his sack with the dried hide of the horse in it and\nreceived a full bushel of money in return, and the measure was full to\nthe brim. The farmer also gave him a large wheelbarrow, with which to\ntake away the chest and the bushel of money.\n\n\"Good-by,\" said Little Claus, and off he went with his money and the\nchest with the sexton in it.\n\nOn the other side of the forest was a wide, deep river, whose current\nwas so strong that it was almost impossible to swim against it. A large,\nnew bridge had just been built over it, and when they came to the middle\nof the bridge Little Claus said in a voice loud enough to be heard by\nthe sexton: \"What shall I do with this stupid old chest? It might be\nfull of paving stones, it is so heavy. I am tired of wheeling it. I'll\njust throw it into the river. If it floats down to my home, well and\ngood; if not, I don't care. It will be no great matter.\" And he took\nhold of the chest and lifted it a little, as if he were going to throw\nit into the river.\n\n\"No, no! let be!\" shouted the sexton. \"Let me get out.\"\n\n\"Ho!\" said Little Claus, pretending to be frightened. \"Why, he is still\ninside. Then I must heave it into the river to drown him.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, no, no!\" shouted the sexton; \"I'll give you a whole bushelful\nof money if you'll let me out.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's another matter,\" said Little Claus, opening the chest. He\npushed the empty chest into the river and then went home with the sexton\nto get his bushelful of money. He had already had one from the farmer,\nyou know, so now his wheelbarrow was quite full of money.\n\n\"I got a pretty fair price for that horse, I must admit,\" said he to\nhimself, when he got home and turned the money out of the wheelbarrow\ninto a heap in the middle of the floor. \"What a rage Great Claus will be\nin when he discovers how rich I am become through my one horse. But I\nwon't tell him just how it happened.\" So he sent a boy to Great Claus to\nborrow a bushel measure.\n\n\"What can he want with it?\" thought Great Claus, and he rubbed some\ntallow on the bottom so that some part of whatever was measured might\nstick to it. And so it did, for when the measure came back, three new\nsilver threepenny bits were sticking to it.\n\n\"What's this!\" said Great Claus, and he ran off at once to Little Claus.\n\"Where on earth did you get all this money?\" he asked.\n\n\"Oh, that's for my horse's skin. I sold it yesterday morning.\"\n\n\"That was well paid for, indeed,\" said Great Claus. He ran home, took an\nax, and hit all his four horses on the head; then he flayed them and\ncarried their skins off to the town.\n\n\"Hides! hides! who'll buy my hides?\" he cried through the streets.\n\nAll the shoemakers and tanners in the town came running up and asked him\nhow much he wanted for his hides.\n\n\"A bushel of money for each,\" said Great Claus.\n\n\"Are you mad?\" they all said. \"Do you think we have money by the\nbushel?\"\n\n\"Skins! skins! who'll buy them?\" he shouted again, and the shoemakers\ntook up their straps, and the tanners their leather aprons, and began to\nbeat Great Claus.\n\n\"Hides! hides!\" they called after him. \"Yes, we'll hide you and tan you.\nOut of the town with him,\" they shouted. And Great Claus made the best\nhaste he could to get out of the town, for he had never yet been\nthrashed as he was being thrashed now.\n\n\"Little Claus shall pay for this,\" he said, when he got home. \"I'll kill\nhim for it.\"\n\nLittle Claus's old grandmother had just died in his house. She had often\nbeen harsh and unkind to him, but now that she was dead he felt quite\ngrieved. He took the dead woman and laid her in his warm bed to see if\nshe would not come to life again. He himself intended to sit in a corner\nall night. He had slept that way before.\n\nAs he sat there in the night, the door opened and in came Great Claus\nwith his ax. He knew where Little Claus's bed stood, and he went\nstraight to it and hit the dead grandmother a blow on the forehead,\nthinking it was Little Claus.\n\n\"Just see if you'll make a fool of me again,\" said he, and then he went\nhome.\n\n\"What a bad, wicked man he is!\" said Little Claus. \"He was going to kill\nme. What a good thing that poor grandmother was dead already! He would\nhave taken her life.