{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_34852/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_34852","id":"gutenberg_34852","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34852","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Fairy tales","Short stories"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Beginners Projects, Suzanne Shell, Emmy and\nthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttps://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMOONSHINE & CLOVER\n\n\n          This selection of fairy-tales is reprinted from\n          the following original editions, now out of print:\n\n          _A Farm in Fairyland_  (1894)\n          _The House of Joy_     (1895)\n          _The Field of Clover_  (1898)\n          _The Blue Moon_        (1904)\n\n[Illustration:\n\n          SHINE, MOON! GROW CLOVER!\n          WHEN MY DAY IS OVER.  L.H.]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: MOONSHINE & CLOVER\n\nBY LAURENCE HOUSMAN\n\nENGRAVED BY CLEMENCE HOUSMAN\n\n          NEW YORK\n          HARCOURT, BRACE & COMPANY]\n\n\n\n\n  _Made and\n  Printed in Great Britain by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld.,\n  London and Aylesbury._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                             PAGE\n\n    THE PRINCE WITH THE NINE SORROWS           13\n    HOW LITTLE DUKE JARL SAVED THE CASTLE      27\n    A CAPFUL OF MOONSHINE                      37\n    THE STORY OF THE HERONS                    47\n    THE CROWN'S WARRANTY                       70\n    ROCKING-HORSE LAND                         83\n    JAPONEL                                    95\n    GAMMELYN, THE DRESSMAKER                  103\n    THE FEEDING OF THE EMIGRANTS              113\n    WHITE BIRCH                               119\n    THE LUCK OF THE ROSES                     129\n    THE WHITE DOE                             138\n    THE MOON-STROKE                           153\n    THE GENTLE COCKATRICE                     164\n    THE GREEN BIRD                            177\n    THE MAN WHO KILLED THE CUCKOO             187\n    A CHINESE FAIRY-TALE                      198\n    HAPPY RETURNS                             211\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRINCE WITH THE NINE SORROWS\n\n    \"Eight white peahens went down to the gate:\n     'Wait!' they said, 'little sister, wait!'\n     They covered her up with feathers so fine;\n     And none went out, when there went back nine.\"\n\n\nA LONG time ago there lived a King and a Queen, who had an only son. As\nsoon as he was born his mother gave him to the forester's wife to be\nnursed; for she herself had to wear her crown all day and had no time\nfor nursing. The forester's wife had just given birth to a little\ndaughter of her own; but she loved both children equally and nursed them\ntogether like twins.\n\nOne night the Queen had a dream that made the half of her hair turn\ngrey. She dreamed that she saw the Prince her son at the age of twenty\nlying dead with a wound over the place of his heart; and near him his\nfoster-sister was standing, with a royal crown on her head, and his\nheart bleeding between her hands.\n\nThe next morning the Queen sent in great haste for the family Fairy, and\ntold her of the dream. The Fairy said, \"This can have but one meaning,\nand it is an evil one. There is some danger that threatens your son's\nlife in his twentieth year, and his foster-sister is to be the cause of\nit; also, it seems she is to make herself Queen. But leave her to me,\nand I will avert the evil chance; for the dream coming beforehand shows\nthat the Fates mean that he should be saved.\"\n\nThe Queen said, \"Do anything; only do not destroy the forester's wife's\nchild, for, as yet at least, she has done no wrong. Let her only be\ncarried away to a safe place and made secure and treated well. I will\nnot have my son's happiness grow out of another one's grave.\"\n\nThe Fairy said, \"Nothing is so safe as a grave when the Fates are about.\nStill, I think I can make everything quite safe within reason, and leave\nyou a clean as well as a quiet conscience.\"\n\nThe little Prince and the forester's daughter grew up together till they\nwere a year old; then, one day, when their nurse came to look for them,\nthe Prince was found, but his foster-sister was lost; and though the\nsearch for her was long, she was never seen again, nor could any trace\nof her be found.\n\nThe baby Prince pined and pined, and was so sorrowful over her loss that\nthey feared for a time that he was going to die. But his foster-mother,\nin spite of her grief over her own child's disappearance, nursed him so\nwell and loved him so much that after a while he recovered his strength.\n\nThen the forester's wife gave birth to another daughter, as if to\nconsole herself for the loss of the first. But the same night that the\nchild was born the Queen had just the same dream over again. She dreamed\nthat she saw her son lying dead at the age of twenty; and there was the\nwound in his breast, and the forester's daughter was standing by with\nhis heart in her hand and a royal crown upon her head.\n\nThe poor Queen's hair had gone quite white when she sent again for the\nfamily Fairy, and told her how the dream had repeated itself. The Fairy\ngave her the same advice as before, quieting her fears, and assuring her\nthat however persistent the Fates might be in threatening the Prince's\nlife, all in the end should be well.\n\nBefore another year was passed the second of the forester's daughters\nhad disappeared; and the Prince and his foster-mother cried themselves\nill over a loss that had been so cruelly renewed. The Queen, seeing how\ngreat were the sorrow and the love that the Prince bore for his\nfoster-sisters, began to doubt in her heart and say, \"What have I done?\nHave I saved my son's life by taking away his heart?\"\n\nNow every year the same thing took place, the forester's wife giving\nbirth to a daughter, and the Queen on the same night having the same\nfearful dream of the fate that threatened her son in his twentieth year;\nand afterwards the family Fairy would come, and then one day the\nforester's wife's child would disappear, and be heard of no more.\n\nAt last when nine daughters in all had been born to the forester's wife\nand lost to her when they were but a year old, the Queen fell very ill.\nEvery day she grew weaker and weaker, and the little Prince came and sat\nby her, holding her hand and looking at her with a sorrowful face. At\nlast one night (it was just a year after the last of the forester's\nchildren had disappeared) she woke suddenly, stretching out her arms\nand crying. \"Oh, Fairy,\" she cried, \"the dream, the dream!\" And covering\nher face with her hands, she died.\n\nThe little Prince was now more than ten years old, and the very saddest\nof mortals. He said that there were nine sorrows hidden in his heart, of\nwhich he could not get rid; and that at night, when all the birds went\nhome to roost, he heard cries of lamentation and pain; but whether these\ncame from very far away, or out of his own heart he could not tell.\n\nYet he grew slenderly and well, and had such grace and tenderness in his\nnature that all who saw him loved him. His foster-mother, when he spoke\nto her of his nine sorrows, tried to comfort him, calling him her own\nnine joys; and, indeed, he was all the joy left in life for her.\n\nWhen the Prince neared his twentieth year, the King his father felt that\nhe himself was becoming old and weary of life. \"I shall not live much\nlonger,\" he thought: \"very soon my son will be left alone in the world.\nIt is right, therefore, now that he should know of the danger ahead that\nthreatens his life.\" For till then the Prince had not known anything;\nall had been kept a secret between the Queen and the King and the family\nFairy.\n\nThe old King knew of the Prince's nine sorrows, and often he tried to\nbelieve that they came by chance, and had nothing to do with the secret\nthat sat at the root of his son's life. But now he feared more and more\nto tell the Prince the story of those nine dreams, lest the knowledge\nshould indeed serve but as the crowning point of his sorrows, and\naltogether break his heart for him.\n\nYet there was so much danger in leaving the thing untold that at last he\nsummoned the Prince to his bedside, meaning to tell him all. The King\nhad worn himself so ill with anxiety and grief in thinking over the\nmatter, that now to tell all was the only means of saving his life.\n\nThe Prince came and knelt down, and leaned his head on his father's\npillow; and the King whispered into his ear the story of the dreams, and\nof how for his sake all the Prince's foster-sisters had been spirited\naway.\n\nBefore his tale was done he could no longer bear to look into his son's\nface, but closed his eyes, and, with long silences between, spoke as one\nwho prayed.\n\nWhen he had ended he lay quite still, and the Prince kissed his closed\neyelids and went softly out of the room.\n\n\"Now I know,\" he said to himself; \"now at last!\" And he came through the\nwood and knocked at his foster-mother's door. \"Other mother,\" he said to\nher, \"give me a kiss for each of my sisters, for now I am going out into\nthe world to find them, to be rid of the sorrows in my heart.\"\n\n\"They can never be found!\" she cried, but she kissed him nine times.\n\"And this,\" she said, \"was Monica, and this was Ponica, and this was\nVeronica,\" and so she went over every name. \"But now they are only\nnames!\" she wept, as she let him go.\n\nHe went along, and he went along, mile after mile. \"Where may you be\ngoing to, fair sir?\" asked an old peasant, at whose cabin the Prince\nsought shelter when night came to the first day of his wanderings.\n\"Truly,\" answered the Prince, \"I do not know how far or whither I need\nto go; but I have a finger-post in my heart that keeps pointing me.\"\n\nSo that night he stayed there, and the next day he went on.\n\n\"Where to so fast?\" asked a woodcutter when the second night found him\nin the thickest and loneliest parts of the forest. \"Here the night is so\ndark and the way so dangerous, one like you should not go alone.\"\n\n\"Nay, I know nothing,\" said the Prince, \"only I feel like a weather-cock\nin a wind that keeps turning me to its will!\"\n\nAfter many days he came to a small long valley rich in woods and\nwater-courses, but no road ran through it. More and more it seemed like\nthe world's end, a place unknown, or forgotten of its old inhabitants.\nJust at the end of the valley, where the woods opened into clear slopes\nand hollows towards the west, he saw before him, low and overgrown, the\nwalls of a little tumble-down grange. \"There,\" he said to himself when\nhe saw it, \"I can find shelter for to-night. Never have I felt so tired\nbefore, or such a pain at my heart!\"\n\nBefore long he came to a little gate, and a winding path that led in\namong lawns and trees to the door of an old house. The house seemed as\nif it had been once lived in, but there was no sign of any life about\nit now. He pushed open the door, and suddenly there was a sharp rustling\nof feathers, and nine white peahens rose up from the ground and flew out\nof the window into the garden.\n\nThe Prince searched the whole house over, and found it a mere ruin; the\nonly signs of life to be seen were the white feathers that lifted and\nblew about over the floors.\n\nOutside, the garden was gathering itself together in the dusk, and the\npeahens were stepping daintily about the lawns, picking here and there\nbetween the blades of grass. They seemed to suit the gentle sadness of\nthe place, which had an air of grief that has grown at ease with itself.\n\nThe Prince went out into the garden, and walked about among the quietly\nstepping birds; but they took no heed of him. They came picking up their\nfood between his very feet, as though he were not there. Silence held\nall the air, and in the cleft of the valley the day drooped to its end.\n\nJust before it grew dark, the nine white peahens gathered together at\nthe foot of a great elm, and lifting up their throats they wailed in\nchorus. Their lamentable cry touched the Prince's heart; \"Where,\" he\nasked himself, \"have I heard such sorrow before?\" Then all with one\naccord the birds sprang rustling up to the lowest boughs of the elm, and\nsettled themselves to roost.\n\nThe Prince went back to the house, to find some corner amid its\nhalf-ruined rooms to sleep in. But there the air was close, and an\nunpleasant smell of moisture came from the floor and walls: so, the\nnight being warm, he returned to the garden, and folding himself in his\ncloak lay down under the tree where the nine peahens were at roost.\n\nFor a long time he tried to sleep, but could not, there was so much pain\nand sorrow in his heart.\n\nPresently when it was close upon midnight, over his head one of the\nbirds stirred and ruffled through all its feathers; and he heard a soft\nvoice say:\n\n\"Sisters, are you awake?\"\n\nAll the other peahens lifted their heads, and turned towards the one\nthat had spoken, saying, \"Yes, sister, we are awake.\"\n\nThen the first one said again, \"Our brother is here.\"\n\nThey all said, \"He is our enemy; it is for him that we endure this\nsorrow.\"\n\n\"To-night,\" said the first, \"we may all be free.\"\n\nThey answered, \"Yes, we may all be free! Who will go down and peck out\nhis heart? Then we shall be free.\"\n\nAnd the first who had spoken said, \"I will go down!\"\n\n\"Do not fail, sister!\" said all the others. \"For if you fail you can\nspeak to us no more.\"\n\nThe first peahen answered, \"Do not fear that I shall fail!\" And she\nbegan stepping down the long boughs of the elm.\n\nThe Prince lying below heard all that was said. \"Ah! poor sisters,\" he\nthought, \"have I found you at last; and are all these sorrows brought\nupon you for me?\" And he unloosed his doublet, and opened his vest,\nmaking his breast bare for the peahen to come and peck out his heart.\n\nHe lay quite still with his eyes shut, and when she reached the ground\nthe peahen found him lying there, as it seemed to her fast asleep, with\nhis white breast bare for the stroke of her beak.\n\nThen so fair he looked to her, and so gentle in his youth, that she had\npity on him, and stood weeping by his side, and laying her head against\nhis, whispered, \"O, brother, once we lay as babes together and were\nnursed at the same breast! How can I peck out your heart?\"\n\nThen she stole softly back into the tree, and crouched down again by her\ncompanions. They said to her, \"Our minute of midnight is nearly gone. Is\nthere blood on your beak! Have you our brother's heart for us?\" But the\nother answered never a word.\n\nIn the morning the peahens came rustling down out of the elm, and went\nsearching for fat carnation buds and anemone seeds among the flower-beds\nin the garden. To the Prince they showed no sign either of hatred or\nfear, but went to and fro carelessly, pecking at the ground about his\nfeet. Only one came with drooping head and wings, and sleeked itself to\nhis caress, and the Prince, stooping down, whispered in her ear, \"O,\nsister, why did you not peck out my heart?\"\n\nAt night, as before, the peahens all cried in chorus as they went up\ninto the elm; and the Prince came and wrapped himself in his cloak, and\nlay down at the foot of it to watch.\n\nAt midnight the eight peahens lifted their heads, and said, \"Sister, why\ndid you fail last night?\" But their sister gave them not a word.\n\n\"Alas!\" they said, \"now she has failed, unless one of us succeed, we\nshall never hear her speak with her human voice again. Why is it that\nyou weep so,\" they said again, \"now when deliverance is so near?\" For\nthe poor peahen was shaken with weeping, and her tears fell down in loud\ndrops upon the ground.\n\nThen the next sister said, \"I will go down! He is asleep. Be certain, I\nwill not fail!\" So she climbed softly down the tree, and the Prince\nopened his shirt and laid his breast bare for her to come and take out\nhis heart.\n\nPresently she stood by his side, and when she saw him, she too had pity\non him for the youth and kindness of his face. And once she shut her\neyes, and lifted her head for the stroke; but then weakness seized her,\nand she laid her head softly upon his heart and said, \"Once the breast\nthat gave me milk gave milk also to you. You were my sister's brother,\nand she spared you. How can I peck out your heart?\" And having said this\nshe went softly back into the tree, and crouched down again among her\nsisters.\n\nThey said to her, \"Have you blood upon your beak? Is his heart ours?\"\nBut she answered them no word.\n\nThe next day the two sisters, who because their hearts betrayed them had\nbecome mute, followed the Prince wherever he went, and stretched up\ntheir heads to his caress. But the others went and came indifferently,\ncareless except for food; for until midnight their human hearts were\nasleep; only now the two sisters who had given their voices away had\nregained their human hearts perpetually.\n\nThat night the same thing happened as before. \"Sisters,\" said the\nyoungest, \"to-night I will go down, since the two eldest of us have\nfailed. My wrong is fresher in my heart than theirs! Be sure I shall not\nfail!\" So the youngest peahen came down from the tree, and the Prince\nlaid his heart bare for her beak; but the bird could not find the will\nto peck it out. And so it was the next night, and the next, until eight\nnights were gone.\n\nSo at last only one peahen was left. At midnight she raised her head,\nsaying, \"Sisters, are you awake?\"\n\nThey all turned, and gazed at her weeping, but could say no word.\n\nThen she said, \"You have all failed, having all tried but me. Now if I\nfail we shall remain mute and captive for ever, more undone by the loss\nof our last remaining gift of speech than we were at first. But I tell\nyou, dear sisters, I will not fail; for the happiness of you all lies\nwith me now!\"\n\nThen she went softly down the tree; and one by one they all went\nfollowing her, and weeping, to see what the end would be.\n\nThey stood some way apart, watching with upturned heads, and their poor\nthroats began catching back a wish to cry as the little peahen, the last\nof the sisters, came and stood by the Prince.\n\nThen she, too, looked in his face, and saw the white breast made bare\nfor her beak; and the love of him went deep down into her heart. And she\ntried and tried to shut her eyes and deal the stroke, but could not.\n\nShe trembled and sighed, and turned to look at her sisters, where they\nall stood weeping silently together. \"They have spared him,\" she said\nto herself: \"why should not I?\"\n\nBut the Prince, seeing that she, too, was about to fail like the rest of\nthem, turned and said, as if in his sleep, \"Come, come, little peahen,\nand peck out my heart!\"\n\nAt that she turned back again to him, and laid her head down upon his\nheart and cried more sadly than them all.\n\nThen he said, \"You have eight sisters, and a mother who cries for her\nchildren to return!\" Yet still she thought he was dreaming, and speaking\nonly in his sleep. The other peahens came no nearer, but stood weeping\nsilently. She looked from him to them. \"O,\" she cried, \"I have a wicked\nheart, to let one stand in the way of nine!\" Then she threw up her neck\nand cried lamentably with her peafowl's voice, wishing that the Prince\nwould wake up and see her, and so escape. And at that all the other\npeahens lifted up their heads and wailed with her: but the Prince never\nturned, nor lifted a finger, nor uttered a sound.\n\nThen she drew in a deep breath, and closed her eyes fast. \"Let my\nsisters go, but let me be as I am!\" she cried; and with that she stooped\ndown, and pecked out his heart.\n\nAll her sisters shrieked as their human shapes returned to them. \"O,\nsister! O, wicked little sister!\" they cried, \"What have you done?\"\n\nThe little white peahen crouched close down to the side of the dead\nPrince. \"I loved him more than you all!\" she tried to say: but she only\nlifted her head, and wailed again and again the peafowl's cry.\n\nThe Prince's heart lay beating at her feet, so glad to be rid of its\nnine sorrows that mere joy made it live on, though all the rest of the\nbody lay cold.\n\nThe peahen leaned down upon the Prince's breast, and there wailed\nwithout ceasing: then suddenly, piercing with her beak her own breast,\nshe drew out her own living heart and laid it in the place where his had\nbeen.\n\nAnd, as she did so, the wound where she had pierced him closed and\nbecame healed; and her heart was, as it were, buried in the Prince's\nbreast. In her death agony she could feel it there, her own heart\nleaping within his breast for joy.\n\nThe Prince, who had seemed to be dead, flushed from head to foot as the\nwarmth of life came back to him; with one deep breath he woke, and found\nthe little white peahen lying as if dead between his arms.\n\nThen he laughed softly and rose (his goodness making him wise), and\ntaking up his own still beating heart he laid it into the place of hers.\nAt the first beat of it within her breast, the peahen became transformed\nas all her sisters had been, and her own human form came back to her.\nAnd the pain and the wound in her breast grew healed together, so that\nshe stood up alive and well in the Prince's arms.\n\n\"Dear heart!\" said he: and \"Dear, dear heart!\" said she; but whether\nthey were speaking of their own hearts or of each other's, who can tell?\nfor which was which they themselves did not know.\n\nThen all round was so much embracing and happiness that it is out of\nreach for tongue or pen to describe. For truly the Prince and his\nfoster-sisters loved each other well, and could put no bounds upon\ntheir present contentment. As for the Prince and the one who had plucked\nout his heart, of no two was the saying ever more truly told that they\nhad lost their hearts to each other; nor was ever love in the world\nknown before that carried with it such harmony as theirs.\n\nAnd so it all came about according to the Queen's dream, that the\nforester's daughter wore the royal crown upon her head, and held the\nPrince's heart in her hand.\n\nLong before he died the old King was made happy because the dream he had\nso much feared had become true. And the forester's wife was happy before\nshe died. And as for the Prince and his wife and his foster-sisters,\nthey were all rather happy; and none of them is dead yet.\n\n\n\n\nHOW LITTLE DUKE JARL SAVED THE CASTLE\n\n\nDUKE JARL had found a good roost for himself when his long work of\nexpelling the invader was ended. Seawards and below the town, in the\nmouth of the river, stood a rock, thrusting out like a great tusk ready\nto rip up any armed vessel that sought passage that way. On the top of\nthis he had built himself a castle, and its roots went deep, deep down\ninto the solid stone. No man knew how deep the deepest of the\nfoundations went; but wherever they were, just there was old Duke Jarl's\nsleeping-chamber. Thither he had gone to sleep when the world no longer\nneeded him; and he had not yet returned.\n\nThat was three hundred years ago, and still the solid rock vaulted the\nold warrior's slumber; and over his head men talked of him, and told how\nhe was reserving the strength of his old age till his country should\nagain call for him.\n\nThe call seemed to come now; for his descendant, little Duke Jarl the\nNinth, was but a child; and being in no fear of him, the invader had\nreturned, and the castle stood besieged. Also, farther than the eye\ncould see from the topmost tower, the land lay all overrun, its richness\nlaid waste by armed bands who gathered in its harvest by the sword, and\nthe town itself lay under tribute; from the tower one could see the busy\nquays, and the enemy loading his ships with rich merchandise.\n\nSent up there to play in safety, little Duke Jarl could not keep his red\nhead from peering over the parapet. He began making fierce faces at the\nenemy--he was still too young to fight: and quick a grey goose-shaft\ncame and sang its shrill song at his ear. So close had it gone that a\nlittle of the ducal blood trickled out over his collar. His face worked\nwith rage; leaning far out over the barrier, he began shouting, \"I will\ntell Duke Jarl of you!\" till an attendant ran up and snatched him away\nfrom danger.\n\nThings were going badly: the castle was cut off from the land, and on\nthe seaward side the foe had built themselves a great mole within which\ntheir warships could ride at anchor safe from the reach of storm. Thus\nthere was no way left by which help or provender could come in.\n\nLittle Duke Jarl saw men round him growing more gaunt and thin day by\nday, but he did not understand why, till he chanced once upon a soldier\ngnawing a foul bone for the stray bits of meat that clung to it; then he\nlearned that all in the castle except himself had been put upon\nquarter-rations, though every day there was more and more fighting work\nto be done.\n\nSo that day when the usual white bread and savouries were brought to\nhim, he flung them all downstairs, telling the cook that the day he\nreally became Duke he would have his head off if he ever dared to send\nhim anything again but the common fare.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nHearing of it, the old Chief Constable picked up little Master Ninth\nDuke between finger and thumb, and laughed, holding him in the air.\n\"With you alive,\" said he, \"we shall not have to wake Duke Jarl after\nall!\" The little Duke asked when he would let him have a sword; and the\nConstable clapped his cheeks and ran back cheerfully at a call from the\npalisades.\n\nBut others carried heavy looks, thinking, \"Long before his fair promise\ncan come to anything our larders will be empty and our walls gone!\"\n\nIt was no great time after this that the Duke's Constable was the only\nman who saw reason in holding out. That became known all through the\ncastle, and the cook, honest fellow, brought up little Jarl's dinner one\nday with tears in his eyes. He set down his load of dainties. \"It is no\nuse!\" said he, \"you may as well eat to-day, since to-morrow we give up\nthe castle.\"\n\n\"Who dares to say 'we'?\" cried little Duke Jarl, springing to his feet.\n\n\"All but the Constable,\" said the cook; \"even now they are in the\ncouncil-hall, trying to make him see reason. Whether or no, they will\nnot let him hold on.\"\n\nLittle Jarl found the doors of the great hall barred to the thunderings\nof his small fist: for, in truth, these men could not bear to look upon\none who had in his veins the blood of old Duke Jarl, when they were\nabout to give up his stronghold to the enemy.\n\nSo little Jarl made his way up to the bowery, where was a minstrel's\nwindow looking down into the hall. Sticking out his head so that he\nmight see down to where the council was sitting, \"If you give up the\ncastle, I will tell Duke Jarl!\" he cried. Hearing his young master's\nvoice, the Constable raised his eyes; but not able to see him for tears\nin them, called out: \"Tell him quick, for here it is all against one!\nOnly for one day more have they promised to follow my bidding, and keep\nthe carrion crows from coming to Jarl's nest.\"\n\nAnd even as he spoke came the renewed cry of attack, and the answering\nshout of \"Jarl, Jarl!\" from the defenders upon the walls. Then all leapt\nup, overturning the council-board, and ran out to the battlements to\ncarry on with what courage was left to them a hopeless contest for one\nmore day.\n\nLittle Duke Jarl remained like a beating heart in the great empty keep.\nHe ran wildly from room to room, calling in rage and desperation on old\nJarl to return and fight. From roof to basement he ran, commanding the\nspirit of his ancestor to appear, till at last he found himself in the\ndeepest cellars of all. Down there he could hear but faintly the sound\nof the fighting; yet it seemed to him that through the stone he could\nhear the slow booming of the sea, and as he went deeper into the\ncastle's foundations the louder had grown its note. \"Does the sea come\nin all the way under the castle?\" he wondered. \"Oh that it would sap the\nfoundations and sink castle and all, rather than let them give up old\nJarl's stronghold to his enemies!\"\n\nAll was quite dark here, where the castle stood embedded; but now and\nthen little Duke Jarl could feel a puff of wind on his face, and\npresently he was noticing how it came, as if timed to the booming of the\nsea underneath: whenever came the sound of a breaking wave, with it came\na draught of air. He wondered if, so low down, there might not be some\nsecret opening to the shore.\n\nGroping in the direction of the gusts, his feet came upon stairs. So low\nand narrow was the entrance, he had to turn sideways and stoop; but when\nhe had burrowed through a thickness of wall he was able to stand\nupright; and again he found stairs leading somewhere.\n\nDown, these led down. He had never been so low before. And what a storm\nthere must be outside! Against these walls the thunders of the sea grew\nso loud he could no longer hear the tramp of his own feet descending.\n\nAnd now the wind came at him in great gusts; first came the great boom\nof the sea, and then a blast of air. The way twisted and circled, making\nhis head giddy for a fall; his feet slipped on the steepness and slime\nof the descent, and at each turn the sound grew more appalling, and the\ndriving force of the wind more and more like the stroke of a man's fist.\n\nPresently the shock of it threw him from his standing, so that he had to\nlie down and slide feet foremost, clinging with his eyelids and nails to\nbreak the violence of his descent. And now the air was so full of\nthunder that his teeth shook in their sockets, and his bones jarred in\nhis flesh. The darkness growled and roared; the wind kept lifting him\nbackwards--the force of it seemed almost to flay the skin off his face;\nand still he went on, throwing his full weight against the air ahead.\n\nThen for a moment he felt himself letting go altogether: solid walls\nslipping harshly past him in the darkness, he fell; and came headlong,\ncrashed and bruised, to a standstill.\n\nAt first his brain was all in a mist; then, raising himself, he saw a\ndim blue light falling through a low vaulted chamber. At the end of it\nsat old Jarl, like adamant in slumber. His head was down on his breast,\nburied in a great burning bush of hair and beard; his hands, gripping\nthe arms of his iron throne, had twisted them like wire; and the weight\nof his feet where they rested had hollowed a socket in the stone floor\nfor them to sink into.\n\nAll his hair and his armour shone with a red-and-blue flame; and the\nlight of him struck the vaulting and the floor like the rays of a torch\nas it burns. Over his head a dark tunnel, bored in the solid rock,\nreached up a hollow throat seawards. But not by that way came the wind\nand the sound of the sea; it was old Jarl himself, breathing peacefully\nin his sleep, waiting for the hour which should call his strength to\nlife.\n\nYoung Duke Jarl ran swiftly across the chamber, and struck old Jarl's\nknees, crying, \"Wake, Jarl! or the castle will be taken!\" But the\nsleeper did not stir. Then he climbed the iron bars of the Duke's chair,\nand reaching high, caught hold of the red beard. \"Forefather!\" he cried,\n\"wake, or the castle will be betrayed!\"\n\nBut still old Duke Jarl snored a drowsy hurricane.\n\nThen little Jarl sprang upon his knee, and seizing him by the head,\npulled to move its dead weight, and finding he could not, struck him\nfull on the mouth, crying, \"Jarl, Jarl, old thunderbolt! wake, or you\nwill betray the castle!\"\n\nAt that old Jarl hitched himself in his seat, and \"Humph!\" cried he,\ndrawing in a deep breath.\n\nIn rushed the wind whistling from the sea, and all down the way by which\nlittle Duke Jarl had come; like the wings of cranes flying homewards in\nspring, so it whistled when old Jarl drew in his breath.\n\nOff his knee dropped little Ninth Jarl, buffeted speechless to earth.\nAnd old Jarl, letting go a breath, settled himself back to slumber.\n\nFar up overhead, at the darkening-in of night, the besiegers saw the\neyes of the castle flash red for an instant, and shut again; then they\nheard the castle-rock bray out like a great trumpet, and they trembled,\ncrying, \"That is old Jarl's warhorn; he is awake out of slumber!\"\n\nThey had reason enough to fear; for suddenly upon their ships-of-war\nthere crashed, as though out of the bowels of the earth, wind and a\nblack sandblast; and coming, it took the reefed sails and rigging, and\nsnapped the masts and broke every vessel from its moorings, and drove\nall to wreck and ruin against the great mole that had been built to\nshelter them.\n\nAnd away inland, beyond the palisades and under the entrenched camp of\nthe besiegers, the ground pitched and rocked, so that every tent fell\ngrovelling; and whenever the ground gaped, captains and men-at-arms were\nswallowed down in detachments.\n\nHardly had the call of old Jarl's warhorn ceased, before the Constable\ncommanded the castle gates to be thrown open, and out he came leading a\ngaunt and hungry band of Jarl-folk warriors; for over in the enemy's\ncamp they had scent of a hot supper which must be cooked and eaten\nbefore dawn. And in a little while, when the cooking was at its height,\nyoung Duke Jarl stuck his red head out over the battlements, and\nlaughed.\n\nSo this has told how old Duke Jarl once turned and talked in his sleep;\nbut to tell of the real awakening of old Jarl would be quite another\nstory.\n\n\n\n\nA CAPFUL OF MOONSHINE\n\n\nON the top of Drundle Head, away to the right, where the foot-track\ncrossed, it was known that the fairies still came and danced by night.\nBut though Toonie went that way every evening on his road home from\nwork, never once had he been able to spy them.\n\nSo one day he said to the old faggot-maker, \"How is it that one gets to\nsee a fairy?\" The old man answered, \"There are some to whom it comes by\nnature; but for others three things are needed--a handful of courage, a\nmouthful of silence, and a capful of moonshine. But if you would be\ntrying it, take care that you don't go wrong once too often; for with\nthe third time you will fall into the hands of the fairies and be their\nbondsman. But if you manage to see the fairies, you may ask whatever you\nlike of them.\"\n\nToonie believed in himself so much that the very next night he took his\ncourage in both hands, filled his cap with moonshine, shut his mouth,\nand set out.\n\nJust after he had started he passed, as he thought, a priest riding by\non a mule. \"Good evening to you, Toonie,\" called the priest.\n\n\"Good evening, your reverence,\" cried Toonie, and flourished off his\ncap, so that out fell his capful of moonshine. And though he went on all\nthe way up over the top of Drundle Head, never a fairy did he spy; for\nhe forgot that, in passing what he supposed to be the priest, he had let\ngo both his mouthful of silence and his capful of moonshine.\n\nThe next night, when he was coming to the ascent of the hill, he saw a\nlittle elderly man wandering uncertainly over the ground ahead of him;\nand he too seemed to have his hands full of courage and his cap full of\nmoonshine. As Toonie drew near, the other turned about and said to him,\n\"Can you tell me, neighbour, if this be the way to the fairies?\"\n\n\"Why, you fool,\" cried Toonie, \"a moment ago it was! But now you have\ngone and let go your mouthful of silence!\"\n\n\"To be sure, to be sure--so I have!\" answered the old man sadly; and\nturning about, he disappeared among the bushes.\n\nAs for Toonie, he went on right over the top of Drundle Head, keeping\nhis eyes well to the right; but never a fairy did he see. For he too had\non the way let go his mouthful of silence.\n\nToonie, when his second failure came home to him, was quite vexed with\nhimself for his folly and mismanagement. So that it should not happen\nagain, he got his wife to tie on his cap of moonshine so firmly that it\ncould not come off, and to gag up his mouth so that no word could come\nout of it. And once more taking his courage in both hands, he set out.\n\nFor a long way he went and nothing happened, so he was in good hopes of\ngetting the desire of his eyes before the night was over; and, clenching\nhis fists tight upon his courage, he pressed on.\n\nHe had nearly reached to the top of Drundle Head, when up from the\nground sprang the same little elderly man of the evening before, and\nbegan beating him across the face with a hazel wand. And at that Toonie\nthrew up both hands and let go his courage, and turned and tried to run\ndown the hill.\n\nWhen her husband did not return, Toonie's wife became a kind of a widow.\nPeople were very kind to her, and told her that Toonie was not\ndead--that he had only fallen into the hands of the good-folk; but all\nday long she sat and cried, \"I fastened on his cap of moonshine, and I\ntied up his tongue; and for all that he has gone away and left me!\" And\nso she cried until her child was born and named little Toonie in memory\nof his lost father.\n\nAfter a while people, looking at him, began to shake their heads; for as\nhe grew older it became apparent that his tongue was tied, seeing that\nhe remained quite dumb in spite of all that was done to teach him; and\nhis head was full of moonshine, so that he could understand nothing\nclearly by day--only as night came on his wits gathered, and he seemed\nto find a meaning for things. And some said it was his mother's fault,\nand some that it was his father's, and some that he was a changeling\nsent by the fairies, and that the real child had been taken to share his\nfather's bondage. But which of these things was true Little Toonie\nhimself had no idea.\n\nAfter a time Little Toonie began to grow big, as is the way with\nchildren, and at last he became bigger than ever old Toonie had been.\nBut folk still called him Little Toonie, because his head was so full of\nmoonshine; and his mother, finding he was no good to her, sold him to\nthe farmer, by whom, since he had no wits for anything better, he was\nset to pull at waggon and plough just as if he were a cart-horse; and,\nindeed, he was almost as strong as one. To make him work, carter and\nploughman used to crack their whips over his back; and Little Toonie\ntook it as the most natural thing in the world, because his brain was\nfull of moonshine, so that he understood nothing clearly by day.\n\nBut at night he would lie in his stable among the horses, and wonder\nabout the moonlight that stretched wide over all the world and lay free\non the bare tops of the hills; and he thought--would it not be good to\nbe there all alone, with the moonbeams laying their white hands down on\nhis head? And so it came that one night, finding the door of his stable\nunlocked, he ran out into the open world a free man.\n\nA soft wind breathed at large, and swung slowly in the black-silver\ntreetops. Over them Little Toonie could see the quiet slopes of Drundle\nHead, asleep in the moonlight.\n\nBefore long, following the lead of his eyes, he had come to the bottom\nof the ascent. There before him went walking a little shrivelled elderly\nman, looking to right and left as if uncertain of the road.\n\nAs Little Toonie drew near, the other one turned and spoke. \"Can you\ntell me,\" said he, \"if this be the way to the fairies?\"\n\nLittle Toonie had no tongue to give an answer; so, looking at his\nquestioner, he wagged his head and went on.\n\nQuickening his pace, the old man came alongside and began peering; then\nhe smiled to himself, and after a bit spoke out. \"So you have lost your\ncap, neighbour? Then you will never be able to find the fairies.\" For he\ndid not know that Little Toonie, who wore no cap on his head, carried\nhis capful of moonshine safe underneath his skull, where it had been\nsince the hour of his birth.\n\nThe little elderly man slipped from his side, disappearing suddenly\namong the bushes, and Toonie went on alone. So presently he was more\nthan half way up the ascent, and could see along the foot-track of the\nthicket the silver moonlight lying out over the open ahead.\n\nHe had nearly reached to the top of the hill, when up from the ground\nsprang the little elderly man, and began beating him across the face\nwith a hazel wand. Toonie thought surely this must be some carter or\nploughman beating him to make him go faster; so he made haste to get on\nand be rid of the blows.\n\nThen, all of a sudden, the little elderly man threw away his hazel\nstick, and fell down, clutching at Little Toonie's ankles, whining and\npraying him not to go on.\n\n\"Now that I have failed to keep you from coming,\" he cried, \"my masters\nwill put me to death for it! I am a dead man, I tell you, if you go\nanother step!\"\n\nToonie could not understand what the old fellow meant, and he could not\nspeak to him. But the poor creature clung to his feet, holding them to\nprevent him from taking another step; so Toonie just stooped down, and\n(for he was so little and light) picked him up by the scruff, and by the\nslack of his breeches, so that his arms and legs trailed together along\nthe ground.\n\nIn the open moonlight ahead little people were all agog; bright dewdrops\nwere shivering down like rain, where flying feet alighted--shot from\nbent grass-blades like arrows from a drawn bow. Tight, panting little\nbodies, of which one could count the ribs, and faces flushed with fiery\ngreen blood, sprang everywhere. But at Toonie's coming one cried up\nshriller than a bat; and at once rippling burrows went this way and that\nin the long grass, and stillness followed after.\n\nThe poor, dangling old man, whom Toonie was still carrying, wriggled and\nwhined miserably, crying, \"Come back, masters, for it is no use--this\none sees you! He has got past me and all my poor skill to stop him. Set\nme free, for you see I am too old to keep the door for you any longer!\"\n\nOut buzzed the fairies, hot and angry as a swarm of bees. They came and\nfastened upon the unhappy old man, and began pulling him. \"To the\nant-hills!\" they cried; \"off with him to the ant-hills!\" But when they\nfound that Toonie still held him, quickly they all let go.\n\nOne fairy, standing out from the rest, pulled off his cap and bowed low.\n\"What is your will, master mortal?\" he inquired; \"for until you have\ntaken your wish and gone, we are all slaves at your bidding.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThey all cringed round him, the cruel little people; but he answered\nnothing. The moonbeams came thick, laying their slender white palms\ngraciously upon Toonie's head; and he, looking up, opened his mouth for\na laugh that gave no sound.\n\n\"Ah, so! That is why--he is a mute!\" cried the fairies.\n\nQuickly one dipped his cap along the grass and brought it filled with\ndew. He sprang up, and poured it upon Toonie's tongue; and as the fairy\ndew touched it, \"Now speak!\" they all cried in chorus, and fawned and\ncringed, waiting for him to give them the word.\n\nCudgelling his brain for what it all meant, he said, \"Tell me first what\nwish I may have.\"\n\n\"Whatever you like to ask,\" said they, \"for you have become one of our\nfree men. Tell us your name?\"\n\n\"I am called Little Toonie,\" said he, \"the son of old Toonie that was\nlost.\"\n\n\"Why, as I live and remember,\" cried the little elderly man, \"old Toonie\nwas me!\" Then he threw himself grovelling at his son's feet, and began\ncrying: \"Oh, be quick and take me away! Make them give me up to you: ask\nto have me! I am your poor, loving old father whom you never saw; all\nthese years have I been looking and longing for you! Now take me away,\nfor they are a proud, cruel people, as spiteful as they are small; and\nmy back has been broken twenty years in their bondage.\"\n\nThe fairies began to look blue, for they hate nothing so much as to give\nup one whom they have once held captive. \"We can give you gold,\" said\nthey, \"or precious stones, or the root of long living, or the waters of\nhappiness, or the sap of youth, or the seed of plenty, or the blossom\nof beauty. Choose any of these, and we can give it you.\"\n\nThe old man again caught hold of his son's feet. \"Don't choose these,\"\nhe whimpered, \"choose me!\"\n\nSo because he had a capful of moonshine in his head, and because the\nmoonbeams were laying their white hands on his hair, he chose the weak,\nshrivelled old man, who crouched and clung to him, imploring not to be\nlet go.\n\nThe fairies, for spite and anger, bestowed every one a parting pinch on\ntheir tumbledown old bondsman; then they handed him to his son, and\nswung back with careless light hearts to their revels.\n\nAs father and son went down the hill together, the old man whistled and\npiped like a bird. \"Why, why!\" he said, \"you are a lad of strength and\ninches: with you to work and look after me, I can keep on to a merry old\nage! Ay, ay, I have had long to wait for it; but wisdom is justified in\nher children.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE HERONS\n\n\nA LONG time ago there lived a King and a Queen who loved each other\ndearly. They had both fallen in love at first sight; and as their love\nbegan so it went on through all their life. Yet this, which was the\ncause of all their happiness, was the cause also of all their\nmisfortunes.\n\nIn his youth, when he was a beautiful young bachelor, the King had had\nthe ill-luck to attract the heart of a jealous and powerful Fairy; and\nthough he never gave her the least hope or encouragement, when she heard\nthat his love had been won at first sight by a mere mortal, her rage and\nresentment knew no bounds. She said nothing, however, but bided her\ntime.\n\nAfter they had been married a year the Queen presented her husband with\na little daughter; before she was yet a day old she was the most\nbeautiful object in the world, and life seemed to promise her nothing\nbut fortune and happiness.\n\nThe family Fairy came to the blessing of the new-born; and she, looking\nat it as it lay beautifully asleep in its cradle, and seeing that it had\nalready as much beauty and health as the heart could desire, promised it\nlove as the next best gift it was within her power to offer. The Queen,\nwho knew how much happiness her own love had brought her, was kissing\nthe good Fairy with all the warmth of gratitude, when a black kite came\nand perched upon the window-sill crying: \"And I will give her love at\nfirst sight! The first living thing that she sets eyes on she shall love\nto distraction, whether it be man or monster, prince or pauper, bird,\nbeast or reptile.\" And as the wicked Fairy spoke she clapped her wings,\nand up through the boards of the floor, and out from under the bed, and\nin through the window, came a crowd of all the ugliest shapes in the\nworld. Thick and fast they came, gathering about the cradle and lifting\ntheir heads over the edge of it, waiting for the poor little Princess to\nwake up and fall in love at first sight with one of them.\n\nLuckily the child was asleep; and the good Fairy, after driving away the\nblack kite and the crowd of beasts it had called to its aid, wrapped the\nPrincess up in a shawl and carried her away to a dark room where no\nglimmer of light could get in.\n\nShe said to the Queen: \"Till I can devise a better way, you must keep\nher in the dark; and when you take her into the open air you must\nblindfold her eyes. Some day, when she is of a fit age, I will bring a\nhandsome Prince for her; and only to him shall you unblindfold her at\nlast, and make love safe for her.\"\n\nShe went, leaving the King and Queen deeply stricken with grief over the\nharm which had befallen their daughter. They did not dare to present\neven themselves before her eyes lest love for them, fatal and consuming,\nshould drive her to distraction. In utter darkness the Queen would sit\nand cherish her daughter, clasping her to her breast, and calling her by\nall sweet names; but the little face, except by stealth when it was\nsound asleep, she never dared to see, nor did the baby-Princess know the\nface of the mother who loved her.\n\nBy and by, however, the family Fairy came again, saying: \"Now, I have a\nplan by which your child may enjoy the delights of seeing, and no ill\ncome of it.\" And she caused to be made a large chamber, the whole of one\nside of which was a mirror. High up in the opposite wall were windows so\nscreened that from below no one could look out of them, but across on to\nthe mirror came all the sweet sights of the world, glimpses of wood and\nfield, and the sun and the moon and the stars, and of every bird as it\nflew by. So the little Princess was brought and set in a screened place\nlooking towards the mirror, and there her eyes learned gradually all the\nbeautiful things of the world. Over the screen, in the glass before her,\nshe learned to know her mother's face, and to love it dearly in a gentle\nchild-like fashion; and when she could talk she became very wise,\nunderstanding all that was told her about the danger of looking at\nanything alive, except by its reflection in the glass.\n\nWhen she went out into the open air for her health, she always wore a\nbandage over her eyes, lest she should look, and love something too\nwell: but in the chamber of the mirror her eyes were free to see\nwhatever they could. The good Fairy, making herself invisible, came and\ntaught her to read and make music, and draw; so that before she was\nfifteen she was the most charming and accomplished, as well as the most\nbeautiful Princess of her day.\n\nAt last the Fairy said that the time was come for her world of\nreflections to be made real, and she went away to fetch the ideal Prince\nthat the Princess might at first sight fall in love with him.\n\nThe very day after she was gone, as the morning was fine, the Princess\nwent out with one of her maids for a wait through the woods. Over her\npatient eyes she wore a bandage of green silk, through which she felt\nthe sunlight fall pleasantly.\n\nOut of doors the Princess knew most things by their sounds. She passed\nunder rustling leaves, and along by the side of running water; and at\nlast she heard the silence of the water, and knew that she was standing\nby the great fish-pond in the middle of the wood. Then she said to her\nwaiting-woman, \"Is there not some great bird fishing out there, for I\nhear the dipping of his bill, and the water falling off it as he draws\nout the fish?\"\n\nAnd just as she was saying that, the wicked Fairy, who had long bided\nher time, coming softly up from behind, pushed the waiting-woman off the\nbank into the deep water of the pond. Then she snatched away the silk\nbandage, and before the Princess had time to think or close her eyes,\nshe had lost her heart to a great heron that was standing half-way up to\nhis feathers fishing among the reeds.\n\nThe Princess, with her eyes set free, laughed for joy at the sight of\nhim. She stretched out her arms from the bank and cried most musically\nfor the bird to come to her; and he came in grave, stately fashion, with\ntrailing legs, and slow sobbing creak of his wings, and settled down on\nthe bank beside her. She drew his slender neck against her white\nthroat, and laughed and cried with her arms round him, loving him so\nthat she forgot all in the world beside. And the heron looked gravely at\nher with kind eyes, and, bird-like, gave her all the love he could, but\nnot more; and so, presently, casting his grey wings abroad, lifted\nhimself and sailed slowly back to his fishing among the reeds.\n\nThe waiting-woman had got herself out of the water, and stood wringing\nher clothes and her hands beside the Princess. \"O, sweet mistress,\" she\ncried, with lamentation, \"now is all the evil come about which it was\nour whole aim to avoid! And what, and what will the Queen your mother\nsay?\"\n\nBut the Princess answered, smiling, \"Foolish girl, I had no thought of\nwhat happiness meant till now! See you where my love is gone? and did\nyou notice the bend of his neck, and the exceeding length of his legs,\nand the stretch of his grey wings as he flew? This pond is his hall of\nmirrors, wherein he sees the reflection of all his world. Surely I, from\nmy hall of mirrors, am the true mate for him!\"\n\nHer maid, seeing how far the evil had gone, and that no worse could now\nhappen, ran back to the palace and curdled all the court's blood with\nher news. The King and the Queen and all their nobility rushed down, and\nthere they found the Princess with the heron once more in her arms,\nkissing and fondling it with all the marks of a sweet and maidenly\npassion. \"Dear mother,\" she said, as soon as she saw the Queen, \"the\nhappiness, which you feared would be sorrow, has come; and it is such\nhappiness I have no name for it! And the evil that you so dreaded, see\nhow sweet it is! And how sweet it is to see all the world with my own\neyes and you also at last!\" And for the first time in her life she\nkissed her mother's face in the full light of day.\n\nBut her mother hung sobbing upon her neck, \"O, my darling, my\nbeautiful,\" she wept, \"does your heart belong for ever to this grey\nbird?\"\n\nHer daughter answered, \"He is more than all the world to me! Is he not\ngoodly to look upon? Have you considered the bend of his neck, the\nlength of his legs, and the waving of his wings; his skill also when he\nfishes: what imagination, what presence of mind!\"\n\n\"Alas, alas,\" sorrowed the Queen, \"dear daughter, is this all true to\nyou?\"\n\n\"Mother,\" cried the Princess, clinging to her with entreaty, \"is all the\nworld blind but me?