\"\n\nHe now dressed his grandmother in her best Sunday clothes, borrowed a\nhorse of his neighbor, harnessed it to a cart, and set his grandmother\non the back seat, so that she could not fall when the cart moved. Then\nhe started off through the woods. When the sun rose, he was just outside\na big inn, and he drew up his horse and went in to get something to eat.\n\nThe landlord was a very rich man and a very good man, but he was\nhot-tempered, as if he were made of pepper and snuff. \"Good morning!\"\nsaid he to Little Claus; \"you have your best clothes on very early this\nmorning.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Little Claus, \"I'm going to town with my old grandmother.\nShe's sitting out there in the cart; I can't get her to come in. Won't\nyou take her out a glass of beer? You'll have to shout at her, she's\nvery hard of hearing.\"\n\n\"Yes, that I'll do,\" said the host, and he poured a glass and went out\nwith it to the dead grandmother, who had been placed upright in the\ncart.\n\n\"Here is a glass of beer your son has sent,\" said the landlord but she\nsat quite still and said not a word.\n\n\"Don't you hear?\" cried he as loud as he could. \"Here is a glass of beer\nfrom your son.\"\n\nBut the dead woman replied not a word, and at last he became quite angry\nand threw the beer in her face--and at that moment she fell backwards\nout of the cart, for she was only set upright and not bound fast.\n\n\"Now!\" shouted Little Claus, as he rushed out of the inn and seized the\nlandlord by the neck, \"you have killed my grandmother! Just look at the\nbig hole in her forehead!\"\n\n\"Oh! what a misfortune!\" cried the man, \"and all because of my quick\ntemper. Good Little Claus, I will pay you a bushel of money, and I will\nhave your poor grandmother buried as if she were my own, if only you\nwill say nothing about it. Otherwise I shall have my head cut off--and\nthat is so dreadful.\"\n\nSo Little Claus again received a whole bushel of money, and the landlord\nburied the old grandmother as if she had been his own.\n\nWhen Little Claus got home again with all his money, he immediately sent\nhis boy to Great Claus to ask to borrow his bushel measure.\n\n\"What!\" said Great Claus, \"is he not dead? I must go and see about this\nmyself.\" So he took the measure over to Little Claus himself.\n\n\"I say, where did you get all that money?\" asked he, his eyes big and\nround with amazement at what he saw.\n\n\"It was grandmother you killed instead of me,\" said Little Claus. \"I\nhave sold her and got a bushel of money for her.\"\n\n\"That's being well paid, indeed,\" said Great Claus, and he hurried home,\ntook an ax and killed his own old grandmother.\n\nHe then put her in a carriage and drove off to the town where the\napothecary lived, and asked him if he would buy a dead person.\n\n\"Who is it and where did you get him?\" asked the apothecary.\n\n\"It is my grandmother, and I have killed her so as to sell her for a\nbushel of money.\"\n\n\"Heaven preserve us!\" cried the apothecary. \"You talk like a madman.\nPray don't say such things, you may lose your head.\" And he told him\nearnestly what a horribly wicked thing he had done, and that he deserved\npunishment. Great Claus was so frightened that he rushed out of the\nshop, jumped into his cart, whipped up his horse, and galloped home\nthrough the wood. The apothecary and all the people who saw him thought\nhe was mad, and so they let him drive away.\n\n\"You shall be paid for this!\" said Great Claus, when he got out on the\nhighroad. \"You shall be paid for this, Little Claus!\"\n\nDirectly after he got home, Great Claus took the biggest sack he could\nfind and went over to Little Claus.\n\n\"You have deceived me again,\" he said. \"First I killed my horses, and\nthen my old grandmother. That is all your fault; but you shall never\nhave the chance to trick me again.\" And he seized Little Claus around\nthe body and thrust him into the sack; then he threw the sack over his\nback, calling out to Little Claus, \"Now I'm going to the river to drown\nyou.\"\n\nIt was a long way that he had to travel before he came to the river, and\nLittle Claus was not light to carry. The road came close to the church,\nand the people within were singing beautifully. Great Claus put down his\nsack, with Little Claus in it, at the church door. He thought it would\nbe a very good thing to go in and hear a psalm before he went further,\nfor Little Claus could not get out. So he went in.