\"\n\nThe heron had become quite fond of the Princess; wherever she went it\nfollowed her, and, indeed, without it nowhere would she go. Whenever it\nwas near her, the Princess laughed and sang, and when it was out of her\nsight she became sad as night. All the courtiers wept to see her in such\nbondage. \"Ah,\" said she, \"your eyes have been worn out with looking at\nthings so long; mine have been kept for me in a mirror.\"\n\nWhen the good family Fairy came (for she was at once sent for by the\nQueen, and told of all that had happened), she said, \"Dear Madam, there\nare but two things you can do: either you can wring the heron's neck,\nand leave the Princess to die of grief; or you can make the Princess\nhappy in her own way, by----\" Her voice dropped, and she looked from\nthe King to the Queen before she went on. \"At her birth I gave your\ndaughter love for my gift; now it is hers, will you let her keep it?\"\n\nThe King and the Queen looked softly at each other. \"Do not take love\nfrom her,\" said they, \"let her keep it!\"\n\n\"There is but one way,\" answered the Fairy.\n\n\"Do not tell me the way,\" said the Queen weeping, \"only let the way be!\"\n\nSo they went with the Fairy down to the great pond, and there sat the\nPrincess, with the grey heron against her heart. She smiled as she saw\nthem come. \"I see good in your hearts towards me!\" she cried. \"Dear\ngodmother, give me the thing that I want, that my love may be happy!\"\n\nThen the Fairy stroked her but once with her wand, and two grey herons\nsuddenly rose up from the bank, and sailed away to a hiding-place in the\nreeds.\n\nThe Fairy said to the Queen, \"You have made your daughter happy; and\nstill she will have her voice and her human heart, and will remember you\nwith love and gratitude; but her greatest love will be to the grey\nheron, and her home among the reeds.\"\n\nSo the changed life of the Princess began; every day her mother went\ndown to the pool and called, and the Princess came rising up out of the\nreeds, and folded her grey wings over her mother's heart. Every day her\nmother said, \"Daughter of mine, are you happy?\"\n\nAnd the Princess answered her, \"Yes, for I love and am loved.\"\n\nYet each time the mother heard more and more of a note of sadness come\ninto her daughter's voice; and at last one day she said, \"Answer me\ntruly, as the mother who brought you into the world, whether you be\nhappy in your heart of hearts or no?\"\n\nThen the heron-Princess laid her head on the Queen's heart, and said,\n\"Mother, my heart is breaking with love!\"\n\n\"For whom, then?\" asked the Queen astonished.\n\n\"For my grey heron, whom I love, and who loves me so much. And yet it is\nlove that divides us, for I am still troubled with a human heart, and\noften it aches with sorrow because all the love in it can never be fully\nunderstood or shared by my heron; and I have my human voice left, and\nthat gives me a hundred things to say all day, for which there is no\nword in heron's language, and so he cannot understand them. Therefore\nthese things only make a gulf between him and me. For all the other grey\nherons in the pools there is happiness, but not for me who have too big\na heart between my wings.\"\n\nHer mother said softly, \"Wait, wait, little heron-daughter, and it shall\nbe well with you!\" Then she went to the Fairy and said, \"My daughter's\nheart is lonely among the reeds, for the grey heron's love covers but\nhalf of it. Give her some companions of her own kind that her hours may\nbecome merry again!\"\n\nSo the Fairy took and turned five of the Princess's ladies'-maids into\nherons, and sent them down to the pool.\n\nThe five herons stood each on one leg in the shallows of the pool, and\ncried all day long; and their tears fell down into the water and\nfrightened away the fish that came their way. For they had human hearts\nthat cried out to be let go. \"O, cruel, cruel,\" they wept, whenever the\nheron-Princess approached, \"see what we suffer because of you, and what\nthey have made of us for your sake!\"\n\nThe Princess came to her mother and said, \"Dear mother, take them away,\nfor their cry wearies me, and the pool is bitter with their tears! They\nonly awake the human part of my heart that wants to sleep; presently,\nmaybe, if it is let alone, it will forget itself.\"\n\nHer mother said, \"It is my coming every day also that keeps it awake.\"\nThe Princess answered, \"This sorrow belongs to my birthright; you must\nstill come; but for the others, let the Fairy take them away.\"\n\nSo the Fairy came and released the five ladies'-maids whom she had\nchanged into herons. And they came up out of the water, stripping\nthemselves of their grey feather-skins and throwing them back into the\npool. The Fairy said, \"You foolish maids, you have thrown away a gift\nthat you should have valued; these skins you could have kept and held as\nheirlooms in your family.\"\n\nThe five maids answered, \"We want to forget that there are such things\nas herons in the world!\"\n\nAfter much thought the Queen said to the Fairy, \"You have changed a\nPrincess into a heron, and five maids into herons and back again; cannot\nyou change one heron into a Prince?\" But the Fairy answered sadly, \"Our\npower has limits; we can bring down, but we cannot bring up, if there be\nno heart to answer our call. The five maids only followed their hearts,\nthat were human, when I called them back; but a heron has only a\nheron's heart, and unless his heart become too great for a bird and he\nearn a human one, I cannot change him to a higher form.\" \"How can he\nearn a human one?\" asked the Queen. \"Only if he love the Princess so\nwell that his love for her becomes stronger than his life,\" answered the\nFairy. \"Then he will have earned a human body, and then I can give him\nthe form that his heart suits best. There may be a chance, if we wait\nfor it and are patient, for the Princess's love is great and may work\nmiracles.\"\n\nA little while after this, the Queen watching, saw that the two herons\nwere making a nest among the reeds. \"What have you there?\" said the\nmother to her daughter. \"A little hollow place,\" answered the\nheron-Princess, \"and in it the moon lies.\" A little while after she said\nagain, \"What have you there, now, little daughter?\" And her daughter\nanswered, \"Only a small hollow space; but in it two moons lie.\"\n\nThe Queen told the family Fairy how in a hollow of the reeds lay two\nmoons. \"Now,\" said the Fairy, \"we will wait no longer. If your\ndaughter's love has touched the heron's heart and made it grow larger\nthan a bird's, I can help them both to happiness; but if not, then birds\nthey must still remain.\"\n\nAmong the reeds the heron said in bird language to his wife, \"Go and\nstretch your wings for a little while over the water; it is weary work\nto wait here so long in the reeds.\" The heron-Princess looked at him\nwith her bird's eyes, and all the human love in her heart strove, like a\nfountain that could not get free, to make itself known through them;\nalso her tongue was full of the longing to utter sweet words, but she\nkept them back, knowing they were beyond the heron's power to\nunderstand. So she answered merely in heron's language, \"Come with me,\nand I will come!\"\n\nThey rose, wing beating beside wing; and the reflection of their grey\nbreasts slid out under them over the face of the water.\n\nHigher they went and higher, passing over the tree tops, and keeping\ntime together as they flew. All at once the wings of the grey heron\nflagged, then took a deep beat; he cried to the heron-Princess, \"Turn,\nand come home, yonder there is danger flying to meet us!\" Before them\nhung a brown blot in the air, that winged and grew large. The two herons\nturned and flew back. \"Rise,\" cried the grey heron, \"we must rise!\" and\nthe Princess knew what was behind, and struggled with the whole strength\nof her wings for escape.\n\nThe grey heron was bearing ahead on stronger wing. \"With me, with me!\"\nhe cried. \"If it gets above us, one of us is dead!\" But the falcon had\nfixed his eye on the Princess for his quarry, and flew she fast, or flew\nshe slow, there was little chance for her now. Up and up she strained,\nbut still she was behind her mate, and still the falcon gained.\n\nThe heron swung back to her side; she saw the anguish and fear of his\ndownward glance as his head ranged by hers. Past her the falcon went,\ntowering for the final swoop.\n\nThe Princess cried in heron's language, \"Farewell, dear mate, and\nfarewell, two little moons among the reeds!\" But the grey heron only\nkept closer to her side.\n\nOverhead the falcon closed in its wings and fell like a dead weight out\nof the clouds. \"Drop!\" cried the grey heron to his mate.\n\nAt his word she dropped; but he stayed, stretching up his wings, and,\npassing between the descending falcon and its prey, caught in his own\nbody the death-blow from its beak. Drops of his blood fell upon the\nheron-Princess.\n\nHe stricken in body, she in soul, together they fell down to the margin\nof the pool. The falcon still clung fleshing its beak in the neck of its\nprey. The heron-Princess threw back her head, and, darting furiously,\nstruck her own sharp bill deep into the falcon's breast. The bird threw\nout its wings with a hoarse cry and fell back dead, with a little tuft\nof the grey heron's feathers still upon its beak.\n\nThe heron-Princess crouched down, and covered with her wings the dying\nform of her mate; in her sorrow she spoke to him in her own tongue,\nforgetting her bird's language. The grey heron lifted his head, and,\ngazing tenderly, answered her with a human voice:\n\n\"Dear wife,\" he said, \"at last I have the happiness so long denied to me\nof giving utterance in the speech that is your own to the love that you\nhave put into my heart. Often I have heard you speak and have not\nunderstood; now something has touched my heart, and changed it, so that\nI can both speak and understand.\"\n\n\"O, beloved!\" She laid her head down by his. \"The ends of the world\nbelong to us now. Lie down, and die gently by my side, and I will die\nwith you, breaking my heart with happiness.\"\n\n\"No,\" said the grey heron, \"do not die yet! Remember the two little\nmoons that lie in the hollow among the reeds.\" Then he laid his head\ndown by hers, being too weak to say more.\n\nThey folded their wings over each other, and closed their eyes; nor did\nthey know that the Fairy was standing by them, till she stroked them\nboth softly with her wand, saying to each of them the same words:\n\n\"Human heart, and human form, come out of the grey heron!\"\n\nAnd out of the grey heron-skins came two human forms; the one was the\nPrincess restored again to her own shape, but the other was a beautiful\nyouth, with a bird-like look about the eyes, and long slender limbs. The\nPrincess, as she gazed on him, found hardly any change, for love\nremained the same, binding him close to her heart; and, grey heron or\nbeautiful youth, he was all one to her now.\n\nThen came the Queen, weeping for joy, and embracing them both, and after\nthem, the Fairy. \"O, how good an ending,\" she cried, \"has come to that\nterrible dream! Let it never be remembered or mentioned between us\nmore!\" And she began to lead the way back to the palace.\n\nBut the youth, to whom the Fairy gave the name of Prince Heron, turned\nand took up the two heron-skins which he and his wife had let fall, and\nfollowed, carrying them upon his arm. And as they came past the bed of\nreeds, the Princess went aside, and, stooping down in a certain place\ndrew out from thence something which she came carrying, softly wrapped\nin the folds of her gown.\n\nWith what rejoicing the Princess and her husband were welcomed by the\nKing and all the Court needs not to be told. For a whole month the\nfestivities continued; and whenever she showed herself, there was the\nPrincess sitting with two eggs in her lap, and her hands over them to\nkeep them warm. The King was impatient. \"Why cannot you send them down\nto the poultry yard to be hatched?\" he said.\n\nBut the Princess replied smiling, \"My moons are my own, and I will keep\nthem to myself.\"\n\n\"Do you hear?\" she said one day, at last; and everybody who listened\ncould hear something going \"tap, tap,\" inside the shells. Presently the\neggs cracked, and out of each, at the same moment, came a little grey\nheron.\n\nWhen she saw that they were herons, the Queen wrung her hands. \"O\nFairy,\" she cried, \"what a disappointment is this! I had hoped two\nbeautiful babies would have come out of those shells.\"\n\nBut the Fairy said, \"It is no matter. Half of their hearts are human\nalready; birds' hearts do not beat so. If you wish it, I can change\nthem.\" So she stroked them softly with her wand, saying to each, \"Human\nheart, and human form, come out of the grey heron!\"\n\nYet she had to stroke them three times before they would turn; and she\nsaid to the Princess, \"My dear, you were too satisfied with your lot\nwhen you laid your moon-children. I doubt if more than a quarter of them\nis human.\"\n\n\"I was very satisfied,\" said the Princess, and she laughed across to her\nhusband.\n\nAt last, however, on the third stroke of the wand, the heron's skins\ndropped off, and they changed into a pair of very small babies, a boy\nand a girl. But the difference between them and other children was, that\ninstead of hair, their heads were covered with a fluff of downy grey\nfeathers; also they had queer, round, bird-like eyes, and were able to\nsleep standing.\n\nNow, after this the happiness of the Princess was great; but the Fairy\nsaid to her, \"Do not let your husband see the heron-skins again for some\nwhile, lest with the memory a longing for his old life should return to\nhim and take him away from you. Only by exchange with another can he\never get back his human form again, if he surrenders it of his own free\nwill. And who is there so poor that he would willingly give up his human\nform to become a bird?\"\n\nSo the Princess took the four coats of feathers--her own and her\nhusband's and her two children's--and hid them away in a closet of which\nshe alone kept the key. It was a little gold key, and to make it safe\nshe hung it about her neck, and wore it night and day.\n\nThe Prince said to her, \"What is that little key that you wear always\nhung round your neck?\"\n\nShe answered him, \"It is the key to your happiness and mine. Do not ask\nmore than that!\" At that there was a look in his face that made her\nsay, \"You _are_ happy, are you not?\"\n\nHe kissed her, saying, \"Happy, indeed! Have I not you to make me so?\"\nYet though, indeed, he told no untruth, and was happy whenever she was\nwith him, there were times when a restlessness and a longing for wings\ntook hold of him; for, as yet, the life of a man was new and half\nstrange to him, and a taint of his old life still mixed itself with his\nblood. But to her he was ashamed to say what might seem a complaint\nagainst his great fortune; so when she said \"happiness,\" he thought, \"Is\nit just the turning of that key that I want before my happiness can be\nperfect?\"\n\nTherefore, one night when the early season of spring made his longing\nstrong in him, he took the key from the Princess while she slept, and\nopened the little closet in which hung the four feather coats. And when\nhe saw his own, all at once he remembered the great pools of water, and\nhow they lay in the shine and shadow of the moonlight, while the fish\nrose in rings upon their surface. And at that so great a longing came\ninto him to revisit his old haunts that he reached out his hand and took\ndown the heron-skin from its nail and put it over himself; so that\nimmediately his old life took hold of him, and he flew out of the window\nin the form of a grey heron.\n\nIn the morning the Princess found the key gone from her neck, and her\nhusband's place empty. She went in haste to the closet, and there stood\nthe door wide with the key in it, and only three heron-skins hanging\nwhere four had used to be.\n\nThen she came crying to the family Fairy, \"My husband has taken his\nheron-skin and is gone! Tell me what I can do!\"\n\nThe Fairy pitied her with all her heart, but could do nothing. \"Only by\nexchange,\" said she, \"can he get back his human shape; and who is there\nso poor that he would willingly lose his own form to become a bird? Only\nyour children, who are but half human, can put their heron-skins on and\noff as they like and when they like.\"\n\nIn deep grief the Princess went to look for her husband down by the\npools in the wood. But now his shame and sorrow at having deceived her\nwere so great that as soon as he heard her voice he hid himself among\nthe reeds, for he knew now that, having put on his heron-skin again, he\ncould not take it off unless some one gave him a human form in exchange.\n\nAt last, however, so pitiful was the cry of the Princess for him, that\nhe could bear to hear it no more; but rising up from the reeds came\ntrailing to her sadly over the water. \"Ah, dear love!\" she said when he\nwas come to her, \"if I had not distrusted you, you would not have\ndeceived me: thus, for my fault we are punished.\" So she sorrowed, and\nhe answered her:\n\n\"Nay, dear love, for if I had not deceived you, you would not have\ndistrusted me. I thought I was not happy, yet I feared to tell it you.\"\nThus they sorrowed together, both laying on themselves the blame and the\nburden.\n\nThen she said to him: \"Be here for me to-night, for now I must go; but\nthen I shall return.\"\n\nShe went back to the palace, and told her mother of all that had\nhappened. \"And now,\" she said, \"you who know where my happiness lies\nwill not forbid me from following it; for my heart is again with the\ngrey heron.\" And the Queen wept, but would not say her no.\n\nSo that night the Princess went and kissed her children as they slept\nstanding up in their beds, with their funny feather-pates to one side;\nand then she took down her skin of feathers and put it on, and became\nchanged once more into a grey heron. And again she went up to the two in\ntheir cots, and kissed their birdish heads saying: \"They who can change\nat will, being but half human, they will come and visit us in the great\npool by the wood, and bring back word of us here.\"\n\nIn the morning the Princess was gone, and the two children when they\nwoke looked at each other and said: \"Did we dream last night?\"\n\nThey both answered each other, \"Yes, first we dreamed that our mother\ncame and kissed us; and we liked that. And then we dreamed that a grey\nheron came and kissed us, and we liked that better still!\" They waved\ntheir arms up and down. \"Why have we not wings?\" they kept asking. All\nday long they did this, playing that they were birds. If a window were\nopened, it was with the greatest difficulty that they were kept from\ntrying to fly through.\n\nIn the Court they were known as the \"Feather-pates\"; nothing could they\nbe taught at all. When they were rebuked they would stand on one leg and\nsigh with their heads on one side; but no one ever saw tears come out\nof their birdish eyes.\n\nNow at night they would dream that two grey herons came and stood by\ntheir bedsides, kissing them; \"And where in the world,\" they said when\nthey woke, \"_are_ our wings?\"\n\nOne day, wandering about in the palace, they came upon the closet in\nwhich hung the two little feather coats. \"O!!!\" they cried, and opened\nhard bright eyes at each other, nodding, for now they knew what they\nwould do. \"If we told, they would be taken from us,\" they said; and they\nwaited till it was night. Then they crept back and took the two little\ncoats from their pegs, and, putting them on, were turned into two young\nherons.\n\nThrough the window they flew, away down to the great fish-pond in the\nwood. Their father and mother saw them coming, and clapped their wings\nfor joy. \"See,\" they said, \"our children come to visit us, and our\nhearts are left to us to love with. What further happiness can we want?\"\nBut when they were not looking at each other they sighed.\n\nAll night long the two young herons stayed with their parents; they\nbathed, and fished, and flew, till they were weary. Then the Princess\nshowed them the nest among the reeds, and told them all the story of\ntheir lives.\n\n\"But it is much nicer to be herons than to be real people,\" said the\nyoung ones, sadly, and became very sorrowful when dawn drew on, and\ntheir mother told them to go back to the palace and hang up the feather\ncoats again, and be as they had been the day before.\n\nLong, long the day now seemed to them; they hardly waited till it was\nnight before they took down their feather-skins, and, putting them on,\nflew out and away to the fish-pond in the wood.\n\nSo every night they went, when all in the palace were asleep; and in the\nmorning came back before anyone was astir, and were found by their\nnurses lying demurely between the sheets, just as they had been left the\nnight before.\n\nOne day the Queen when she went to see her daughter said to her, \"My\nchild, your two children are growing less like human beings and more\nlike birds every day. Nothing will they learn or do, but stand all day\nflapping their arms up and down, and saying, 'Where are our wings, where\nare our wings?' The idea of one of them ever coming to the throne makes\nyour father's hair stand on end under his crown.\"\n\n\"Oh, mother,\" said the heron-Princess, \"I have made a sad bed for you\nand my father to lie on!\"\n\nOne day the two children said to each other, \"Our father and mother are\nsad, because they want to be real persons again, instead of having wings\nand catching fish the way we like to do. Let us give up being real\npersons, which is all so much trouble, and such a want of exercise, and\nmake them exchange with us!\" But when the two young herons went down to\nthe pond and proposed it to them, their parents said, \"You are young;\nyou do not know what you would be giving up.\" Nor would they consent to\nit at all.\n\nNow one morning it happened that the Feather-pates were so late in\nreturning to the palace that the Queen, coming into their chamber,\nfound the two beds empty; and just as she had turned away to search for\nthem elsewhere, she heard a noise of wings and saw the two young herons\ncome flying in through the window. Then she saw them take off their\nfeather-skins and hang them up in the closet, and after that go and lie\ndown in their beds so as to look as if they had been there all night.\n\nThe Queen struck her hands together with horror at the sight, but she\ncrept away softly, so that they did not know they had been found out.\nBut as soon as they were out of their beds and at play in another part\nof the palace, the Queen went to the closet, and setting fire to the two\nheron-skins where they hung, burnt them till not a feather of them was\nleft, and only a heap of grey ashes remained to tell what had become of\nthem.\n\nAt night, when the Feather-pates went to the closet and found their\nskins gone, and saw what had become of them, their grief knew no bounds.\nThey trembled with fear and rage, and tears rained out of their eyes as\nthey beheld themselves deprived of their bird bodies and made into real\npersons for good and all.\n\n\"We won't be real persons!\" they cried. But for all their crying they\nknew no way out of it. They made themselves quite ill with grief; and\nthat night, for the first time since they had found their way to the\ncloset, they stayed where their nurses had put them, and did not even\nstand up in their beds to go to sleep. There they lay with gasping\nmouth, and big bird-like eyes all languid with grief, and hollow grey\ncheeks.\n\nPresently their father and mother came seeking for them, wondering why\nthey had not come down to the fish-pond as they were wont. \"Where are\nyou, my children?\" cried the heron-Princess, putting her head in through\nthe window.\n\n\"Here we are, both at death's door!\" they cried. \"Come and see us die!\nOur wicked grandam has burnt our feather-skins and made us into real\npersons for ever and ever, Amen. But we will die rather!\"\n\nThe parent herons, when they heard that, flew in through the window and\nbent down over the little ones' beds.\n\nThe two children reached up their arms. \"Give us your feathers!\" they\ncried. \"We shall die if you don't! We _will_ die if you don't! O, do!\"\nBut still the parent birds hesitated, nor knew what to do.\n\n\"Bend down, and let me whisper something!\" said the boy to his father:\nand \"Bend down, and whisper!\" cried the girl to her mother. And father\nand mother bent down over the faces of their sick children. Then these,\nboth together, caught hold of them, and crying, \"Human heart, and human\nform, exchange with the grey heron!\" pulled off their parents'\nfeather-skins, and put them upon themselves.\n\nAnd there once more stood Prince Heron and the Princess in human shape,\nwhile the two children had turned into herons in their place.\n\nThe young herons laughed and shouted and clapped their wings for joy.\n\"Are you not happy now?\" cried they. And when their parents saw the joy,\nnot only in their children's eyes, but in each other's, and felt their\nhearts growing glad in the bodies they had regained, then they owned\nthat the Feather-pates had been wise in their generation, and done well\naccording to their lights.\n\nSo it came about that the Prince and the Princess lived happily ever\nafter, and the two young herons lived happily also, and were the\nbest-hearted birds the world ever saw.\n\nIn course of time the Prince and Princess had other children, who\npleased the old King better than the first had done. But the parents\nloved none better than the two who lived as herons by the great\nfish-pond in the wood; nor could there be greater love than was found\nbetween these and their younger brothers and sisters, whose nature it\nwas to be real persons.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CROWN'S WARRANTY\n\n\nFIVE hundred years ago or more, a king died, leaving two sons: one was\nthe child of his first wife, and the other of his second, who surviving\nhim became his widow. When the king was dying he took off the royal\ncrown which he wore, and set it upon the head of the elder born, the son\nof his first wife, and said to him: \"God is the lord of the air, and of\nthe water, and of the dry land: this gift cometh to thee from God. Be\nmerciful, over whatsoever thou holdest power, as God is!\" And saying\nthese words he laid his hands upon the heads of his two sons and died.\n\nNow this crown was no ordinary crown, for it was made of the gold\nbrought by the Wise Men of the East when they came to worship at\nBethlehem. Every king that had worn it since then had reigned well and\nuprightly, and had been loved by all his people; but only to himself was\nit known what virtue lay in his crown; and every king at dying gave it\nto his son with the same words of blessing.\n\nSo, now, the king's eldest son wore the crown; and his step-mother knew\nthat her own son could not wear it while he lived, therefore she looked\non and said nothing. Now he was known to all the people of his country,\nbecause of his right to the throne, as the king's son; and his brother,\nthe child of the second wife, was called the queen's son. But as yet\nthey were both young, and cared little enough for crowns.\n\nAfter the king's death the queen was made regent till the king's son\nshould be come to a full age; but already the little king wore the royal\ncrown his father had left him, and the queen looked on and said nothing.\n\nMore than three years went by, and everybody said how good the queen was\nto the little king who was not her own son; and the king's son, for his\npart, was good to her and to his step-brother, loving them both; and all\nby himself he kept thinking, having his thoughts guarded and circled by\nhis golden crown, \"How shall I learn to be a wise king, and to be\nmerciful when I have power, as God is?\"\n\nSo to everything that came his way, to his playthings and his pets, to\nhis ministers and his servants, he played the king as though already his\nword made life and death. People watching him said, \"Everything that has\ntouch with the king's son loves him.\" They told strange tales of him:\nonly in fairy books could they be believed, because they were so\nbeautiful; and all the time the queen, getting a good name for herself,\nlooked on and said nothing.\n\nOne night the king's son was lying half-asleep upon his bed, with wise\ndreams coming and going under the circle of his gold crown, when a mouse\nran out of the wainscot and came and jumped up upon the couch. The poor\nmouse had turned quite white with fear and horror, and was trembling in\nevery limb as it cried its news into the king's ear. \"O king's son,\" it\nsaid, \"get up and run for your life! I was behind the wainscot in the\nqueen's closet, and this is what I heard: if you stay here, when you\nwake up to-morrow you will be dead!\"\n\nThe king's son got up, and all alone in the dark night stole out of the\npalace, seeking safety for his dear life. He sighed to himself, \"There\nwas a pain in my crown ever since I wore it. Alas, mother, I thought you\nwere too kind a step-mother to do this!\"\n\nOutside it was still winter: there was no warmth in the world, and not a\nleaf upon the trees. He wandered away and away, wondering where he\nshould hide.\n\nThe queen, when her villains came and told her the king's son was not to\nbe found, went and looked in her magic crystal to find trace of him. As\nsoon as it grew light, for in the darkness the crystal could show her\nnothing, she saw many miles away the king's son running to hide himself\nin the forest. So she sent out her villains to search until they should\nfind him.\n\nAs they went the sun grew hot in the sky, and birds began singing. \"It\nis spring!\" cried the messengers. \"How suddenly it has come!\" They rode\non till they came to the forest.\n\nThe king's son, stumbling along through the forest under the bare\nboughs, thought, \"Even here where shall I hide? Nowhere is there a leaf\nto cover me.\" But when the sun grew warm he looked up; and there were\nall the trees breaking into bud and leaf, making a green heaven above\nhis head. So when he was too weary to go farther, he climbed into the\nlargest tree he could find; and the leaves covered him.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe queen's messengers searched through all the forest but could not\nfind him; so they went back to her empty handed, not having either\nthe king's crown or his heart to show. \"Fools!\" she cried, looking in\nher magic crystal, \"he was in the big sycamore under which you stopped\nto give your horses provender!\"\n\nThe sycamore said to the king's son, \"The queen's eye is on you; get\ndown and run for your life till you get to the hollow tarn-stones among\nthe hills! But if you stay here, when you wake to-morrow you will be\ndead.\"\n\nWhen the queen's messengers came once more to the forest they found it\nall wintry again, and without leaf; only the sycamore was in full green,\nclapping its hands for joy in the keen and bitter air.\n\nThe messengers searched, and beat down the leaves, but the king's son\nwas not there. They went back to the queen. She looked long in her magic\ncrystal, but little could she see; for the king's son had hidden himself\nin a small cave beside the tarn-stones, and into the darkness the\ncrystal could not pry.\n\nPresently she saw a flight of birds crossing the blue, and every bird\ncarried a few crumbs of bread in its beak. Then she ran and called to\nher villains, \"Follow the birds, and they will take you to where the\nlittle wizard is; for they are carrying bread to feed him, and they are\nall heading for the tarn-stones up on the hills.\"\n\nThe birds said to the king's son, \"Now you are rested; we have fed you,\nand you are not hungry. The queen's eye is on you. Up, and run for your\nlife! If you stay here, when you wake up to-morrow you will be dead.\"\n\n\"Where shall I go?\" said the king's son. \"Go,\" answered the birds, \"and\nhide in the rushes on the island of the pool of sweet waters!\"\n\nWhen the queen's messengers came to the tarn-stones, it was as though\nfive thousand people had been feeding: they found crumbs enough to fill\ntwelve baskets full, lying in the cave; but no king's son could they lay\ntheir hands on.\n\nThe king's son was lying hidden among the rushes on the island of the\ngreat pool of sweet waters; and thick and fast came silver-scaled\nfishes, feeding him.\n\nIt took the queen three days of hard gazing in her crystal, before she\nfound how the fishes all swam to a point among the rushes of the island\nin the pool of sweet waters, and away again. Then she knew: and running\nto her messengers she cried: \"He is among the rushes on the island in\nthe pool of sweet waters; and all the fishes are feeding him!\"\n\nThe fishes said to the king's son: \"The queen's eye is on you; up, and\nswim to shore, and away for your life! For if they come and find you\nhere, when you wake to-morrow you will certainly be dead.\"\n\n\"Where shall I go?\" asked the king's son. \"Wherever I go, she finds me.\"\n\"Go to the old fox who gets his poultry from the palace, and ask him to\nhide you in his burrow!\"\n\nWhen the queen's messengers came to the pool they found the fishes\nplaying at _alibis_ all about in the water; but nothing of the king's\nson could they see.\n\nThe king's son came to the fox, and the fox hid him in his burrow, and\nbrought him butter and eggs from the royal dairy. This was better fare\nthan the king's son had had since the beginning of his wanderings, and\nhe thanked the fox warmly for his friendship. \"On the contrary,\" said\nthe fox, \"I am under an obligation to you; for ever since you came to be\nmy guest I have felt like an honest man.\" \"If I live to be king,\" said\nthe king's son, \"you shall always have butter and eggs from the royal\ndairy, and be as honest as you like.\"\n\nThe queen hugged her magic crystal for a whole week, but could make\nnothing out of it: for her crystal showed her nothing of the king's\nson's hiding-place, nor of the fox at his nightly thefts of butter and\neggs from the royal dairy. But it so happened that this same fox was a\nsort of half-brother of the queen's; and so guilty did he feel with his\nbrand-new good conscience that he quite left off going to see her. So in\na little while the queen, with her suspicions and her magic crystal, had\nnosed out the young king's hiding-place.\n\nThe fox said to the king's son: \"The queen's eye is on you! Get out and\nrun for your life, for if you stay here till to-morrow, you will wake up\nand find yourself a dead goose!\"\n\n\"But where else can I go to?\" asked the king's son. \"Is there any place\nleft for me?\" The fox laughed, and winked, and whispered a word; and all\nat once the king's son got up and went.\n\nThe queen had said to her messengers, \"Go and look in the fox's hole;\nand you shall find him!\" But the messengers came and dug up the burrow,\nand found butter and eggs from the royal dairy, but of the king's son\nnever a sign.\n\nThe king's son came to the palace, and as he crept through the gardens\nhe found there his little brother alone at play,--playing sadly because\nnow he was all alone. Then the king's son stopped and said, \"Little\nbrother, do you so much wish to be king?\" And taking off the crown, he\nput it upon his brother's head. Then he went on through underground ways\nand corridors, till he came to the palace dungeons.\n\nNow a dungeon is a hard thing to get out of, but it is easy enough to\nget into. He came to the deepest and darkest dungeon of all, and there\nhe opened the door, and went in and hid himself.\n\nThe queen's son came running to his mother, wearing the king's crown.\n\"Oh, mother,\" he said, \"I am frightened! while I was playing, my brother\ncame looking all dead and white, and put this crown on my head. Take it\noff for me, it hurts!\"\n\nWhen the queen saw the crown on her son's head, she was horribly afraid;\nfor that it should have so come there was the most unlikely thing of\nall. She fetched her crystal ball, and looked in, asking where the\nking's son might be, and, for answer, the crystal became black as night.\n\nThen said the queen to herself, \"He is dead at last!\"\n\nBut, now that the king's crown was on the wrong head, the air, and the\nwater, and the dry land, over which God is lord, heard of it. And the\ntrees said, \"Until the king's son returns, we will not put forth bud or\nleaf!\"\n\nAnd the birds said, \"We will not sing in the land, or breed or build\nnests until the king's son returns!\"\n\nAnd the fishes said, \"We will not stay in the ponds or rivers to get\ncaught, unless the king's son, to whom we belong, returns!\"\n\nAnd the foxes said, \"Unless the king's son returns, we will increase and\nmultiply exceedingly and be like locusts in the land!\"\n\nSo all through that land the trees, though it was spring, stayed as if\nit were mid-winter; and all the fishes swam down to the sea; and all the\nbirds flew over the sea, away into other countries; and all the foxes\nincreased and multiplied, and became like locusts in the land.\n\nNow when the trees, and the birds, and the beasts, and the fishes led\nthe way the good folk of the country discovered that the queen was a\ncriminal. So, after the way of the flesh, they took the queen and her\nlittle son, and bound them, and threw them into the deepest and darkest\ndungeon they could find; and said they: \"Until you tell us where the\nking's son is, there you stay and starve!\"\n\nThe king's son was playing all alone in his dungeon with the mice who\nbrought him food from the palace larder, when the queen and her son were\nthrown down to him fast bound, as though he were as dangerous as a den\nof lions. At first he was terribly afraid when he found himself pursued\ninto his last hiding-place; but presently he gathered from the queen's\nremarks that she was quite powerless to do him harm.\n\n\"Oh, what a wicked woman I am!\" she moaned; and began crying lamentably,\nas if she hoped to melt the stone walls which formed her prison.\n\nPresently her little son cried, \"Mother, take off my brother's crown; it\npricks me!\" And the king's son sat in his corner, and cried to himself\nwith grief over the harm that his step-mother's wickedness had brought\nabout.\n\n\"Mother,\" cried the queen's son again, \"night and day since I have worn\nit, it pricks me; I cannot sleep!\"\n\nBut the queen's heart was still hard; not if she could help, would she\nyet take off from her son the crown.\n\nHours went by, and the queen and her son grew hungry. \"We shall be\nstarved to death!\" she cried. \"Now I see what a wicked woman I am!\"\n\n\"Mother,\" cried the queen's son, \"someone is putting food into my\nmouth!\" \"No one,\" said the queen, \"is putting any into mine. Now I know\nwhat a wicked woman I am!\"\n\nPresently the king's son came to the queen also, and began feeding her.\n\"Someone is putting food into _my_ mouth, now!\" cried the queen. \"If it\nis poisoned I shall die in agony! I wish,\" she said, \"I wish I knew your\nbrother were not dead; if I have killed him what a wicked woman I am!\"\n\n\"Dear step-mother,\" said the king's son, \"I am not dead, I am here.\"\n\n\"Here?\" cried the queen, shaking with fright. \"Here? not dead! How long\nhave you been here?\"\n\n\"Days, and days, and days,\" said the king's son, sadly.\n\n\"Ah! if I had only known _that_!\" cried the queen. \"_Now_ I know what a\nwicked woman I am!\"\n\nJust then, the trap-door in the roof of the dungeon opened, and a voice\ncalled down, \"Tell us where is the king's son! If you do not tell us,\nyou shall stay here and starve.\"\n\n\"The king's son is here!\" cried the queen.\n\n\"A likely story!\" answered the gaolers. \"Do you think we are going to\nbelieve that?\" And they shut-to the trap.\n\nThe queen's son cried, \"Dear brother, come and take back your crown, it\npricks so!\" But the king's son only undid the queen's bonds and his\nbrother's. \"Now,\" said he, \"you are free: you can kill me now.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried the queen, \"what a wicked woman I must be! Do you think I\ncould do it now?\" Then she cried, \"O little son, bring your poor head to\nme, and I will take off the crown!\" and she took off the crown and gave\nit back to the king's son. \"When I am dead,\" she said, \"remember, and be\nkind to him!\"\n\nThe king's son put the crown upon his own head.\n\nSuddenly, outside the palace, all the land broke into leaf; there was a\nrushing sound in the river of fishes swimming up from the sea, and all\nthe air was loud and dark with flights of returning birds. Almost at the\nsame moment the foxes began to disappear and diminish, and cease to be\nlike locusts in the land.\n\nPeople came running to open the door of the deepest and darkest dungeon\nin the palace: \"For either,\" they cried, \"the queen is dead, or the\nking's son has been found!\"\n\n\"Where is the king's son, then?\" they called out, as they threw wide the\ndoor. \"He is here!\" cried the king; and out he came, to the astonishment\nof all, wearing his crown, and leading his step-mother and half-brother\nby the hand.\n\nHe looked at his step-mother, and she was quite white; as white as the\nmouse that had jumped upon the king's bed at midnight bidding him fly\nfor his life. Not only her face, but her hair, her lips, and her very\neyes were white and colourless, for she had gone blind from gazing too\nhard into her crystal ball, and hunting the king's son to death.\n\nSo she remained blind to the end of her days; but the king was more good\nto her than gold, and as for his brother, never did half-brothers love\neach other better than these. Therefore they all lived very happily\ntogether, and after a long time, the queen learned to forget what a\nwicked woman she had been.\n\n\n\n\nROCKING-HORSE LAND\n\n\nLITTLE Prince Freedling woke up with a jump, and sprang out of bed into\nthe sunshine. He was five years old that morning, by all the clocks and\ncalendars in the kingdom; and the day was going to be beautiful. Every\ngolden minute was precious. He was dressed and out of his room before\nthe attendants knew that he was awake.\n\nIn the ante-chamber stood piles on piles of glittering presents; when he\nwalked among them they came up to the measure of his waist. His fairy\ngodmother had sent him a toy with the most humorous effect. It was\nlabelled, \"Break me and I shall turn into something else.\" So every time\nhe broke it he got a new toy more beautiful than the last. It began by\nbeing a hoop, and from that it ran on, while the Prince broke it\nincessantly for the space of one hour, during which it became by turn--a\ntop, a Noah's ark, a skipping-rope, a man-of-war, a box of bricks, a\npicture puzzle, a pair of stilts, a drum, a trumpet, a kaleidoscope, a\nsteam-engine, and nine hundred and fifty other things exactly. Then he\nbegan to grow discontented, because it would never turn into the same\nthing again; and after having broken the man-of-war he wanted to get it\nback again. Also he wanted to see if the steam-engine would go inside\nthe Noah's ark; but the toy would never be two things at the same time\neither. This was very unsatisfactory. He thought his fairy godmother\nought to have sent him two toys, out of which he could make\ncombinations.\n\nAt last he broke it once more, and it turned into a kite; and while he\nwas flying the kite he broke the string, and the kite went sailing away\nup into nasty blue sky, and was never heard of again.\n\nThen Prince Freedling sat down and howled at his fairy-godmother; what a\ndissembling lot fairy-godmothers were, to be sure! They were always\nsetting traps to make their god-children unhappy. Nevertheless, when\ntold to, he took up his pen and wrote her a nice little note, full of\nbad spelling and tarradiddles, to say what a happy birthday he was\nspending in breaking up the beautiful toy she had sent him.\n\nThen he went to look at the rest of the presents, and found it quite\nrefreshing to break a few that did not send him giddy by turning into\nanything else.\n\nSuddenly his eyes became fixed with delight; alone, right at the end of\nthe room, stood a great black rocking-horse. The saddle and bridle were\nhung with tiny gold bells and balls of coral; and the horse's tail and\nmane flowed till they almost touched the ground.\n\nThe Prince scampered across the room, and threw his arms around the\nbeautiful creature's neck. All its bells jangled as the head swayed\ngracefully down; and the prince kissed it between the eyes. Great eyes\nthey were, the colour of fire, so wonderfully bright, it seemed they\nmust be really alive, only they did not move, but gazed continually\nwith a set stare at the tapestry-hung wall, on which were figures of\narmed knights riding to battle.\n\nSo Prince Freedling mounted to the back of his rocking-horse; and all\nday long he rode and shouted to the figures of the armed knights,\nchallenging them to fight, or leading them against the enemy.\n\nAt length, when it came to be bedtime, weary of so much glory, he was\nlifted down from the saddle and carried away to bed.\n\nIn his sleep Freedling still felt his black rocking-horse swinging to\nand fro under him, and heard the melodious chime of its bells, and, in\nthe land of dreams, saw a great country open before him, full of the\nsound of the battle-cry and the hunting-horn calling him to strange\nperils and triumphs.\n\nIn the middle of the night he grew softly awake, and his heart was full\nof love for his black rocking-horse. He crept gently out of bed: he\nwould go and look at it where it was standing so grand and still in the\nnext room, to make sure that it was all safe and not afraid of being by\nitself in the dark night. Parting the door-hangings he passed through\ninto the wide hollow chamber beyond, all littered about with toys.\n\nThe moon was shining in through the window, making a square cistern of\nlight upon the floor. And then, all at once, he saw that the\nrocking-horse had moved from the place where he had left it! It had\ncrossed the room, and was standing close to the window, with its head\ntoward the night, as though watching the movement of the clouds and the\ntrees swaying in the wind.\n\nThe Prince could not understand how it had been moved so; he was a\nlittle bit afraid, and stealing timidly across, he took hold of the\nbridle to comfort himself with the jangle of its bells. As he came\nclose, and looked up into the dark solemn face he saw that the eyes were\nfull of tears, and reaching up felt one fall warm against his hand.\n\n\"Why do you weep, my Beautiful?\" said the Prince.\n\nThe rocking-horse answered, \"I weep because I am a prisoner, and not\nfree. Open the window, Master, and let me go!\"\n\n\"But if I let you go I shall lose you,\" said the Prince. \"Cannot you be\nhappy here with me?\"\n\n\"Let me go,\" said the horse, \"for my brothers call me out of\nRocking-Horse Land; I hear my mare whinnying to her foals; and they all\ncry, seeking me through the ups and hollows of my native fastnesses!\nSweet Master, let me go this night, and I will return to you when it is\nday!\"\n\nThen Freedling said, \"How shall I know that you will return: and what\nname shall I call you by?\"\n\nAnd the rocking-horse answered, \"My name is Rollonde. Search my mane\ntill you find in it a white hair; draw it out and wind it upon one of\nyour fingers; and so long as you have it so wound you are my master;\nand wherever I am I must return at your bidding.\"\n\nSo the Prince drew down the rocking-horse's head, and searching the\nmane, he found the white hair, and wound it upon his finger and tied it.\nThen he kissed Rollonde between the eyes, saying, \"Go, Rollonde, since I\nlove you, and wish you to be happy; only return to me when it is day!\"\nAnd so saying, he threw open the window to the stir of the night.\n\nThen the rocking-horse lifted his dark head and neighed aloud for joy,\nand swaying forward with a mighty circling motion rose full into the\nair, and sprang out into the free world before him.\n\nFreedling watched how with plunge and curve he went over the bowed\ntrees; and again he neighed into the darkness of the night, then swifter\nthan wind disappeared in the distance. And faintly from far away came a\nsound of the neighing of many horses answering him.\n\nThen the Prince closed the window and crept back to bed; and all night\nlong he dreamed strange dreams of Rocking-Horse Land. There he saw\nsmooth hills and valleys that rose and sank without a stone or a tree to\ndisturb the steel-like polish of their surface, slippery as glass, and\ndriven over by a strong wind; and over them, with a sound like the\nhumming of bees, flew the rocking-horses. Up and down, up and down, with\nbright manes streaming like coloured fires, and feet motionless behind\nand before, went the swift pendulum of their flight. Their long bodies\nbowed and rose; their heads worked to give impetus to their going; they\ncried, neighing to each other over hill and valley, \"Which of us shall\nbe first? which of us shall be first?\" After them the mares with their\ntall foals came spinning to watch, crying also among themselves, \"Ah!\nwhich shall be first?\"\n\n\"Rollonde, Rollonde is first!\" shouted the Prince, clapping his hands as\nthey reached the goal; and at that, all at once, he woke and saw it was\nbroad day. Then he ran and threw open the window, and holding out the\nfinger that carried the white hair, cried, \"Rollonde, Rollonde, come\nback, Rollonde!\"\n\nFar away he heard an answering sound; and in another moment there came\nthe great rocking-horse himself, dipping and dancing over the hills. He\ncrossed the woods and cleared the palace-wall at a bound, and floating\nin through the window, dropped to rest at Prince Freedling's side,\nrocking gently to and fro as though panting from the strain of his long\nflight.\n\n\"Now are you happy?\" asked the Prince as he caressed him.\n\n\"Ah! sweet Prince,\" said Rollonde, \"ah, kind Master!\" And then he said\nno more, but became the still stock staring rocking-horse of the day\nbefore, with fixed eyes and rigid limbs, which could do nothing but rock\nup and down with a jangling of sweet bells so long as the Prince rode\nhim.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThat night Freedling came again when all was still in the palace; and\nnow as before Rollonde had moved from his place and was standing with\nhis head against the window waiting to be let out. \"Ah, dear Master,\"\nhe said, so soon as he saw the Prince coming, \"let me go this night\nalso, and surely I will return with day.\"\n\nSo again the Prince opened the window, and watched him disappear, and\nheard from far away the neighing of the horses in Rocking-Horse Land\ncalling to him. And in the morning with the white hair round his finger\nhe called \"Rollonde, Rollonde!\" and Rollonde neighed and came back to\nhim, dipping and dancing over the hills.\n\nNow this same thing happened every night; and every morning the horse\nkissed Freedling, saying, \"Ah! dear Prince and kind Master,\" and became\nstock still once more.\n\nSo a year went by, till one morning Freedling woke up to find it was his\nsixth birthday. And as six is to five, so were the presents he received\non his sixth birthday for magnificence and multitude to the presents he\nhad received the year before. His fairy godmother had sent him a bird, a\nreal live bird; but when he pulled its tail it became a lizard, and when\nhe pulled the lizard's tail it became a mouse, and when he pulled the\nmouse's tail it became a cat. Then he did very much want to see if the\ncat would eat the mouse, and not being able to have them both he got\nrather vexed with his fairy godmother. However, he pulled the cat's tail\nand the cat became a dog, and when he pulled the dog's the dog became a\ngoat; and so it went on till he got to a cow. And he pulled the cow's\ntail and it became a camel, and he pulled the camel's tail and it became\nan elephant, and still not being contented, he pulled the elephant's\ntail and it became a guinea-pig. Now a guinea-pig has no tail to pull,\nso it remained a guinea-pig, while Prince Freedling sat down and howled\nat his fairy godmother.\n\nBut the best of all his presents was the one given to him by the King\nhis father. It was a most beautiful horse, for, said the King, \"You are\nnow old enough to learn to ride.\"\n\nSo Freedling was put upon the horse's back, and from having ridden so\nlong upon his rocking-horse he learned to ride perfectly in a single\nday, and was declared by all the courtiers to be the most perfect\nequestrian that was ever seen.\n\nNow these praises and the pleasure of riding a real horse so occupied\nhis thoughts that that night he forgot all about Rollonde, and falling\nfast asleep dreamed of nothing but real horses and horsemen going to\nbattle. And so it was the next night too.\n\nBut the night after that, just as he was falling asleep, he heard\nsomeone sobbing by his bed, and a voice saying, \"Ah! dear Prince and\nkind Master, let me go, for my heart breaks for a sight of my native\nland.\" And there stood his poor rocking-horse Rollonde, with tears\nfalling out of his beautiful eyes on to the white coverlet.\n\nThen the Prince, full of shame at having forgotten his friend, sprang up\nand threw his arms round his neck saying, \"Be of good cheer, Rollonde,\nfor now surely I will let thee go!\" and he ran to the window and opened\nit for the horse to go through. \"Ah, dear Prince and kind Master!\" said\nRollonde. Then he lifted his head and neighed so that the whole palace\nshook, and swaying forward till his head almost touched the ground he\nsprang out into the night and away towards Rocking-Horse Land.\n\nThen Prince Freedling, standing by the window, thoughtfully unloosed the\nwhite hair from his finger, and let it float away into the darkness, out\nof sight of his eye or reach of his hand.