\n\n\"O dear! O dear!\" moaned Little Claus in the sack, and he turned and\ntwisted, but found it impossible to loosen the cord. Then there came by\nan old drover with snow-white hair and a great staff in his hand. He was\ndriving a whole herd of cows and oxen before him, and they jostled\nagainst the sack in which Little Claus was confined, so that it was\nupset.\n\n\"O dear,\" again sighed Little Claus, \"I'm so young to be going directly\nto the kingdom of heaven!\"\n\n\"And I, poor fellow,\" said the drover, \"am so old already, and cannot\nget there yet.\"\n\n\"Open the sack,\" cried Little Claus, \"and creep into it in my place, and\nyou'll be there directly.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" said the drover, and he untied the sack for Little\nClaus, who crept out at once. \"You must look out for the cattle now,\"\nsaid the old man, as he crept in. Then Little Claus tied it up and went\nhis way, driving the cows and the oxen.\n\nIn a little while Great Claus came out of the church. He took the sack\nupon his shoulders and thought as he did so that it had certainly grown\nlighter since he had put it down, for the old cattle-drover was not more\nthan half as heavy as Little Claus.\n\n\"How light he is to carry now! That must be because I have heard a psalm\nin the church.\"\n\nHe went on to the river, which was both deep and broad, threw the sack\ncontaining the old drover into the water, and called after him, thinking\nit was Little Claus, \"Now lie there! You won't trick me again!\"\n\nHe turned to go home, but when he came to the place where there was a\ncrossroad he met Little Claus driving his cattle.\n\n\"What's this?\" cried he. \"Haven't I drowned you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Little Claus, \"you threw me into the river, half an hour\nago.\"\n\n\"But where did you get all those fine cattle?\" asked Great Claus.\n\n\"These beasts are sea cattle,\" said Little Claus, \"and I thank you\nheartily for drowning me, for now I'm at the top of the tree. I'm a very\nrich man, I can tell you. But I was frightened when you threw me into\nthe water huddled up in the sack. I sank to the bottom immediately, but\nI did not hurt myself, for the grass is beautifully soft down there. I\nfell upon it, and the sack was opened, and the most beautiful maiden in\nsnow-white garments and a green wreath upon her hair took me by the\nhand, and said to me, 'Have you come, Little Claus? Here are cattle for\nyou, and a mile further up the road there is another herd!'\n\n\"Then I saw that she meant the river and that it was the highway for the\nsea folk. Down at the bottom of it they walk directly from the sea,\nstraight into the land where the river ends. Lovely flowers and\nbeautiful fresh grass were there. The fishes which swam there glided\nabout me like birds in the air. How nice the people were, and what fine\nherds of cattle there were, pasturing on the mounds and about the\nditches!\"\n\n\"But why did you come up so quickly then?\" asked Great Claus. \"I\nshouldn't have done that if it was so fine down there.\"\n\n\"Why, that was just my cunning. You know, I told you that the mermaid\nsaid there was a whole herd of cattle for me a mile further up the\nstream. Well, you see, I know how the river bends this way and that, and\nhow long a distance it would have been to go that way. If you can come\nup on the land and take the short cuts, driving across fields and down\nto the river again, you save almost half a mile and get the cattle much\nsooner.\"\n\n\"Oh, you are a fortunate man!\" cried Great Claus. \"Do you think I could\nget some sea cattle if I were to go down to the bottom of the river?\"\n\n\"I'm sure you would,\" said Little Claus. \"But I cannot carry you. If you\nwill walk to the river and creep into a sack yourself, I will help you\ninto the water with a great deal of pleasure.\"\n\n\"Thanks!\" said Great Claus. \"But if I do not find sea cattle there, I\nshall beat you soundly, you may be sure.\"\n\n\"Oh! do not be so hard on me.\"\n\nAnd so they went together to the river. When the cows and oxen saw the\nwater, they ran to it as fast as they could. \"See how they hurry!\" cried\nLittle Claus. \"They want to get back to the bottom again.