\n\n\"Good-bye, Rollonde,\" he murmured softly, \"brave Rollonde, my own good\nRollonde! Go and be happy in your own land, since I, your Master, was\nforgetting to be kind to you.\" And far away he heard the neighing of\nhorses in Rocking-Horse Land.\n\nMany years after, when Freedling had become King in his father's stead,\nthe fifth birthday of the Prince his son came to be celebrated; and\nthere on the morning of the day, among all the presents that covered the\nfloor of the chamber, stood a beautiful foal rocking-horse, black, with\ndeep-burning eyes.\n\nNo one knew how it had come there, or whose present it was, till the\nKing himself came to look at it. And when he saw it so like the old\nRollonde he had loved as a boy, he smiled, and, stroking its dark mane,\nsaid softly in its ear, \"Art thou, then, the son of Rollonde?\" And the\nfoal answered him, \"Ah, dear Prince and kind Master!\" but never a word\nmore.\n\nThen the King took the little Prince his son, and told him the story of\nRollonde as I have told it here; and at the end he went and searched in\nthe foal's mane till he found one white hair, and, drawing it out, he\nwound it about the little Prince's finger, bidding him guard it well and\nbe ever a kind master to Rollonde's son.\n\nSo here is my story of Rollonde come to a good ending.\n\n\n\n\nJAPONEL\n\n\nTHERE was once upon a time a young girl named Japonel, the daughter of a\nwood-cutter, and of all things that lived by the woodside, she was the\nmost fair.\n\nHer hair in its net was like a snared sunbeam, and her face like a\nspring over which roses leaned down and birds hung fluttering to\ndrink--such being the in-dwelling presence of her eyes and her laughing\nlips and her cheeks.\n\nWhenever she crossed the threshold of her home, the birds and the\nflowers began calling to her, \"Look up, Japonel! Look down, Japonel!\"\nfor the sight of the sweet face they loved so much. The squirrel called\nover its bough, \"Look up, Japonel!\" and the rabbit from between the\nroots, \"Japonel, look down!\" And Japonel, as she went, looked up and\nlooked down, and laughed, thinking what a sweet-sounding place the world\nwas.\n\nHer mother, looking at her from day to day, became afraid: she said to\nthe wood-cutter, \"Our child is too fair; she will get no good of it.\"\n\nBut her husband answered, \"Good wife, why should it trouble you? What is\nthere in these quiet parts that can harm her? Keep her only from the\npond in the wood, lest the pond-witch see her and become envious.\"\n\n\"Do not go near water, or you may fall in!\" said her mother one day as\nshe saw Japonel bending down to look at her face in a rain-puddle by\nthe road.\n\nJaponel laughed softly. \"O silly little mother, how can I fall into a\npuddle that is not large enough for my two feet to stand in?\"\n\nBut the mother thought to herself, when Japonel grows older and finds\nthe pond in the wood, she will go there to look at her face, unless she\nhas something better to see it in at home. So from the next pedlar who\ncame that way she bought a little mirror and gave it to Japonel, that in\nit she might see her face with its spring-like beauty, and so have no\ncause to go near the pond in the wood. The lovely girl, who had never\nseen a mirror in her life, took the rounded glass in her hand and gazed\nfor a long time without speaking, wondering more and more at her own\nloveliness. Then she went softly away with it into her own chamber, and\nwishing to find a name for a thing she loved so much, she called it,\n\"Stream's eye,\" and hung it on the wall beside her bed.\n\nIn the days that followed, the door of her chamber would be often shut,\nand her face seldom seen save of herself alone. And \"Look up, Japonel!\nLook down, Japonel!\" was a sound she no longer cared to hear as she went\nthrough the woods; for the memory of \"Stream's eye\" was like a dream\nthat clung to her, and floated in soft ripples on her face.\n\nShe grew tall like an aspen, and more fair, but pale. Her mother said,\n\"Woe is me, for now I have made her vain through showing her her great\nbeauty.\" And to Japonel herself she said, \"Oh, my beautiful, my bright\ndarling, though I have made thee vain, I pray thee to punish me not. Do\nnot go near the pond in the wood to look in it, or an evil thing will\nhappen to thee.\" And Japonel smiled dreamily amid half-thoughts, and\nkissing her mother, \"Dear mother,\" she said, \"does 'Stream's eye' tell\nme everything of my beauty, or am I in other eyes still fairer?\" Then\nher mother answered sadly, \"Nay, but I trust the open Eye of God finds\nin thee a better beauty than thy mirror can tell thee of.\"\n\nJaponel, when she heard that answer, went away till she came to the pond\nin the wood. It lay down in a deep hollow, and drank light out of a\nclear sky, which, through a circle of dark boughs, ever looked down on\nit. \"Perhaps,\" she said to herself, \"it is here that God will open His\nEye and show me how much fairer I am than even 'Stream's eye' can tell\nme.\" But she thought once of her mother's words, and went by.\n\nThen she turned again, \"It is only that my mother fears lest I become\nvain. What harm can come if I do look once? it will be in my way home.\"\nSo she crept nearer and nearer to the pond, saying to herself, \"To see\nmyself once as fair as God sees me cannot be wrong. Surely that will not\nmake me more vain.\" And when she came through the last trees, and stood\nnear the brink, she saw before her a little old woman, dressed in green,\nkneeling by the water and looking in.\n\n\"There at least,\" she said to herself, \"is one who looks in without any\nharm happening to her. I wonder what it is she sees that she stays there\nso still.\" And coming a little nearer, \"Good dame,\" called Japonel,\n\"what is it you have found there, that you gaze at so hard?\" And the\nold woman, without moving or looking up, answered, \"My own face; but a\nhundred times younger and fairer, as it was in my youth.\"\n\nThen thought Japonel, \"How should I look now, who am fair and in the\nfull bloom of my youth? It is because my mother fears lest I shall\nbecome vain that she warned me.\" So she came quickly and knelt down by\nthe old woman and looked in. And even as she caught sight of her face\ngazing up, pale and tremulous (\"Quick, go away!\" its lips seemed to be\nsaying), the old woman slid down from the bank and caught hold of her\nreflection with green, weed-like arms, and drew it away into the pool's\nstill depths below. Beneath Japonel's face lay nothing now but blank\ndark water, and far away in, a faint face gazed back beseeching, and its\nlips moved with an imprisoned prayer that might not make itself heard.\nOnly three bubbles rose to the surface, and broke into three separate\nsighs like the shadow of her own name. Then the pond-witch stirred the\nmud, and all trace of that lost image went out, and Japonel was left\nalone.\n\nShe rose, expecting to see nothing, to be blind; but the woods were\nthere, night shadows were gathering to their tryst under the boughs, and\nbrighter stars had begun blotting the semi-brightness of the sky. All\nthe way home she went feebly, not yet resolved of the evil that had come\nupon her. She stole quietly to her own little room in the fading light,\nand took down \"Stream's eye\" from the wall. Then she fell forward upon\nthe bed, for all the surface of her glass was grown blank: never could\nshe hope to look upon her own face again.\n\nThe next morning she hung her head low, for she feared all her beauty\nwas flown from her, till she heard her father say, \"Wife, each day it\nseems to me our Japonel grows more fair.\" And her mother answered,\nsighing, \"She is too fair, I know.\"\n\nThen Japonel set out once more for the pond in the wood. As she went the\nbirds and the flowers sang to her, \"Look up, Japonel; look down,\nJaponel!\" but Japonel went on, giving them no heed. She came to the\nwater's side, and leaning over, saw far down in a tangle of green weeds\na face that looked back to hers, faint and blurred by the shimmering\nmovement of the water. Then, weeping, she wrung her hands and cried:\n\n          \"Ah! sweet face of Japonel,\n           Beauty and grace of Japonel,\n           Image and eyes of Japonel,\n           'Come back!' sighs Japonel.\"\n\nAnd bubble by bubble a faint answer was returned that broke like a sob\non the water's surface:\n\n          \"I am the face of Japonel,\n           The beauty and grace of Japonel;\n           Here under a spell, Japonel,\n           I dwell, Japonel.\"\n\nAll day Japonel cried so, and was so answered. Now and again, green\nweeds would come skimming to the surface, and seem to listen to her\nreproach, and then once more sink down to their bed in the pond's\ndepths, and lie almost still, waving long slimy fingers through the mud.\n\nThe next day Japonel came again, and cried as before:\n\n          \"Ah! sweet face of Japonel,\n           Beauty and grace of Japonel,\n           Image and eyes of Japonel,\n           'Come back!' cries Japonel.\"\n\nAnd her shadow in the water made answer:\n\n          \"I am the face of Japonel,\n           The beauty and grace of Japonel;\n           Here under a spell, Japonel,\n           I dwell, Japonel.\"\n\nNow as she sat and sorrowed she noticed that whenever a bird flew over\nthe pond it dropped something out of its mouth into the water, and\nlooking she saw millet-seeds lying everywhere among the weeds of its\nsurface; one by one they were being sucked under by the pond-witch.\n\nJaponel stayed so long by the side of the pond, that on her way home it\nhad fallen quite dark while she was still in the middle of the wood.\nThen all at once she heard a bird with loud voice cry out of the\ndarkness, \"Look up, Japonel!\" The cry was so sudden and so strange,\ncoming at that place and that hour, that all through her grief she heard\nit, and stopped to look up. Again in the darkness she heard the bird\ncry, \"Why do you weep, Japonel?\" Japonel said, \"Because the pond-witch\nhas carried away my beautiful reflection in the water, so that I can see\nmy own face no more.\"\n\nThen the bird said, \"Why have you not done as the birds do? She is\ngreedy; so they throw in millet-seeds, and then she does not steal the\nreflection of their wings when they pass over.\" And Japonel answered,\n\"Because I did not know that, therefore I am to-day the most miserable\nof things living.\" Then said the bird, \"Come to-morrow, and you shall be\nthe happiest.\"\n\nSo the next day Japonel went and sat by the pond in the wood, waiting to\nbe made the happiest, as the bird had promised her. All day long great\nflocks of birds went to and fro, and the pond became covered with seeds.\nJaponel looked; \"Why, they are poppy-seeds!\" she cried. (Now poppy-seeds\nwhen they are eaten make people sleep.) Just as the sun was setting all\nthe birds began suddenly to cry in chorus, \"Look down, Japonel! Japonel,\nlook down!\" And there, on the pond's surface, lay an old woman dressed\nin green, fast asleep, with all the folds of her dress and the wrinkles\nof her face full of poppy-seeds.\n\nThen Japonel ran fast to the pond's edge and looked down. Slowly from\nthe depth rose the pale beautiful reflection of herself, untying itself\nfrom the thin green weeds, and drifting towards the bank. It looked up\nwith tremulous greeting, half sadness, half pleasure, seeming so glad\nafter that long separation to return to its sweet mistress. So as it\ncame and settled below her own face in the water, Japonel stooped down\nover it and kissed it.\n\nThen she sprang back from the brink and ran home, fast, fast in the\nfading light. And there, when she looked in her mirror, was once more\nthe beautiful face she loved, a little blue and wan from its long\nimprisonment under water. And so it ever remained, beautiful, but wan,\nto remind her of the sorrow that had come upon her when, loving this too\nwell, she had not loved enough to listen to the cry of the birds: \"Look\nup, Japonel!\" and, \"Japonel, look down!\"\n\n\n\n\nGAMMELYN, THE DRESSMAKER\n\n\nTHERE was once upon a time a King's daughter who was about to be given\nin marriage to a great prince; and when the wedding-day was yet a long\nway off, the whole court began to concern itself as to how the bride was\nto be dressed. What she should wear, and how she should wear it, was the\nquestion debated by the King and his Court day and night, almost without\ninterruption. Whatever it was to be, it must be splendid, without peer.\nMust it be silk, or velvet, or satin; should it be enriched with\nbrocade, or with gems, or sewn thick with pearls?\n\nBut when they came to ask the Princess, she said, \"I will have only a\ndress of beaten gold, light as gossamer, thin as bee's-wing, soft as\nswan's-down.\"\n\nThen the King, calling his chief goldsmith, told him to make for the\nPrincess the dress of beaten gold. But the goldsmith knew no way how\nsuch a dress was to be made, and his answer to the King was, \"Sire, the\nthing is not to be done.\"\n\nThen the King grew very angry, for he said, \"What a Princess can find it\nin her head to wish, some man must find it in his wits to accomplish.\"\nSo he put the chief goldsmith in prison to think about it, and summoning\nall the goldsmiths in the kingdom, told them of the Princess's wish,\nthat a dress should be made for her of beaten gold. But every one of the\ngoldsmiths went down on his knees to the King, saying, \"Sire, the thing\nis not to be done.\" Thereupon the King clapped them all into prison,\npromising to cut off all their heads if in three weeks' time they had\nnot put them together to some purpose and devised a plan for making such\na dress as the Princess desired.\n\nNow just then Gammelyn was passing through the country, and when he\nheard of all this, he felt very sorry for the goldsmiths, who had done\nnothing wrong, but had told honest truth about themselves to the King.\nSo he set his bright wits to work, and at last said, \"I think I can save\nthe goldsmiths their heads, for I have found a way of making such a\ndress as this fine Princess desires.\"\n\nThen he went to the King and said, \"I have a way for making a dress of\nbeaten gold.\"\n\n\"But,\" said the King, \"have a care, for if you fail I shall assuredly\ncut off your head.\"\n\nAll the same Gammelyn took that risk willingly and set to work. And\nfirst he asked that the Princess would tell him what style of dress it\nshould be; and the Princess said, \"Beaten gold, light as gossamer, thin\nas bee's-wing, soft as swan's-down, and it must be made thus.\" So she\nshowed him of what fashion sleeve, and bodice, and train should be. Then\nGammelyn caused to be made (for he had a palace full of workers put\nunder him) a most lovely dress, in the fashion the Princess had named,\nof white cambric closely woven; and the Princess came wondering at him,\nsaying that it was to be only of beaten gold.\n\n\"You wait a while!\" said Gammelyn, for he had no liking for the\nPrincess. Then he asked the King for gold out of his treasury; but the\nKing supplied him instead with gold from the stores of the imprisoned\ngoldsmiths. So he put it in a sack, and carried it to a mill, and said\nto the miller, \"Grind me this sack full of gold into flour.\" At first\nthe miller stared at him for a madman, but when he saw the letter in\nGammelyn's hands which the King had written, and which said, \"I'll cut\noff your head if you don't!\" then he set to with a will, and ground the\ngold into fine golden flour. So Gammelyn shouldered his sack and jogged\nback to the palace. The next thing he did was to summon all the\ngold-beaters in the kingdom, which he did easily enough with the King's\nletter; for directly they saw the words \"I'll cut off your head if you\ndon't!\" and the King's signature beneath, they came running as fast as\ntheir legs could carry them, till all the streets which led up to the\npalace were full of them.\n\nThen Gammelyn chose a hundred of the strongest, and took them into the\nchamber where the wedding-dress was in making. And the dress he took and\nspread out on iron tables, and, sprinkling the golden flour all over it,\nset the men to beat day and night for a whole week. And at the end of\nthe week there was a splendid dress, that looked as if it were of pure\ngold only. But the Princess said, \"My dress must be _all_ gold, and no\npart cambric--this will not do.\" \"You wait!\" said Gammelyn, \"it is not\nfinished yet.\"\n\nThen he made a fire of sweet spices and sandalwood, jasmine, and\nmignonette; and into the fire he put the wonderful dress.\n\nThe Princess screamed with grief and rage; for she was in love with the\ndress, though she was so nice in holding him to the conditions of the\ndecree. But Gammelyn persevered, and what happened was this: the fire\nburnt away all the threads of the cambric, but was not hot enough to\nmelt the gold; and when all the cambric was burnt, then he drew out of\nthe fire a dress of beaten gold, light as gossamer, thin as bee's-wing,\nsoft as swan's-down, and fragrant as a wind when it blows through a\nSultan's garden.\n\nSo all the goldsmiths were set free from prison; and the King appointed\nGammelyn his chief goldsmith.\n\nBut when the Princess saw the dress, she was so beside herself with\npride and pleasure that she must have also a dress made of pearl, light\nas gossamer, thin as bee's-wing, soft as swan's-down. And the King sent\nfor all his jewellers, and told them that such a dress was to be made;\nbut they all went down on their bended knees, crying with one voice,\n\"Sire, the thing is not to be done.\" And all the good they got for that\nwas that they were clapped into prison till a way for doing it should be\nfound.\n\nThen the King said to Gammelyn, \"Since my jewellers cannot make this\ndress, you must do it!\" But Gammelyn said, \"Sire, that is not in our\nbargain.\" And the only answer the King had to that was, \"I'll cut off\nyour head if you don't.\"\n\nGammelyn sighed like a sea-shell; but determining to make the best of a\nbad business, he set to work.\n\nAnd, as before, he made a dress in the fashion the Princess chose, of\nthe finest weaving. He made each part separate; the two sleeves\nseparate, the body separate, the skirt and train separate. Then, at his\ndesire, the King commanded that all the oysters which were dredged out\nof the sea should be brought to him. Out of these he selected the five\nfinest oysters of all; each one was the size of a tea-tray. Then he put\nthem into a large tank and inside each shell he put one part of the\ndress--the weaving of which was so fine that there was plenty of room\nfor it, as well as for the oysters. And in course of time he drew out\nfrom each shell--from one the body, from one the skirt, from one the\ntrain, from one a sleeve, from another the other sleeve. Next he\nfastened each part together with thread, and put the whole dress back\ninto the tank; and into the mouth of one oyster he put the joinery of\nbody and skirt, and into the mouth of another the joinery of skirt and\ntrain, and into the mouth of two others the joinery of the two sleeves,\nand the fifth oyster he ate. So the oysters did their work, laying their\nsoft inlay over the gown, just as they laid it over the inside of their\nshells; and after a time Gammelyn drew forth a dress bright and\ngleaming, and pure mother-o'-pearl. But \"No,\" said the Princess, \"it\nmust be all pure pearl, with nothing of thread in it.\" But, \"Wait a\nwhile!\" said Gammelyn, \"I have not finished yet.\"\n\nSo by a decree of the King he caused to be gathered together all the\nmoths in the kingdom--millions of moths; and he put them all into a bare\niron room along with the dress, and sealed the doors and windows with\nred sealing-wax. The Princess wept and sighed for the dress: \"It will be\nall eaten,\" said she. \"Then I shall cut off his head,\" said the King.\nBut for all that, Gammelyn persevered.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAnd when he opened the door they found that every thread had been eaten\naway by the moths, while the mother-o'-pearl had been left uninjured. So\nthe dress was a perfect pearl, light as gossamer, thin as bee's-wing,\nsoft as swan's-down; and the King made Gammelyn his chief jeweller, and\nset all the other jewellers free.\n\nThen the Princess was so delighted that she wished to have one more\ndress also, made all of butterflies' wings. \"That were easily done,\"\nsaid Gammelyn, \"but it were cruel to ask for such a dress to be made.\"\n\nNevertheless the Princess would have it so, and _he_ should make it.\n\"I'll cut off your head if you don't,\" said the King.\n\nGammelyn bumbled like a bee; but all he said was, \"Many million\nbutterflies will be wanted for such a work: you must let me have again\nthe two dresses--the pearl, and the gold--for butterflies love bright\ncolours that gleam and shine; and with these alone can I gather them all\nto one place.\"\n\nSo the Princess gave him the two dresses; and he went to the highest\npart of the palace, out on to the battlements of the great tower. There\nhe faced towards the west, where lay a new moon, louting towards the\nsetting sun; and he laid the two robes, one on either arm, spreading\nthem abroad, till they looked like two wings--a gold and a pearl. And\na beam of the sun came and kissed the gold wing, and a pale quivering\nthread of moonlight touched the pearl wing; and Gammelyn sang:\n\n          \"Light of the moon,\n           Light of the sun,\n           Pearl of the sky,\n           Gold from on high,\n               Hearken to me!\n\n          \"Light of the moon,\n           Pearl of the sea,\n           Gold of the land\n           Here in my hand,\n               I render to thee.\n\n          \"Butterflies come!\n           Carry us home,\n           Gold of the gnome,\n               Pearl of the sea.\"\n\nAnd as he sang, out of the east came a soft muttering of wings and a\ndeep moving mass like a bright storm-cloud. And out of the sun ran a\nlong gold finger, and out of the moon a pale shivering finger of pearl,\nand touching the gold and the pearl, these became verily wings and not\nmillinery. Then before the Princess could scream more than once, or the\nKing say anything about cutting off heads, the bright cloud in the east\nbecame a myriad myriad of butterflies. And drawn by the falling flashing\nsun, and by the faint falling moon, and fanned by the million wings of\nhis fellow-creatures, Gammelyn sprang out from the palace wall on the\ncrest of the butterfly-wind, and flew away brighter and farther each\nmoment; and followed by his myriad train of butterflies, he passed out\nof sight, and in that country was never heard of again.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FEEDING OF THE EMIGRANTS\n\n\nOVER the sea went the birds, flying southward to their other home where\nthe sun was. The rustle of their wings, high overhead, could be heard\ndown on the water; and their soft, shrill twitterings, and the thirsty\nnibbling of their beaks; for the seas were hushed, and the winds hung\naway in cloud-land.\n\nFar away from any shore, and beginning to be weary, their eyes caught\nsight of a white form resting between sky and sea. Nearer they came,\ntill it seemed to be a great white bird, brooding on the calmed water;\nand its wings were stretched high and wide, yet it stirred not. And the\nwings had in themselves no motion, but stood rigidly poised over their\nown reflection in the water.\n\nThen the birds came curiously, dropping from their straight course, to\nwonder at the white wings that went not on. And they came and settled\nabout this great, bird-like thing, so still and so grand.\n\nOn to the deck crept a small child, for the noise of the birds had come\ndown to him in the hold. \"There is nobody at home but me,\" he said; for\nhe thought the birds must have come to call, and he wished to be polite.\n\"They are all gone but me,\" he went on; \"all gone. I am left alone.\"\n\nThe birds, none of them understood him; but they put their heads on one\nside and looked down on him in a friendly way, seeming to consider.\n\nHe ran down below and fetched up a pannikin of water and some biscuit.\nHe set the water down, and breaking the biscuit sprinkled it over the\nwhite deck. Then he clapped his hands to see them all flutter and crowd\nround him, dipping their bright heads to the food and drink he gave\nthem.\n\nThey might not stay long, for the water-logged ship could not help them\non the way they wished to go; and by sunset they must touch land again.\nAway they went, on a sudden, the whole crew of them, and the sound of\ntheir voices became faint in the bright sea-air.\n\n\"I am left alone!\" said the child.\n\nMany days ago, while he was asleep in a snug corner he had found for\nhimself, the captain and crew had taken to the boats, leaving the great\nship to its fate. And forgetting him because he was so small, or\nthinking that he was safe in some one of the other boats, the rough\nsailors had gone off without him, and he was left alone. So for a whole\nweek he had stayed with the ship, like a whisper of its vanished life\namid the blues of a deep calm. And the birds came to the ship only to\ndesert it again quickly, because it stood so still upon the sea.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nBut that night the mermen came round the vessel's side, and sang; and\nthe wind rose to their singing, and the sea grew rough. Yet the child\nslept with his head in dreams. The dreams came from the mermen's\nsongs, and he held his breath, and his heart stayed burdened by the deep\nsweetness of what he saw.\n\nDark and strange and cold the sea-valleys opened before him; blue\nsea-beasts ranged there, guarded by strong-finned shepherds, and fishes\nlike birds darted to and fro, but made no sound. And that was what\nburdened his heart,--that for all the beauty he saw, there was no sound,\nno song of a single bird to comfort him.\n\nThe mermen reached out their blue arms to him, and sang; on the top of\nthe waves they sang, striving to make him forget the silence of the land\nbelow. They offered him the sea-life: why should he be drowned and die?\n\nAnd now over him in the dark night the great wings crashed, and beat\nabroad in the wind, and the ship made great way. And the mermen swam\nfast to be with her, and ceased from their own song, for the wind\noverhead sang loud in the rigging and the sails. But the child lifted\nhis head in his sleep and smiled, for his soul was eased of the mermen's\nsong, and it seemed to him that instead he heard birds singing in a\nfar-off land, singing of a child whose loving hand had fed them, faint\nand weary, in their way over the wide ocean.\n\nIn that far southern land the dawn had begun, and the birds, waking one\nby one, were singing their story of him to the soft-breathing tamarisk\nboughs. And none of them knew how they had been sent as a salvage crew\nto save the child's spirit from the spell of the sea-dream, and to\ncarry it safely back to the land that loved him.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut with the child's body the white wings had flown down into the\nwave-buried valleys, and to a cleft of the sea-hills to rest.\n\n\n\n\nWHITE BIRCH\n\n\nONCE upon a time there lived in a wood a brother and sister who had been\nforgotten by all the world. But this thing did not greatly grieve their\nhearts, because they themselves were all the world to each other:\nmeeting or parting, they never forgot that. Nobody remained to tell them\nwho they were; but she was \"Little Sister,\" and he was \"Fair Brother,\"\nand those were the only names they ever went by.\n\nIn their little wattled hut they would have been perfectly happy but for\none thing which now and then they remembered and grieved over. Fair\nBrother was lame--not a foot could he put to the ground, nor take one\nstep into the outside world. But he lay quiet on his bed of leaves,\nwhile Little Sister went out and in, bringing him food and drink, and\nthe scent of flowers, and tales of the joy of earth and of the songs of\nbirds.\n\nOne day she brought him a litter of withered birch-leaves to soften his\nbed and make it warmer for the approaching season of cold; and all the\nwinter he lay on it, and sighed. Little Sister had never seen him so sad\nbefore.\n\nIn the spring, when the songs of the pairing birds began, his sorrow\nonly grew greater. \"Let me go out, let me go out,\" he cried; \"only a\nlittle way into the bright world before I die!\" She kissed his feet, and\ntook him up in her arms and carried him. But she could only go a very\nlittle way with her burden; presently she had to return and lay him\ndown again on his bed of leaves.\n\n\"Have I seen all the bright world?\" he asked. \"Is it such a little\nplace?\"\n\nTo hide her sorrow from him, Little Sister ran out into the woods, and\nas she went, wondering how to comfort his grief, she could not help\nweeping.\n\nAll at once at the foot of a tree she saw the figure of a woman seated.\nIt was strange, for she had never before seen anybody else in the wood\nbut themselves. The woman said to her, \"Why is it that you weep so?\"\n\n\"The heart of Fair Brother is breaking,\" replied Little Sister. \"It is\nbecause of that that I am weeping.\"\n\n\"Why is his heart breaking?\" inquired the other.\n\n\"I do not know,\" answered Little Sister. \"Ever since last autumn fell it\nhas been so. Always, before, he has been happy; he has no reason not to\nbe, only he is lame.\"\n\nShe had come close to the seated figure; and looking, she saw a woman\nwith a very white skin, in a robe and hood of deep grey. Grey eyes\nlooked back at her with just a soft touch in them of the green that\ncomes with the young leaves of spring.\n\n\"You are beautiful,\" said Little Sister, drawing in her breath.\n\n\"Yes, I am beautiful,\" answered the other. \"Why is Fair Brother lame?\nHas he no feet?\"\n\n\"Oh, beautiful feet!\" said Little Sister. \"But they are like still\nwater; they cannot run.\"\n\n\"If you want him to run,\" said the other, \"I can tell you what to do.\nWhat will you give me in exchange?\"\n\n\"Whatever you like to ask,\" answered Little Sister; \"but I am poor.\"\n\n\"You have beautiful hair,\" said the woman; \"will you let that go?\"\n\nLittle Sister stooped down her head, and let the other cut off her hair.\nThe wind went out of it with a sigh as it fell into the grey woman's\nlap. She hid it away under her robe, and said, \"Listen, Little Sister,\nand I will tell you! To-night is the new moon. If you can hold your\ntongue till the moon is full, the feet of Fair Brother shall run like a\nstream from the hills, dancing from rock to rock.\"\n\n\"Only tell me what I must do!\" said Little Sister.\n\n\"You see this birch-tree, with its silver skin?\" said the woman. \"Cut\noff two strips of it and weave them into shoes for Fair Brother. And\nwhen they are finished by the full moon, if you have not spoken, you\nhave but to put them upon Fair Brother's feet, and they will outrun\nyours.\"\n\nSo Little Sister, as the other had told her, cut off two strips from the\nbark of the birch-tree, and ran home as fast as she could to tell her\nbrother of the happiness which, with only a little waiting, was in store\nfor them.\n\nBut as she came near home, over the low roof she saw the new moon\nhanging like a white feather in the air; and, closing her lips, she went\nin and kissed Fair Brother silently.\n\nHe said, \"Little Sister, loose out your hair over me, and let me feel\nthe sweet airs; and tell me how the earth sounds, for my heart is sick\nwith sorrow and longing.\" She took his hand and laid it upon her heart\nthat he might feel its happy beating, but said no word. Then she sat\ndown at his feet and began to work at the shoes. All the birch-bark she\ncut into long strips fit for weaving, doing everything as the grey woman\nhad told her.\n\nFair Brother fretted at her silence, and cried, calling her cruel; but\nshe only kissed his feet, and went on working the faster. And the white\nbirch shoes grew under her hands; and every night she watched and saw\nthe moon growing round.\n\nFair Brother said, \"Little Sister, what have you done with your hair in\nwhich you used to fetch home the wind? And why do you never go and bring\nme flowers or sing me the song of the birds?\" And Little Sister looked\nup and nodded, but never answered or moved from her task, for her\nfingers were slow, and the moon was quick in its growing.\n\nOne night Fair Brother was lying asleep, and his head was filled with\ndreams of the outer world into which he longed to go. The full moon\nlooked in through the open door, and Little Sister laughed in her heart\nas she slipped the birch shoes on to his feet. \"Now run, dear feet,\" she\nwhispered; \"but do not outrun mine.\"\n\nUp in his sleep leapt Fair Brother, for the dream of the white birch had\nhold of him. A lady with a dark hood and grey eyes full of the laughter\nof leaves beckoned him. Out he ran into the moonlight, and Little Sister\nlaughed as she ran with him.\n\nIn a little while she called, \"Do not outrun me, Fair Brother!\" But he\nseemed not to hear her, for not a bit did he slacken the speed of his\nrunning.\n\nPresently she cried again, \"Rest with me a while, Fair Brother! Do not\noutrun me!\" But Fair Brother's feet were fleet after their long\nidleness, and they only ran the faster. \"Ah, ah!\" she cried, all out of\nbreath. \"Come back to me when you have done running, Fair Brother.\" And\nas he disappeared among the trees, she cried after him, \"How will you\nknow the way, since you were never here before? Do not get lost in the\nwood, Fair Brother!\"\n\nShe lay on the ground and listened, and could hear the white birch shoes\ncarrying him away till all sound of them died.\n\nWhen, next morning, he had not returned, she searched all day through\nthe wood, calling his name.\n\n\"Where are you, Fair Brother? Where have you lost yourself?\" she cried,\nbut no voice answered her.\n\nFor a while she comforted her heart, saying, \"He has not run all these\nyears--no wonder he is still running. When he is tired he will return.\"\n\nBut days and weeks went by, and Fair Brother never came back to her.\nEvery day she wandered searching for him, or sat at the door of the\nlittle wattled hut and cried.\n\nOne day she cried so much that the ground became quite wet with her\ntears. That night was the night of the full moon, but weary with grief\nshe lay down and slept soundly, though outside the woods were bright.\n\nIn the middle of the night she started up, for she thought she heard\nsomebody go by; and, surely, feet were running away in the distance. And\nwhen she looked out, there across the doorway was the print of the birch\nshoes on the ground she had made wet with her tears.\n\n\"Alas, alas!\" cried Little Sister. \"What have I done that he comes to\nthe very door of our home and passes by, though the moon shines in and\nshows it him?\"\n\nAfter that she searched everywhere through the forest to discover the\nprint of the birch shoes upon the ground. Here and there after rain she\nthought she could see traces, but never was she able to track them far.\n\nOnce more came the night of the full moon, and once more in the middle\nof the night Little Sister started up and heard feet running away in the\ndistance. She called, but no answer came back to her.\n\nSo on the third full moon she waited, sitting in the door of the hut,\nand would not sleep.\n\n\"If he has been twice,\" she said to herself, \"he will come again, and I\nshall see him. Ah, Fair Brother, Fair Brother, I have given you feet;\nwhy have you so used me?\"\n\nPresently she heard a sound of footsteps, and there came Fair Brother\nrunning towards her. She saw his face pale and ghostlike, yet he never\nlooked at her, but ran past and on without stopping.\n\n\"Fair Brother, Fair Brother, wait for me; do not outrun me!\" cried\nLittle Sister; and was up in haste to be after him.\n\nHe ran fast, and would not stop; but she ran fast too, for her love\nwould not let him go. Once she nearly had him by the hair, and once she\ncaught him by the cloak; but in her hand it shredded and crumbled like a\ndry leaf; and still, though there was no breath left in her, she ran on.\n\nAnd now she began to wonder, for Fair Brother was running the way that\nshe knew well--towards the tree from which she had cut the two strips of\nbark. Her feet were failing her; she knew that she could run no more.\nJust as they came together in sight of the birch-tree Little Sister\nstumbled and fell.\n\nShe saw Fair Brother run on and strike with his hands and feet against\nthe tree, and cry, \"Oh, White Birch, White Birch, lift the latch up, or\nshe will catch me!\" And at once the tree opened its rind, and Fair\nBrother ran in.\n\n\"So,\" said Little Sister, \"you are there, are you, Brother? I know,\nthen, what I have done to you.\"\n\nShe went and laid her ear to the tree, and inside she could hear Fair\nBrother sobbing and crying. It sounded to her as if White Birch were\nbeating him.\n\n\"Well, well, Fair Brother, she shall not beat you for long!\" said Little\nSister.\n\nShe went home and waited till the next full moon had come. Then, as soon\nas it was dark, she went along through the wood until she came to the\nplace, and there she crept close to the white birch-tree and waited.\n\nPresently she heard Fair Brother's voice come faintly out of the heart\nof the tree: \"White Birch, it is the full moon and the hour in which\nLittle Sister gave life to my feet. For one hour give me leave to go,\nthat I may run home and look at her while she sleeps. I will not stop or\nspeak, and I promise you that I will return.\"\n\nThen she heard the voice of White Birch answer grudgingly: \"It is her\nhour and I cannot hold you, therefore you may go. Only when you come\nagain I will beat you.\"\n\nThen the tree opened a little way, and Fair Brother ran out. He ran so\nquickly in his eager haste that Little Sister had not time to catch him,\nand she did not dare to call aloud. \"I must make sure,\" she said to\nherself, \"before he comes back. To-night White Birch will have to let\nhim go.\"\n\nSo she gathered as many dry pieces of wood as she could find, and made\nthem into a pile near at hand; and setting them alight, she soon had a\nbrisk fire burning.\n\nBefore long she heard the sound of feet in the brushwood, and there came\nFair Brother, running as hard as he could go, with the breath sobbing in\nand out of his body.\n\nLittle Sister sprang out to meet him, but as soon as he saw her he beat\nwith his hands and feet against the tree, crying, \"White Birch, White\nBirch, lift the latch up, or she will catch me!\"\n\nBut before the tree could open Little Sister had caught hold of the\nbirch shoes, and pulled them off his feet, and running towards the fire\nshe thrust them into the red heart of the embers.\n\nThe white birch shivered from head to foot, and broke into lamentable\nshrieks. The witch thrust her head out of the tree, crying, \"Don't,\ndon't! You are burning my skin! Oh, cruel! how you are burning me!\"\n\n\"I have not burned you enough yet,\" cried Little Sister; and raking the\nburning sticks and faggots over the ground, she heaped them round the\nfoot of the white birch-tree, whipping the flames to make them leap\nhigh.\n\nThe witch drew in her head, but inside she could be heard screaming. As\nthe flames licked the white bark she cried, \"Oh, my skin! You are\nburning my skin. My beautiful white skin will be covered with nothing\nbut blisters. Do you know that you are ruining my complexion?\"\n\nBut Little Sister said, \"If I make you ugly you will not be able to show\nyour face again to deceive the innocent, and to ruin hearts that were\nhappy.\"\n\nSo she piled on sticks and faggots till the outside of the birch-tree\nwas all black and scarred and covered with blisters, the marks of which\nhave remained to this day. And inside, the witch could be heard dancing\ntime to the music of the flames, and crying because of her ruined\ncomplexion.\n\nThen Little Sister stooped and took up Fair Brother in her arms. \"You\ncannot walk now,\" she whispered, \"I have taken away your feet; so I will\ncarry you.\"\n\nHe was so starved and thin that he was not very heavy, and all the long\nway home Little Sister carried him in her arms. How happy they were,\nlooking in each other's eyes by the clear light of the moon!\n\n\"Can you ever be happy again in the old way?\" asked Little Sister.\n\"Shall you not want to run?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Fair Brother; \"I shall never wish to run again. And as\nfor the rest\"--he stroked her head softly--\"why, I can feel that your\nhair is growing--it is ever so long, and I can see the wind lifting it.\nWhite Birch has no hair of her own, but she has some that she wears,\njust the same colour as yours.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE LUCK OF THE ROSES\n\n\nNOT far from a great town, in the midst of a well-wooded valley, lived a\nrose-gardener and his wife. All round the old home green sleepy hollows\nlay girdled by silver streams, long grasses bent softly in the wind, and\nthe half fabulous murmur of woods filled the air.\n\nUp in their rose-garden, on the valley's side facing the sun, the\ngardener and his wife lived contentedly sharing toil and ease. They had\nbeen young, they were not yet old; and though they had to be frugal they\ndid not call themselves poor. A strange fortune had belonged always to\nthe plot of ground over which they laboured; whether because the soil\nwas so rich, or the place so sheltered from cold, or the gardener so\nskilled in the craft, which had come down in his family from father to\nson, could not be known; but certainly it was true that his rose-trees\ngave forth better bloom and bore earlier and later through the season\nthan any others that were to be found in those parts.\n\nThe good couple accepted what came to them, simply and gladly, thanking\nGod. Perhaps it was from the kindness of fortune, or perhaps because the\nsweet perfume of the roses had mixed itself in their blood, that her man\nand his wife were so sweet-tempered and gentle in their ways. The colour\nof the rose was in their faces, and the colour of the rose was in their\nhearts; to her man she was the most beautiful and dearest of\nsweethearts, to his wife he was the best and kindest of lovers.\n\nEvery morning, before it was light, her man and his wife would go into\nthe garden and gather all the roses that were ripe for sale; then with\nfull baskets on their backs they would set out, and get to the market\njust as the level sunbeams from the east were striking all the vanes and\nspires of the city into gold. There they would dispose of their flowers\nto the florists and salesmen of the town, and after that trudge home\nagain to hoe, and dig, and weed, and water, and prune, and plant for the\nrest of the day. No man ever saw them the one without the other, and the\nthought that such a thing might some day happen was the only fear and\nsorrow of their lives.\n\nThat they had no children of their own was scarcely a sorrow to them.\n\"It seems to me,\" said her man after they had been married for some\nyears, \"that God means that our roses are to be our children since He\nhas made us love them so much. They will last when we are grown grey,\nand will support and comfort us in our old age.\"\n\nAll the roses they had were red, and varied little in kind, yet her man\nand his wife had a name for each of them; to every tree they had given a\nname, until it almost seemed that the trees knew, and tried to answer\nwhen they heard the voices which spoke to them.\n\n\"Jane Janet, and you ought to blossom more freely at your age!\" his wife\nmight say to one some evening as she went round and watered the flowers;\nand the next day, when the two came to their dark morning's gathering,\nJane Janet would show ten or twelve great blooms under the light of the\nlantern, every one of them the birth of a single night.\n\n\"Mary Maudlin,\" the gardener would say, as he washed the blight off a\nfavourite rose, \"to be sure, you are very beautiful, but did I not love\nyou so, you were more trouble than all your sisters put together.\" And\nthen all at once great dew-drops would come tumbling down out of Mary\nMaudlin's eyes at the tender words of his reproach. So day by day the\ncompanionable feet of the happy couple moved to and fro, always intent\non the nurture and care of their children.\n\nIn their garden they had bees too, who by strange art, unlike other\nbees, drew all their honey from the roses, and lived in a cone-thatched\nhive close to the porch; and that honey was famous through all the\ncountry-side, for its flavour was like no other honey made in the world.\n\nSometimes his wife said to her man, \"I think our garden is looked after\nfor us by some good Spirit; perhaps it is the Saints after whom we have\nnamed our rose-children.\"\n\nHer man made answer, \"It is rich in years, which, like an old wine, have\nmade it gain in flavour; it has been with us from father to son for\nthree hundred years, and that is a great while.\"\n\n\"A full fairy's lifetime!\" said his wife. \"'Tis a pity we shall not hand\nit on, being childless.\"\n\n\"When we two die,\" said her man, \"the roses will make us a grave and\nwatch over us.\" As he spoke a whole shower of petals fell from the\ntrees.\n\n\"Did no one pass, just then?\" said his wife.\n\nNow one morning, soon after this, in the late season of roses, her man\nhad gone before his wife into the garden, gathering for the market in\nthe grey dusk before dawn; and wherever he went moths and beetles came\nflocking to the light of his lantern, beating against its horn shutters\nand crying to get in. Out of each rose, as the light fell on it, winged\nthings sprang up into the darkness; but all the roses were bowed and\nheavy as if with grief. As he picked them from the stem great showers of\ndew fell out of them, making pools in the hollow of his palm.\n\nThere was such a sound of tears that he stopped to listen; and, surely,\nfrom all round the garden came the \"drip, drip\" of falling dew. Yet the\npathways under foot were all dry; there had been no rain and but little\ndew. Whence was it, then, that the roses so shook and sobbed? For under\nthe stems, surely, there was something that sobbed; and suddenly the\nlight of the lantern took hold of a beautiful small figure, about three\nfeet high, dressed in old rose and green, that went languidly from\nflower to flower. She lifted up such tired hands to draw their heads\ndown to hers; and to each one she kissed she made a weary little sound\nof farewell, her beautiful face broken up with grief; and now and then\nout of her lips ran soft chuckling laughter, as if she still meant to be\nglad, but could not.\n\nThe gardener broke into tears to behold a sight so pitiful; and his wife\nhad stolen out silently to his side, and was weeping too.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Drip, drip,\" went the roses: wherever she came and kissed, they all\nbegan weeping. The gardener and his wife knelt down and watched her; in\nand out, in and out, not a rose blossom did she miss. She came nearer\nand nearer, and at last was standing before them. She seemed hardly able\nto draw limb after limb, so weak was she; and her filmy garments hung\nheavy as chains.\n\nA little voice said in their ears, \"Kiss me, I am dying!\"\n\nThey tasted her breath of rose.\n\n\"Do not die!\" they said simply.\n\n\"I have lived three hundred years,\" she answered. \"Now I must die. I am\nthe Luck of the Roses, but I must leave them and die.\"\n\n\"When must you die?\" said her man and his wife.\n\nThe little lady said: \"Before the last roses are over; the chills of\nnight take me, the first frost will kill me. Soon I must die. Now I must\ndwindle and dwindle, for little life is left to me, and only so can I\nkeep warm. As life and heat grow less, so must I, till presently I am no\nmore.\"\n\nShe was a little thing already--not old, she did not seem old, but\ndelicate as a snowflake, and so weary. She laid her head in the hand of\nthe gardener's wife, and sobbed hard.\n\n\"You dear people, who belong so much to me too, I have watched over\nyou.\"\n\n\"Let us watch over you!\" said they. They lifted her like a\nfeather-weight, and carried her into the house. There, in the\ningle-nook, she sat and shivered, while they brought rose-leaves and\npiled round her; but every hour she grew less and less.\n\nPresently the sun shone full upon her from the doorway: its light went\nthrough her as through coloured glass; and her man and his wife saw,\nover the ingle behind her, shadows fluttering as of falling rose-petals:\nit was the dying rose of her life, falling without end.\n\nAll day long she dwindled and grew more weak and frail. Before sunset\nshe was smaller than a small child when it first comes into the world.\nThey set honey before her to taste, but she was too weary to uncurl her\ntiny hands: they lay like two white petals in the green lap of her gown.\nThe half-filled panniers of roses stood where they had been set down in\nthe porch: the good couple had taken nothing to the market that day. The\nluck of the house lay dying, for all their care; they could but sit and\nwatch.\n\nWhen the sun had set, she faded away fast: now she was as small as a\nyoung wren. The gardener's wife took her and held her for warmth in the\nhollow of her hand. Presently she seemed no more than a grasshopper: the\ntiny chirrup of her voice was heard, about the middle of the night,\nasking them to take her and lay her among the roses, in the heart of one\nof the red roses, that there she and death might meet sweetly at the\nlast.\n\nThey went together into the dark night, and felt their way among the\nroses; presently they quite lost her tiny form: she had slipped away\ninto the heart of a Jane Janet rose.\n\nThe gardener and his wife went back into the house and sat waiting: they\ndid not know for what, but they were too sad at heart to think just then\nof sleep.\n\nSoon the first greys of morning began to steal over the world; pale\nshivers ran across the sky, and one bird chirped in its sleep among the\ntrees.\n\nAll at once there rang a soft sound of lamentation among the roses in\nthe rose-garden; again and again, like the cry of many gentle wounded\nthings in pain. The gardener and his wife went and opened the door: they\nhad to tell the bees of the fairy's death. They looked out under the\ntwilight, into the garden they loved. \"Drip,\" \"drip,\" \"drip\" came the\nsound of steady weeping under the leaves. Peering out through the\nshadows they saw all the rose-trees rocking softly for grief.\n\n\"Snow?\" said his wife to her man.\n\nBut it was not snow.\n\nUnder the dawn all the roses in the garden had turned white; for they\nknew that the fairy was dead.\n\nThe gardener and his wife woke the bees, and told them of the fairy's\ndeath; then they looked in each other's faces, and saw that they, too,\nhad become white and grey.\n\nWith gentle eyes the old couple took hands, and went down into the\ngarden to gather white roses for the market.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WHITE DOE\n\n\nONE day, as the king's huntsman was riding in the forest, he came to a\nsmall pool. Fallen leaves covering its surface had given it the colour\nof blood, and knee-deep in their midst stood a milk-white doe drinking.\n\nThe beauty of the doe set fire to the huntsman's soul; he took an arrow\nand aimed well at the wild heart of the creature. But as he was loosing\nthe string the branch of a tree overhanging the pool struck him across\nthe face, and caught hold of him by the hair; and arrow and doe vanished\naway together into the depths of the forest.\n\nNever until now, since he entered the king's service, had the huntsman\nmissed his aim. The thought of the white doe living after he had willed\nits death inflamed him with rage; he could not rest till he had brought\nhounds to the trail, determined to follow until it had surrendered to\nhim its life.\n\nAll day, while he hunted, the woods stayed breathless, as if to watch;\nnot a blade moved, not a leaf fell. About noon a red deer crossed his\npath; but he paid no heed, keeping his hounds only to the white doe's\ntrail.\n\nAt sunset a fallow deer came to disturb the scent, and through the\ntwilight, as it deepened, a grey wolf ran in and out of the underwood.\nWhen night came down, his hounds fled from his call, following through\ntangled thickets a huge black boar with crescent tusks. So he found\nhimself alone, with his horse so weary that it could scarcely move.\n\nBut still, though the moon was slow in its rising, the fever of the\nchase burned in the huntsman's veins, and caused him to press on. For\nnow he found himself at the rocky entrance of a ravine whence no way\nled; and the white doe being still before him, he made sure that he\nwould get her at last. So when his horse fell, too tired to rise again,\nhe dismounted and forced his way on; and soon he saw before him the\nwhite doe, labouring up an ascent of sharp crags, while closer and\nhigher the rocks rose and narrowed on every side. Presently she had\nleapt high upon a boulder that shook and swayed as her feet rested, and\nahead the wall of rocks had joined so that there was nowhere farther\nthat she might go.\n\nThen the huntsman notched an arrow, and drew with full strength, and let\nit go. Fast and straight it went, and the wind screamed in the red\nfeathers as they flew; but faster the doe overleapt his aim, and,\nspurning the stone beneath, down the rough-bouldered gully sent it\nthundering, shivering to fragments as it fell. Scarcely might the\nhuntsman escape death as the great mass swept past: but when the danger\nwas over he looked ahead, and saw plainly, where the stone had once\nstood, a narrow opening in the rock, and a clear gleam of moonlight\nbeyond.