\"\n\n\"Yes, but help me first or I'll thrash you,\" said Great Claus. He then\ncrept into a big sack, which had been lying across the back of one of\nthe cows. \"Put a big stone in or I'm afraid I shan't sink.\"\n\n\"Oh, that'll be all right,\" said Little Claus, but he put a big stone\ninto the sack and gave it a push. Plump! and there lay Great Claus in\nthe river. He sank at once to the bottom.\n\n\"I'm afraid he won't find the cattle,\" said Little Claus. Then he drove\nhomeward with his herd.\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\nTHE STORKS\n\n          PAGE 29. On account of the ravages it makes among\n          noxious animals, the stork is a privileged bird\n          wherever it makes its home. In cities it is\n          sometimes trained to act as scavenger. In Denmark,\n          Holland, and Germany it is always a welcome guest.\n          Boxes are placed upon roofs in the hope that nests\n          may be made in them, for it is considered a sign\n          of good fortune to have a stork's nest on one's\n          roof.\n\n          The stork is noted for its great affection for its\n          young and especially for the care it is said to\n          give to its parents in their old age. It has no\n          song, and is in no sense a bird to love, though it\n          may become quite tame.\n\n          PAGE 37. The nurses in that country tell the\n          children that the stork brings the little new\n          babies.\n\n\nTHE WILD SWANS\n\n          PAGE 56. _Fata Morgana_ (fae'ta mor gae'nae): a\n          singular appearance, or phenomenon, similar to the\n          mirage of the desert; images of objects distorted\n          or multiplied into fanciful shapes. This\n          phenomenon was so called because it was looked\n          upon as the work of a fata, or fairy, called\n          Morgana. The phenomenon has been remarked chiefly\n          at the Strait of Messina, between Italy and\n          Calabria.\n\n\nWHAT THE GOODMAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT\n\n          PAGE 220. _in the country_: here means in Denmark.\n\n\nTHE SWINEHERD\n\n\n          PAGE 263.    \"Ah! thou dearest Augustine,\n                                  All is gone, gone, gone.\"\n\n\nTHE METAL PIG\n\n          PAGE 269. _piazza_ (pe aet's[.a]): in Italy, a\n          square, or open space, surrounded by buildings.\n\n          PAGE 271. _Palazzo degli Uffizi_ (pae laet's[=o]\n          d[=a]l'y[=e] oef f[=e]t'se): one of the chief art\n          galleries of the world. _Palazzo_ is the Italian\n          word for \"palace.\"\n\n          PAGE 272. _Medici_ (m[)e]d'[+e] ch[=e]): the name\n          of a Florentine family.\n\n          PAGE 275. _Galileo_ is called the Father of Modern\n          Science. He made a number of most important\n          scientific discoveries. To him is attributed the\n          saying in regard to the earth, when under trial\n          for the supposed heresy of believing in its\n          motion, \"_It moves_, nevertheless.\"\n\n          _Dante_ was the greatest of Italian poets.\n\n          _Alfieri_ and _Machiavelli_ were authors.\n\n          Opposite the grave of Galileo is the tomb of\n          _Michelangelo_, on which stand his bust and three\n          figures, representing sculpture, painting, and\n          architecture. Close by is a monument to Dante,\n          whose body is buried at Ravenna. On this monument\n          Italy is represented as pointing to the colossal\n          statue of Dante, while Poetry mourns his loss. A\n          few steps farther on is Alfieri's monument, which\n          is adorned with laurel, the lyre, and dramatic\n          masks; Italy weeps over his grave. Machiavelli is\n          the last in this group of celebrated men.\n\n\nEVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE\n\n          PAGE 329. _Thespis_: a dramatic writer of the\n          sixth century. He is called the Father of the\n          Greek Drama.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nDiactritical symbols are rendered thus:\n\n          [)x]  breve above\n          [=x]  macron above\n          [.x]  dot above\n          [+x]  tack above\n\nObvious punctuation errors repaired.\n\nPage 26, \"sushine\" changed to \"sunshine\" (warm sunshine, while)","title":"Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales. Second Series","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":68577}