\n\nThat way he went, and passing through, came upon a green field, as full\nof flowers as a garden, duskily shining now, and with dark shadows in\nall its folds. Round it in a great circle the rocks made a high wall, so\nhigh that along their crest forest-trees as they clung to look over\nseemed but as low-growing thickets against the sky.\n\nThe huntsman's feet stumbled in shadow and trod through thick grass into\na quick-flowing streamlet that ran through the narrow way by which he\nhad entered. He threw himself down into its cool bed, and drank till he\ncould drink no more. When he rose he saw, a little way off, a small\ndwelling-house of rough stone, moss-covered and cosy, with a roof of\nwattles which had taken root and pushed small shoots and clusters of\ngrey leaves through their weaving. Nature, and not man, seemed there to\nhave been building herself an abode.\n\nBefore the doorway ran the stream, a track of white mist showing where\nit wound over the meadow; and by its edge a beautiful maiden sat, and\nwas washing her milk-white feet and arms in the wrinkling eddies.\n\nTo the huntsman she became all at once the most beautiful thing that the\nworld contained; all the spirit of the chase seemed to be in her blood,\nand each little movement of her feet made his heart jump for joy. \"I\nhave looked for you all my life!\" thought he, as he halted and gazed,\nnot daring to speak lest the lovely vision should vanish, and the memory\nof it mock him for ever.\n\nThe beautiful maiden looked up from her washing. \"Why have you come\nhere?\" said she.\n\nThe huntsman answered her as he believed to be the truth, \"I have come\nbecause I love you!\"\n\n\"No,\" she said, \"you came because you wanted to kill the white doe. If\nyou wish to kill her, it is not likely that you can love me.\"\n\n\"I do not wish to kill the white doe!\" cried the huntsman; \"I had not\nseen you when I wished that. If you do not believe that I love you, take\nmy bow and shoot me to the heart; for I will never go away from you\nnow.\"\n\nAt his word she took one of the arrows, looking curiously at the red\nfeathers, and to test the sharp point she pressed it against her breast.\n\"Have a care!\" cried the hunter, snatching it back. He drew his breath\nsharply and stared. \"It is strange,\" he declared; \"a moment ago I almost\nthought that I saw the white doe.\"\n\n\"If you stay here to-night,\" said the maiden, \"about midnight you will\nsee the white doe go by. Take this arrow, and have your bow ready, and\nwatch! And if to-morrow, when I return, the arrow is still unused in\nyour hand, I will believe you when you say that you love me. And you\nhave only to ask, and I will do all that you desire.\"\n\nThen she gave the huntsman food and drink and a bed of ferns upon which\nto rest. \"Sleep or wake,\" said she as she parted from him; \"if truly you\nhave no wish to kill the white doe, why should you wake? Sleep!\"\n\n\"I do not wish to kill the white doe,\" said the huntsman. Yet he could\nnot sleep: the memory of the one wild creature which had escaped him\nstung his blood. He looked at the arrow which he held ready, and grew\nthirsty at the sight of it. \"If I see, I must shoot!\" cried his hunter's\nheart. \"If I see, I must not shoot!\" cried his soul, smitten with love\nfor the beautiful maiden, and remembering her word. \"Yet, if I see, I\nknow I must shoot--so shall I lose all!\" he cried as midnight\napproached, and the fever of long waiting remained unassuaged.\n\nThen with a sudden will he drew out his hunting-knife, and scored the\npalms of his two hands so deeply that he could no longer hold his bow or\ndraw the arrow upon the string. \"Oh, fair one, I have kept my word to\nyou!\" he cried as midnight came. \"The bow and the arrow are both ready.\"\n\nLooking forth from the threshold by which he lay, he saw pale moonlight\nand mist making a white haze together on the outer air. The white doe\nran by, a body of silver; like quicksilver she ran. And the huntsman,\nthe passion to slay rousing his blood, caught up arrow and bow, and\ntried in vain with his maimed hands to notch the shaft upon the string.\n\nThe beautiful creature leapt lightly by, between the curtains of\nmoonbeam and mist; and as she went she sprang this way and that across\nthe narrow streamlet, till the pale shadows hid her altogether from his\nsight. \"Ah! ah!\" cried the huntsman, \"I would have given all my life to\nbe able to shoot then! I am the most miserable man alive; but to-morrow\nI will be the happiest. What a thing is love, that it has known how to\nconquer in me even my hunter's blood!\"\n\nIn the morning the beautiful maiden returned; she came sadly. \"I gave\nyou my word,\" said she: \"here I am. If you have the arrow still with you\nas it was last night, I will be your wife, because you have done what\nnever huntsman before was able to do--not to shoot at the white doe when\nit went by.\"\n\nThe huntsman showed her the unused arrow; her beauty made him altogether\nhappy. He caught her in his arms, and kissed her till the sun grew high.\nThen she brought food and set it before him; and taking his hand, \"I am\nyour wife,\" said she, \"and with all my heart my will is to serve you\nfaithfully. Only, if you value your happiness, do not shoot ever at the\nwhite doe.\" Then she saw that there was blood on his hand, and her face\ngrew troubled. She saw how the other hand also was wounded. \"How came\nthis?\" she asked; \"dear husband, you were not so hurt yesterday.\"\n\nAnd the huntsman answered, \"I did it for fear lest in the night I should\nfail, and shoot at the white doe when it came.\"\n\nHearing that, his wife trembled and grew white. \"You have tricked us\nboth,\" she said, \"and have not truly mastered your desire. Now, if you\ndo not promise me on your life and your soul, or whatever is dearer,\nnever to shoot at a white doe, sorrow will surely come of it. Promise\nme, and you shall certainly be happy!\"\n\nSo the huntsman promised faithfully, saying, \"On your life, which is\ndearer to me than my own, I give you my word to keep that it shall be\nso.\" Then she kissed him, and bound up his wounds with healing herbs;\nand to look at her all that day, and for many days after, was better to\nhim than all the hunting the king's forest could provide.\n\nFor a whole year they lived together in perfect happiness, and two\nchildren came to bless their union--a boy and a girl born at the same\nhour. When they were but a month old they could run; and to see them\nleaping and playing before the door of their home made the huntsman's\nheart jump for joy. \"They are forest-born, and they come of a hunter's\nblood; that is why they run so early, and have such limbs,\" said he.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered his wife, \"that is partly why. When they grow older they\nwill run so fast--do not mistake them for deer if ever you go hunting.\"\n\nNo sooner had she said the word than the memory of it, which had slept\nfor a whole year, stirred his blood. The scent of the forest blew up\nthrough the rocky ravine, which he had never repassed since the day when\nhe entered, and he laid his hands thoughtfully on the weapons he no\nlonger used.\n\nSuch restlessness took hold of him all that day that at night he slept\nill, and, waking, found himself alone with no wife at his side. Gazing\nabout the room, he saw that the cradle also was empty. \"Why,\" he\nwondered, \"have they gone out together in the middle of the night?\"\n\nYet he gave it little more thought, and turning over, fell into a\ntroubled sleep, and dreamed of hunting and of the white doe that he had\nseen a year before stooping to drink among the red leaves that covered\nthe forest pool.\n\nIn the morning his wife was by his side, and the little ones lay asleep\nupon their crib. \"Where were you,\" he asked, \"last night? I woke, and\nyou were not here.\"\n\nHis wife looked at him tenderly, and sighed. \"You should shut your eyes\nbetter,\" said she. \"I went out to see the white doe, and the little ones\ncame also. Once a year I see her; it is a thing I must not miss.\"\n\nThe beauty of the white doe was like strong drink to his memory: the\nbeautiful limbs that had leapt so fast and escaped--they alone, of all\nthe wild life in the world, had conquered him. \"Ah!\" he cried, \"let me\nsee her, too; let her come tame to my hand, and I will not hurt her!\"\n\nHis wife answered: \"The heart of the white doe is too wild a thing; she\ncannot come tame to the hand of any hunter under heaven. Sleep again,\ndear husband, and wake well! For a whole year you have been sufficiently\nhappy; the white doe would only wound you again in your two hands.\"\n\nWhen his wife was not by, the hunter took the two children upon his\nknee, and said, \"Tell me, what was the white doe like? what did she do?\nand what way did she go?\"\n\nThe children sprang off his knee, and leapt to and fro over the stream.\n\"She was like this,\" they cried, \"and she did this, and this was the\nway she went!\" At that the hunter drew his hand over his brow. \"Ah,\" he\nsaid, \"I seemed then almost to see the white doe.\"\n\nLittle peace had he from that day. Whenever his wife was not there he\nwould call the little ones to him, and cry, \"Show me the white doe and\nwhat she did.\" And the children would leap and spring this way and that\nover the little stream before the door, crying, \"She was like this, and\nshe did this, and this was the way she went!\"\n\nThe huntsman loved his wife and children with a deep affection, yet he\nbegan to have a dread that there was something hidden from his eyes\nwhich he wished yet feared to know. \"Tell me,\" he cried one day, half in\nwrath, when the fever of the white doe burned more than ever in his\nblood, \"tell me where the white doe lives, and why she comes, and when\nnext. For this time I must see her, or I shall die of the longing that\nhas hold of me!\" Then, when his wife would give no answer, he seized his\nbow and arrows and rushed out into the forest, which for a whole year\nhad not known him, slaying all the red deer he could find.\n\nMany he slew in his passion, but he brought none of them home, for\nbefore the end a strange discovery came to him, and he stood amazed,\ndropping the haunch which he had cut from his last victim. \"It is a\nwhole year,\" he said to himself, \"that I have not tasted meat; I, a\nhunter, who love only the meat that I kill!\"\n\nReturning home late, he found his wife troubling her heart over his long\nabsence. \"Where have you been?\" she asked him, and the question inflamed\nhim into a fresh passion.\n\n\"I have been out hunting for the white doe,\" he cried; \"and she carries\na spot in her side where some day my arrow must enter. If I do not find\nher I shall die!\"\n\nHis wife looked at him long and sorrowfully; then she said: \"On your\nlife and soul be it, and on mine also, that your anger makes me tell\nwhat I would have kept hidden. It is to-night that she comes. Now it\nremains for you to remember your word once given to me!\"\n\n\"Give it back to me!\" he cried; \"it is my fate to finish the quest of\nthe white doe.\"\n\n\"If I give it,\" said she, \"your happiness goes with it, and mine, and\nthat of our children.\"\n\n\"Give it back to me!\" he said again; \"I cannot live unless I may master\nthe white doe! If she will come tame to my hand, no harm shall happen to\nher.\"\n\nAnd when she denied him again, he gave her his bow and arrows, and bade\nher shoot him to the heart, since without his word rendered back to him\nhe could not live.\n\nThen his wife took both his hands and kissed them tenderly, and with\nloud weeping quickly set him free of his promise. \"As well,\" said she,\n\"ask the hunter to go bound to the lion's den as the white doe to come\ntame into your keeping; though she loved you with all her heart, you\ncould not look at her and not be her enemy.\" She gazed on him with full\naffection, and sighed deeply. \"Lie down for a little,\" she said, \"and\nrest; it is not till midnight that she comes. When she comes I will wake\nyou.\"\n\nShe took his head in her hands and set it upon her knee, making him lie\ndown. \"If she will come and stand tame to my hand,\" he said again, \"then\nI will do her no harm.\"\n\nAfter a while he fell asleep; and, dreaming of the white doe, started\nawake to find it was already midnight, and the white doe standing there\nbefore him. But as soon as his eyes lighted on her they kindled with\nsuch fierce ardour that she trembled and sprang away out of the door and\nacross the stream. \"Ah, ah, white doe, white doe!\" cried the wind in the\nfeathers of the shaft that flew after her.\n\nJust at her leaping of the stream the arrow touched her; and all her\nbody seemed to become a mist that dissolved and floated away, broken\ninto thin fragments over the fast-flowing stream.\n\nBy the hunter's side his wife lay dead, with an arrow struck into her\nheart. The door of the house was shut; it seemed to be only an evil\ndream from which he had suddenly awakened. But the arrow gave real\nsubstance to his hand: when he drew it out a few true drops of blood\nflowed after. Suddenly the hunter knew all he had done. \"Oh, white doe,\nwhite doe!\" he cried, and fell down with his face to hers.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAt the first light of dawn he covered her with dry ferns, that the\nchildren might not see how she lay there dead. \"Run out,\" he cried to\nthem, \"run out and play! Play as the white doe used to do!\" And the\nchildren ran out and leapt this way and that across the stream, crying,\n\"She was like this, and she did this, and this was the way she went!\"\n\nSo while they played along the banks of the stream, the hunter took up\nhis beautiful dead wife and buried her. And to the children he said,\n\"Your mother has gone away; when the white doe comes she will return\nalso.\"\n\n\"She was like this,\" they cried, laughing and playing, \"and she did\nthis, and this was the way she went!\" And all the time as they played he\nseemed to see the white doe leaping before him in the sunlight.\n\nThat night the hunter lay sleepless on his bed, wishing for the world to\nend; but in the crib by his side the two children lay in a sound\nslumber. Then he saw plainly in the moonlight, the white doe with a red\nmark in her side, standing still by the doorway. Soon she went to where\nthe young ones were lying, and, as she touched the coverlet softly with\nher right fore-foot, all at once two young fawns rose up from the ground\nand sprang away into the open, following where the white doe beckoned\nthem.\n\nNor did they ever return. For the rest of his life the huntsman stayed\nwhere they left him, a sorrowful and lonely man. In the grave where lay\nthe woman's form he had slain he buried his bow and arrows far from the\nsight of the sun or the reach of his own hand; and coming to the place\nnight by night, he would watch the mists and the moonrise, and cry,\n\"White doe, white doe, will you not some day forgive me?\" and did not\nknow that she had forgiven him then when, before she died, she kissed\nhis two hands and made him sleep for the last time with his head on her\nknee.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MOON-STROKE\n\n\nIN the hollow heart of an old tree a Jackdaw and his wife had made\nthemselves a nest. As soon as the mother of his eggs had finished\nlaying, she sat waiting patiently for something to come of it. One by\none five mouths poked out of the shells, demanding to be fed; so for\nweeks the happy couple had to be continually in two places at once\nsearching for food to satisfy them.\n\nPresently the wings of the young ones grew strong; they could begin to\nfly about; and the parents found time for a return to pleasuring and\ncuriosity-hunting. They began gathering in a wise assortment of broken\nglass and chips of platter to grace the corners of their dwelling. All\nbut the youngest Jackdaw were enchanted with their unutterable beauty\nand value; they were never tired of quarrelling over the possession and\narrangement of them.\n\n\"But what are they for?\" asked the youngest, a perverse bird who kept\nhimself apart from the rest, and took no share in their daily\nsquabblings.\n\nThe mother-bird said: \"They are beautiful, and what God intended for us:\ntherefore they must be true. We may not see the use of them yet, but no\ndoubt some day they will come true.\"\n\nThe little Jackdaw said: \"Their corners scratch me when I want to go to\nsleep; they are far worse than crumbs in the bed. All the other birds do\nwithout them--why should not we?\"\n\n\"That is what distinguishes us from the other birds!\" replied the\nJanedaw, and thanked her stars that it was so.\n\n\"I wish we could sing!\" sighed the littlest young Jackdaw.\n\n\"Babble, babble!\" replied his mother angrily.\n\nAnd then, as it was dinner-time, he forgot his grief, as they all said\ngrace and fell-to.\n\nOne evening the old Jackdaw came home very late, carrying something that\nburned bright and green, like an evening star; all the nest shone where\nhe set it down.\n\n\"What do you think of that for a discovery?\" he said to the Janedaw.\n\n\"Think?\" she said; \"I can't. Some of it looks good to eat; but that\nfire-patch at the end would burn one's inside out.\"\n\nPresently the Jackdaw family settled itself down to sleep; only the\nyoungest one sat up and watched. Now he had seen something beautiful.\nWas it going to come true? Its light was like the song of the\nnightingale in the leaves overhead: it glowed, and throbbed, and grew\nstrong, flooding the whole place where it lay.\n\nSoon, in the silence, he heard a little wail of grief: \"Why have they\ncarried me away here,\" sighed the glow-worm, \"out of the tender grass\nthat loves the ground?\"\n\nThe littlest Jackdaw listened with all his heart. Now something at last\nwas going to become true, without scratching his legs and making him\nfeel as though crumbs were in his bed.\n\nA little winged thing came flying down to the green light, and two\nvoices began crying together--the glow-worm and its mate.\n\n\"They have carried you away?\"\n\n\"They have carried me away; up here I shall die!\"\n\n\"I am too weak to lift you,\" said the one with wings; \"you will stay\nhere, and you will die!\" Then they cried yet more.\n\n\"It seems to me,\" thought the Jackdaw, \"that as soon as the beautiful\nbecomes true, God does not intend it to be for us.\" He got up softly\nfrom among his brothers. \"I will carry you down,\" he said. And without\nmore ado, he picked it up and carried it down out of the nest, and laid\nit in the long grass at the foot of the tree.\n\nOverhead the nightingale sang, and the full moon shone; its rays struck\ndown on the little Jackdaw's head.\n\nFor a bird that is not a nightingale to wake up and find its head\nunprotected under the rays of a full moon is serious: there and then he\nbecame moon-struck. He went back into bed; but he was no longer the same\nlittle Jackdaw. \"Oh, I wish I could sing!\" he thought; and not for hours\ncould he get to sleep.\n\nIn the morning, when the family woke up, the beautiful and the true was\ngone. The father Jackdaw thought he must have swallowed it in his sleep.\n\n\"If you did,\" said his wife, \"there'll be a smell of burnt feathers\nbefore long!\"\n\nBut the littlest Jackdaw said, \"It came true, and went away, because it\nwas never intended for us.\"\n\nNow some days after this the old Jackdaw again came carrying something\nthat shone like an evening star--a little spike of gold with a burning\nemerald set in the end of it. \"And what do you think of that?\" said he\nto his wife.\n\n\"I daren't come near it,\" she answered, \"for fear it should burn me!\"\n\nThat night the little Jackdaw lay awake, while all the others slept,\nwaiting to hear the green stone break out into sorrow, and to see if its\nwinged mate would come seeking it. But after hours had gone, and nothing\nstirred or spoke, he slipped softly out of the nest, and went down to\nsearch for the poor little winged mate who must surely be about\nsomewhere.\n\nAnd now, truly, among the grasses and flowers he heard something sobbing\nand sighing; a little winged thing darted into sight and out again,\nsearching the ground like a dragon-fly at quest. And all the time, amid\nthe darting and humming of its wings, came sobbing and wringing of\nhands.\n\nThe young Jackdaw called: \"Little wings, what have you lost? Is it not a\nspike with a green light at the end of it?\"\n\n\"My wand, my wand!\" cried the fairy, beside herself with grief. \"Just\nabout sunset I was asleep in an empty wren's nest, and when I woke up my\nwand was gone!\"\n\nThen the little Jackdaw, being moon-struck, and not knowing the value of\nthings, flew up to the nest and brought back the fairy her wand.\n\n\"Oh!\" she cried, \"you have saved my life!\" And she thanked the Jackdaw\ntill he grew quite modest and shy.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"What is it for? What can you do with it?\" he asked.\n\n\"With this,\" she answered, \"I can make anything beautiful come true! I\ncan give you whatever you ask; you have but to ask, and you shall have.\"\n\nThen the little Jackdaw, being moon-struck, and not knowing the value of\nthings, said, \"Oh, if I could only sing like a nightingale!\"\n\n\"You can!\" said the fairy, waving her wand but once; and immediately\nsomething like a melodious sneeze flew into his head and set it shaking.\n\n\"Chiou! chiou! True-true-true-true! Jug! jug! Oh, beautiful! beautiful!\"\nHis beak went dabbling in the sweet sound, rippling it this way and\nthat, spraying it abroad out of his blissful heart as a jewel throws out\nits fires.\n\nThe fairy was gone; but the little Jackdaw sprang up into the high elm,\nand sang on endlessly through the whole night.\n\nAt dawn he stopped, and looking down, there he saw the family getting\nready for breakfast, and wondering what had become of him.\n\nJust as they were saying grace he flew in, his little heart beating with\njoy over his new-found treasure. What a jewel of a voice he had: better\nthan all the pieces of glass and chips of platter lying down there in\nthe nest! As soon as the parent-birds had finished grace, he lifted his\nvoice and thanked God that the thing he had wished for had become true.\n\nNone of them understood what he said, but they paid him plenty of\nattention. All his brothers and sisters put up their heads and giggled,\nas the young do when one of their number misbehaves.\n\n\"Don't make that noise!\" said his mother; \"it's not decent!\"\n\n\"It's low!\" said the father-bird.\n\nThe littlest young Jackdaw was overwhelmed with astonishment. When he\ntried to explain, his unseemly melodies led to his immediate expulsion\nfrom the family circle. Such noises, he was told, could only be made in\nprivate; when he had quite got over them he might come back,--but not\nuntil.\n\nHe never got over them; so he never came back. For a few days he hid\nhimself in different trees of the garden, and sang the praises of\nsorrow; but his family, though they comprehended him not, recognised his\nnote, and came searching him with beak and claw, and drove him out so as\nnot to have him near them committing such scandalous noises to the ears\nof the public.\n\n\"He lies in his throat!\" said the old Jackdaw. \"Everything he says he\ngarbles. If he is our son he must have been hatched on the wrong side of\nthe nest!\"\n\nAfter that, wherever he went, all the birds jeered at and persecuted\nhim. Even the nightingales would not listen to his brotherly voice. They\nmade fun of his black coat, and called him a Nonconformist without a\nconscience. \"All this has come about,\" thought he, \"because God never\nmeant anything beautiful to come true.\"\n\nOne day a man who saw him and heard him singing, caught him, and took\nhim round the world in a cage for show. The value of him was\ndiscovered. Great crowds came to see the little Jackdaw, and to hear him\nsing. He was described now as the \"Amphabulous Philomel, or the\nMongrel-Minstrel\"; but it gave him no joy.\n\nBefore long he had become what we call tame--that is to say, his wings\nhad been clipped; he was allowed out of his cage, because he could no\nlonger fly away, and he sang when he was told, because he was whipped if\nhe did not.\n\nOne day there was a great crowd round the travelling booth where he was\non view: the showman had a new wonder which he was about to show to the\npeople. He took the little Jackdaw out of his cage, and set him to perch\nupon his shoulder, while he busied himself over something which he was\ntaking carefully out of ever so many boxes and coverings.\n\nThe Jackdaw's sad eye became attracted by a splendid scarf-pin that the\nshowman wore--a gold pin set with a tiny emerald that burned like fire.\nThe bird thought, \"Now if only the beautiful could become true!\"\n\nAnd now the showman began holding up a small glass bottle for the crowd\nto stare into. The people were pushing this way and that to see what\nmight be there.\n\nAt the bottom sat the little fairy, without her wand, weeping and\nbeating her hands on the glass.\n\nThe showman was so proud he grew red in the face, and ran shouting up\nand down the plank, shaking and turning the bottle upside down now and\nthen, so as to make the cabined fairy use her wings, and buzz like a fly\nagainst the glass.\n\nThe Jackdaw waggled unsteadily at his perch on the man's shoulder. \"Look\nat him!\" laughed someone in the crowd, \"he's going to steal his master's\nscarf-pin.\"\n\n\"Ho, ho, ho!\" shouted the showman. \"See this bird now! See the\nmarvellous mongrel nature of the beast! Who tells me he's only a\nnightingale painted black?\"\n\nThe people laughed the more at that, for there was a fellow in the crowd\nlooking sheepish. The Jackdaw had drawn out the scarf-pin, and held it\ngravely in its beak, looking sideways with cunning eyes. He was wishing\nhard. All the crowd laughed again.\n\nSuddenly the showman's hand gave a jerk, the bottle slipped from his\nhold and fell, shivering itself upon the ground.\n\nThere was a buzz of wings--the fairy had escaped.\n\n\"The beautiful is coming true,\" thought the Jackdaw, as he yielded to\nthe fairy her wand, and found, suddenly, that his wings were not clipped\nafter all.\n\n\"What more can I do for you?\" asked the fairy, as they flew away\ntogether. \"You gave me back my wand; I have given you back your wings.\"\n\n\"I will not ask anything,\" said the little Jackdaw; \"what God intends\nwill come true.\"\n\n\"Let me take you up to the moon,\" said the fairy. \"All the Jackdaws up\nthere sing like nightingales.\"\n\n\"Why is that?\" asked the little Jackdaw.\n\n\"Because they are all moon-struck,\" she answered.\n\n\"And what is it to be moon-struck?\" he asked.\n\n\"Surely you should know, if anyone!\" laughed the fairy. \"To see things\nbeautifully, and not as they are. On the moon you will be able to do\nthat without any difficulty.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the little Jackdaw, \"now I know at last that the beautiful is\ngoing to come true!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE GENTLE COCKATRICE\n\n\nFAR above the terraces of vine, where the goat pastures ended and the\nrocks began, the eye could take a clear view over the whole plain. From\nthat point the world below spread itself out like a green map, and the\nonly walls one could see were the white flanks and tower of the\ncathedral rising up from the grey roofs of the city; as for the streets,\nthey seemed to be but narrow foot-tracks on which people appeared like\nants walking.\n\nThis was the view of the town which Beppo, the son of the common\nhangman, loved best. It was little pleasure to him to be down there,\nwhere all the other lads drove him from their play: for the hangman had\nhad too much to do with the fathers and brothers of some of them, and\nhis son was not popular. When there was a hanging they would rush off to\nthe public square to see it; afterwards they made it their sport to play\nat hanging Beppo, if by chance they could catch him; and that play had a\nway at times of coming uncomfortably near to reality.\n\nBeppo did not himself go to the square when his father's trade was on;\nthe near view did not please him. Perched on the rocky hillside, he\nwould look down upon a gathering of black specks, where two others stood\ndetached upon a space in their midst, and would know that there his\nfather was hanging a man.\n\nSometimes it was more than one, and that made Beppo afraid. For he knew\nthat for every man that he hanged his father took a dram to give him\ncourage for the work; and if there were several poor fellows to be cast\noff from life, the hangman was not pleasant company afterwards for those\nvery near and dear to him.\n\nIt happened one day that the hangman was to give the rope to five\nfellows, the most popular and devil-may-care rakes and roysterers in the\nwhole town. Beppo was up very early that morning, and at the first\nstreak of light had dropped himself over the wall into the town ditch,\nand was away for the open country and the free air of the hills; for he\nknew that neither at home nor in the streets would life be worth living\nfor a week after, because of all the vengeances that would fall on him.\n\nTherefore he had taken from the home larder a loaf of bread and a clump\nof dried figs; and with these hoped to stand the siege of a week's\nsolitude rather than fall in with the hard dealings of his own kind. He\nknew a cave, above where the goats found pasture, out of which a little\nred, rusty water trickled; there he thought to make himself a castle and\ndream dreams, and was sure he would be happy enough, if only he did not\ngrow afraid.\n\nBeppo had discovered the cave one day from seeing a goat push out\nthrough a thicket of creepers on the side of the hill; and, hidden under\ntheir leaves, he had found it a wonderful, cool refuge from the heat of\nsummer noons. Now, as he entered, the place struck very cold; for it was\nearly spring, and the earth was not yet warmed through with the sun. So\nhe set himself to gather dead grass, and briers, and tufts of goat's\nhair and from farther down the hillside the wood of a ruined\ngoat-paddock, till he had a great store of fuel at hand. He worked all\nday like a squirrel for its winter hoard; and as his pile mounted he\ngrew less and less afraid of the cave where he meant to live.\n\nSeeing so large a heap of stuff ready for the feeding of his fire, he\nbegan to rise to great heights in his own imagination. First he had been\na poor outlaw, a mere sheep-stealer hiding from men's clutches; then he\nbecame a robber-chief; and at last he was no less than the king of the\nmountains.\n\n\"This mountain is all caves,\" he said to himself, \"and all the caves are\nfull of gold; and I am the king to whom it all belongs.\"\n\nIn the evening Beppo lighted his fire, in the far back of his cave,\nwhere its light would not be seen, and sat down by its warmth to eat\ndried figs and bread and drink brackish water. To-morrow he meant to\ncatch a kid and roast it and eat it. Why should he ever go home again?\nKid was good--he did not get that to eat when he was at home; and now in\nthe streets the boys must be looking for him to play at their cruel game\nof hanging. Why should he go back at all?\n\nThe fire licked its way up the long walls of the cavern; slowly the\nwarmth crept round on all sides. The rock where Beppo laid his hand was\nno longer damp and cold; he made himself a bed of the dried litter in a\nniche close to the fire, laid his head on a smooth knob of stone, and\nslept. But even in his sleep he remembered his fire, dreading to awake\nand find himself in darkness. Every time the warmth of it diminished he\nraised himself and put on more fuel.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nIn the morning--for faint blue edges of light marking the ridged throat\nof the cavern told that outside the day had begun--he woke fully, and\nthe fire still burned. As he lay, his pillow of rock felt warm and\nalmost soft; and, strangely enough, through it there went a beating\nsound as of blood. This must be his own brain that he heard; but he\nlifted his head, and where he laid his hand could feel a slow movement\nof life going on under it. Then he stared hard at the overhanging rock,\nand surely it heaved softly up and down, like some great thing breathing\nslowly in its sleep.\n\nYet he could make out no shape at all till, having run to the other side\nof the cave, he turned to see the whole face of the rock which seemed to\nbe taking on life. Then he realised very gradually what looked to be the\nthroat and jaws of a great monster lying along the ground, while all the\nrest passed away into shadow or lay buried under masses of rock, which\nclosed round it like a mould. Below the nether-jaw bone the flames\nlicked and caressed the throat; and the tough, mud-coloured hide ruffled\nand smoothed again as if grateful for the heat that tickled its way in.\n\nVery slowly indeed the great Cockatrice, which had lain buried for\nthousands of years, out of reach of the light or heat of the sun, was\ncoming round again to life. That was Beppo's own doing, and for some\nvery curious reason he was not afraid.\n\nHis heart was uplifted. \"This is my cave,\" thought he, \"so this must be\nmy Cockatrice! Now I will ride out on him and conquer the world. I shall\nbe really a king then!\"\n\nHe guessed that it must have been the warmth which had waked the\nCockatrice, so he made fires all down the side of the cave; wherever the\ngreat flank of the Cockatrice seemed to show, there he lighted a fire to\nput heat into the slumbering body of the beast.\n\n\"Warm up, old fellow,\" he cried; \"thaw out, I tell you! I want you to\ntalk to me.\"\n\nPresently the mouth of the Cockatrice unsealed itself, and began to\nbabble of green fields. \"Hay--I want hay!\" said the Cockatrice; \"or\ngrass. Does the world contain any grass?\"\n\nBeppo went out, and presently returned with an armful. Very slowly the\nCockatrice began munching the fresh fodder, and Beppo, intent on feeding\nhim back to life, ran to and fro between the hillside and the cavern\ntill he was exhausted and could go no more. He sat down and watched the\nCockatrice finish his meal.\n\nPresently, when the monster found that his fodder was at an end, he\npuckered a great lid, and far up aloft in the wall of the cave flashed\nout a green eye.\n\nIf all the emeralds in the world were gathered together, they might\nshine like that; if all the glow-worms came up out of the fields and put\ntheir tails together, they might make as great an orb of fire. All the\ncave looked as green as grass when the eye of the Cockatrice lighted on\nit; and Beppo, seeing so mighty an optic turning its rays on him, felt\nall at once shrivelled and small, and very weak at the knees.\n\n\"Oh, Cockatrice,\" he said, in a monstrous sad voice, \"I hope I haven't\nhurt you!\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" said the Cockatrice, \"you have done me much good.\nWhat are you going to do with me now?\"\n\n\"_I_ do with _you_?\" cried Beppo, astonished at so wild a possibility\noffering to come true. \"I would like to get you out, of course--but can\nI?\"\n\n\"I would like that dearly also!\" said the Cockatrice.\n\n\"But how can I?\" inquired Beppo.\n\n\"Keep me warm and feed me,\" returned the monster. \"Presently I shall be\nable to find out where my tail is. When I can move that I shall be able\nto get out.\"\n\nBeppo undertook whatever the Cockatrice told him--it was so grand to\nhave a Cockatrice of his own. But it was a hard life, stoking up fires\nday and night, and bringing the Cockatrice the fodder necessary to\nreplenish his drowsy being. When Beppo was quite tired out he would come\nand lay his head against the monster's snout: and the Cockatrice would\nopen a benevolent eye and look at him affectionately.\n\n\"Dear Cockatrice,\" said the boy one day, \"tell me about yourself, and\nhow you lived and what the world was like when you were free!\"\n\n\"Do you see any green in my eye?\" said the Cockatrice.\n\n\"I do, indeed!\" said Beppo. \"I never saw anything so green in all the\nworld.\"\n\n\"That's all right, then!\" said the Cockatrice. \"Climb up and look in,\nand you will see what the world was like when I was young.\"\n\nSo Beppo climbed and scrambled, and slipped and clung, till he found\nhimself on the margin of a wonderful green lake, which was but the\nopening into the whole eye of the Cockatrice.\n\nAnd as soon as Beppo looked, he had lost his heart for ever to the world\nhe saw there. It was there, quite real before him: a whole world full of\nliving and moving things--the world before the trouble of man came to\nit.\n\n\"I see green hills, and fields, and rocks, and trees,\" cried Beppo, \"and\namong them a lot of little Cockatrices are playing!\"\n\n\"They were my brothers and sisters; I remember them,\" said the\nCockatrice. \"I have them all in my mind's eye. Call them--perhaps they\nwill come and talk to you; you will find them very nice and friendly.\"\n\n\"They are too far off,\" said Beppo, \"they cannot hear me.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" murmured the Cockatrice, \"memory is a wonderful thing!\"\n\nWhen Beppo came down again he was quite giddy, and lost in wonder and\njoy over the beautiful green world the Cockatrice had shown him. \"I like\nthat better than this!\" said he.\n\n\"So do I,\" said the Cockatrice. \"But perhaps, when my tail gets free, I\nshall feel better.\"\n\nOne morning he said to Beppo: \"I do really begin to feel my tail. It is\nsomewhere away down the hill yonder. Go and look out for me, and tell me\nif you can see it moving.\"\n\nSo Beppo went to the mouth of the cave, and looked out towards the city,\nover all the rocks and ridges and goat-pastures and slopes of vine that\nlay between.\n\nSuddenly, as he looked, the steeple of the cathedral tottered, and down\nfell its weathercock and two of its pinnacles, and half the chimneys of\nthe town snapped off their tops. All that distance away Beppo could hear\nthe terrified screams of the inhabitants as they ran out of their houses\nin terror.\n\n\"I've done it!\" cried the Cockatrice, from within the cave.\n\n\"But you mustn't do that!\" exclaimed Beppo in horror.\n\n\"Mustn't do what?\" inquired the Cockatrice.\n\n\"You mustn't wag your tail! You don't know what you are doing!\"\n\n\"Oh, master!\" wailed the Cockatrice; \"mayn't I? For the first time this\nthousand years I have felt young again.\"\n\nBeppo was pale and trembling with agitation over the fearful effects of\nthat first tail-wagging. \"You mustn't feel young!\" said he.\n\n\"Why not?\" asked the Cockatrice, with a piteous wail.\n\n\"There isn't room in the world for a Cockatrice to feel young nowadays,\"\nanswered Beppo gravely.\n\n\"But, dear little master and benefactor,\" cried the Cockatrice, \"what\ndid you wake me up for?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" replied Beppo, terribly perplexed. \"I wouldn't have done\nit had I known where your tail was.\"\n\n\"Where is it?\" inquired the Cockatrice, with great interest.\n\n\"It's right underneath the city where I mean to be king,\" said Beppo;\n\"and if you move it the city will come down; and then I shall have\nnothing to be king of.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said the Cockatrice sadly; \"I will wait!\"\n\n\"Wait for what?\" thought Beppo. \"Waiting won't do any good.\" And he\nbegan to think what he must do. \"You lie quite still!\" said he to the\nCockatrice. \"Go to sleep, and I will still look after you.\"\n\n\"Oh, little master,\" said the Cockatrice, \"but it is difficult to go to\nsleep when the delicious trouble of spring is in one's tail! How long\ndoes this city of yours mean to stay there? I am so alive that I find it\nhard to shut an eye!\"\n\n\"I will let the fires that keep you warm go down for a bit,\" said Beppo,\n\"and you mustn't eat so much grass; then you will feel better, and your\ntail will be less of an anxiety.\"\n\nAnd presently, when Beppo had let the fires which warmed him get low,\nand had let time go by without bringing him any fresh fodder, the\nCockatrice dozed off into an uneasy, prehistoric slumber.\n\nThen Beppo, weeping bitterly over his treachery to the poor beast which\nhad trusted him, raked open the fires and stamped out the embers; and,\nleaving the poor Cockatrice to get cold, ran down the hill as fast as he\ncould to the city he had saved--the city of which he meant to be king.\n\nHe had been away a good many days, but the boys in the street were still\non the watch for him. He told them how he had saved the city from the\nearthquake; and they beat him from the city gate to his father's door.\nHe told his own father how he had saved the city; and his father beat\nhim from his own door to the city gate. Nobody believed him.\n\nHe lay outside the town walls till it was dark, all smarting with his\naches and pains; then, when nobody could see him, he got up and very\nmiserably made his way back to the cave on the hill. And all the way he\nsaid to himself, \"Shall I put fire under the Cockatrice once more, and\nmake him shake the town into ruins? Would not that be fine?\"\n\nInside, the cave was quite still and cold, and when he laid his hand on\nthe Cockatrice he could not feel any stir or warmth in its bones. Yet\nwhen he called, the Cockatrice just opened a slit of his green eye and\nlooked at him with trust and affection.\n\n\"Dear Cockatrice,\" cried Beppo, \"forgive me for all the wrong I have\ndone you!\" And as he clambered his way towards the green light, a great\ntear rolled from under the heavy lid and flowed past him like a\ncataract.\n\n\"Dear Cockatrice,\" cried Beppo again when he stood on the margin of the\ngreen lake, \"take me to sleep with you in the land where the Cockatrices\nare at play, and keep quite still with your tail!\"\n\nSlowly and painfully the Cockatrice opened his eye enough to let Beppo\nslip through; and Beppo saw the green world with its playful cockatrices\nwaiting to welcome him. Then the great eyelid shut down fast, and the\nwaking days of the Cockatrice were over. And Beppo's native town lay\nsafe, because he had learned from the Cockatrice to be patient and\ngentle, and had gone to be king of a green world where everything was\nharmless.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREEN BIRD\n\n\nTHERE was once a Prince whose palace lay in the midst of a wonderful\ngarden. From gate to gate was a day's journey, where spring, summer, and\nautumn stayed captive; for warm streams flowed, bordering its ways,\nthrough marble conduits, and warm winds, driven by brazen fans, blew\nover it out of great furnaces that were kept alive through the cold of\nwinter. And day by day, when no sun shone in heaven, a ball of golden\nfire rose from the palace roof and passed down to the west, sustained\ninvisibly in mid-air, and giving light and warmth to the flowers below.\nAnd after it by night went a lamp of silver flame, that changed its\nquarters as the moon changes hers in heaven, and threw a silver light\nover the lawns and the flowered avenues.\n\nAll these things were that the Prince might have delight and beauty ever\naround him. To his eyes summer was perpetual, without end, and nothing\ndied save to give out new life on the morrow. So through many morrows he\nlived, and trod the beautiful soft ways devised for him by cunning\nhands, and did not know that there was winter, or cold, or hunger to be\nborne in the world, for he never crossed the threshold of his enchanted\ngarden, but stayed lapped in the luxury of its bright colours and soft\nairs.\n\nOne day he was standing by a bed of large white bell-lilies. Their great\nbowls were full of water, and inside among the yellow stamens gold fish\nwent darting to and fro. While he watched he saw, mirrored in the water,\nthe breast of a green bird flying towards the trees of the garden.\n\nIt had come from a far country surely, for its shape and colour were\nstrange to him; and the most curious thing of all was that it carried\nits nest in its beak.\n\nIts flight came keen as a sword's edge through those bowery spaces, till\nits wings closed with a shock that sent the golden fruit tumbling from\nthe branches where it had lodged: and through the whole garden went a\ncrashing sound as of soft thunder.\n\nThe Prince waited long, hoping to hear the bird sing, but it hid itself\nsilently among the thickest of the leaves, and never moved or uttered a\nsound. He went back to the palace a little sorry not to have heard the\ngreen bird sing; \"But, at least,\" he said to himself, \"I shall hear it\nto-morrow.\"\n\nThat night he dreamed that something came and tapped at his heart; and\nthat his heart tapped back saying, \"Go away, for if I let you in there\nwill be sorrow!\"\n\nIn the morning on the window-sill he saw a green feather lying; but as\nhe opened the window a puff of wind lifted it, and carried it high up\ninto the air and out of sight.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAll that day the Prince saw nothing of the Green Bird, nor heard a note\nof its singing. \"Strange,\" thought he to himself, \"I have never heard\nits song; yet I know quite well somehow that it sings most beautifully.\"\nAt dusk, when the lilies began to close their globes around the gold\nfish and the yellow stamens, he went back to the palace, and before long\nto bed, and slept.\n\nOnce more he heard in dreams someone come tapping at his heart, and this\ntime his heart said, \"Who is there?\" Then a voice answered back, \"The\nGreen Bird\"; but his heart said, \"Go away, for if I let you in there\nwill be sorrow!\"\n\nNow it had been foretold of the Prince at his birth that if he ever knew\nsorrow, his wealth, and his estate, and his power would all go from him.\nTherefore from his childhood he had been shut up in a beautiful palace\nwith miles and miles of enchanted gardens, so that sorrow might not get\nnear him; and it was said that if ever sorrow came to him the palace and\nthe enchanted gardens would suddenly fall into ruin and disappear, and\nhe would be left standing alone to beg his way through the world.\nTherefore it was for this that his heart said in his dream, \"Go away,\nfor if I let you in there will be sorrow!\"\n\nIn the morning a green feather lay on the window-sill; but as he opened\nthe window the wind took it up and carried it away.\n\nSo the next night, as soon as his attendants were gone, the Prince got\nup softly and opening the window called \"Green Bird!\"\n\nThen all at once he felt something warm against his heart, and suddenly\nhis heart began to ache: and there was the green bird with its wings\nspread gently about him, keeping time ever so softly to the beating of\nhis heart.\n\nThen the Prince said, \"Beautiful Green Bird, what have you brought me?\"\nand the Green Bird answered, \"I have brought you dreams out of a\nfar-off country of things you never saw; if you will come and sleep in\nmy nest you shall dream them.\"\n\nSo the Prince went out by the window and along the balcony, and so away\ninto the garden and up into the heart of the great tree where the Green\nBird had its nest. There he lay down, and the Green Bird spread its\nwings over him, and he fell fast asleep.\n\nNow as he slept he dreamed that the Green Bird put in his hand three\ngrains of seed saying, \"Take these and keep them till you come to the\nright place to sow them in. And so soon as one is sown, go on till you\ncome to the place where the next must be sown, following the signs which\nI shall tell you of. Now the first you must not sow till you find\nyourself in a white country, where the trees and the grass are white.\"\n(And the Prince said in his heart, \"Where can I find that?\") \"And the\nsecond one you must not sow till you see a thing like a tortoise put out\na small white hand.\" (\"And where,\" said the Prince, \"can I meet with\nthat wonder?\") \"And when you have seen the second sprout up through the\nground, go on till you come again to a land you had lost and the place\nwhere you first knew sorrow.\" (\"And what is sorrow?\" said the Prince to\nhis heart.) \"Then when you have sown the third seed and watched it\nsprout you will know perfect happiness, and will be able to hear the\nsong which I sing.\"\n\nThen the Green Bird lifted its wings and flew away through the night;\nand out of the darkness came three notes that filled the Prince with\nwonderful delight.\n\nBut afterwards, when they ceased, came sorrow.\n\nNow, when the Prince woke he was in his own bed; and he rose much\npuzzled by the dream which had seemed so true. Then there came to him\none of his pages who said, \"There was a strange bird flying over the\npalace about dawn, and a watchman on the high tower shot it; so I have\nbrought it for you to see.\" And as he spoke, the page showed him the\nGreen Bird lying dead between his hands.\n\nThe Prince took it without a word, and kissed it before them all,\nafterwards burying it where the white lilies full of gold fishes grew,\nwherein he had first seen the image of its green breast fly. And as he\nstood sorrowing, the garden faded before his eyes, and a cold wind blew;\nand the palace which had its foundations on happiness crumbled away into\nruin; and heaven came down kissing the earth and making it white.\n\nHe opened his hand and found in it three grains of seed, and then he\nknew that some of his dream was really coming to pass. For he saw the\nwhole world was turning white before his eyes, all the trees and the\ngrass; therefore he sowed the first grain of seed over the little grave\nthat he had made, and set out over hill and dale to fulfil the dream\nthat the Green Bird had given him. \"But the Green Bird I shall see no\nmore!\" he said, and wept.\n\nFor a year he went on through a waste and desolate country, meeting no\nman, nor discovering any sign. Till one day as he was coming down a\nmountain he saw at the bottom a hut with a round roof like a great\ntortoise; and when he got quite near, out of the door came a small white\nhand, palm upward, feeling to know if it rained. All at once he\nremembered the word of the Green Bird, and as he dropped the second seed\ninto the ground it seemed to him that he heard again the three notes of\nits song.\n\nA young girl looked out of the hut; \"What do you want?\" she said when\nshe saw the Prince. He saw her eyes, how blue and smiling they were, and\nit seemed as if he had dreamed of them once. \"Let me stay here for a\nlittle,\" he said, \"and rest.\" \"If you will rest one day and work the\nnext, you may,\" she answered. So he rested that day, and the next he\nworked at her bidding in a small patch of ground that was before the\nhut.\n\nWhen the day was over and he had returned to the hut for the night, he\nlooked again at the young girl, and seeing how beautiful she was, said,\n\"Why are you here all alone, with no one to protect you?\" And she\nanswered, \"I have come from my own country, which is very far away, in\nsearch of a beautiful Green Bird which while it was mine I loved\ngreatly, and which one day flew away promising to return. When you came,\nsomething made me think the bird was with you, but perhaps to-morrow it\nwill return.\" At that the Prince sighed in his heart, for he knew that\nthe bird was dead. Then also she told him how in her own country she had\nbeen a Princess; so now she from whom the Green Bird had flown, and he\nto whom it had come, were living there together like beggars in a hut.\n\nFor a whole year he toiled and waited, hoping for the second seed to\nsprout; and at last one day, just where he had planted it, he saw a\nlittle spring rising out of the ground. When the Princess saw it, she\nclapped her hands, \"Oh,\" she cried, \"it is the sign I have waited for!\nIf we follow it, it will take us to the Green Bird.\" But the Prince\nsighed, for in his heart he knew that the Green Bird was dead.\n\nYet he let her take his hand, and they two went on following the course\nof the spring till they came to a wild desolate place full of ruins; and\nas soon as they came to it the spring disappeared into the ground.\n\nThen the Prince began to look about him, and saw that he was standing\nonce more in the land that he had lost, above the very spot in the\nenchanted garden where he had buried the Green Bird and sorrowed over\nit. Then he stooped down, and set the last grain of seed into the\nground; and as he did so, surely from below the soil came the three\nsweet notes of a song! Then all at once the earth opened and out of it\ngrew a tree, tall and green and waving, and out of the midst of the tree\nflew the Green Bird with its nest in its beak.\n\nThe sun was setting; in the east rose a full red moon: grey mists\nclimbed out of the grass. The Bird sang and sang and sang; every note\nhad the splendour of palace-walls and towers, and gardens, and falling\nfountains. The Princess ran fast and let herself be caught in the\nPrince's arms while she listened.\n\nMany times they hung together and kissed, and all the time the Bird sang\non.\n\n\"I see the palace walls grow,\" said the Princess. \"They are high as the\nhills, and the garden covers the valleys: and the sun and the moon\nlighten it.\" And, in truth, round them a new palace had grown, and the\nGreen Bird was building his nest in the roof.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAN WHO KILLED THE CUCKOO\n\n\nONCE upon a time there was a man who lived in a small house with a large\ngarden. He made his living by gardening, while his wife looked after the\nhouse. They were better off than most of their neighbours, but they were\nan envious couple who looked sourly over the hedge at all who passed by,\nand took no man's advice about anything.\n\nAt the end of the garden stood a large pear-tree: and one day the man\nwas working in the shade beneath it, when a cuckoo came and perched\nitself on the topmost branch, crying \"Cuckoo, cuckoo!\"\n\nThe man looked up with a frown on his face, and cried, \"Get out of my\ntree, you noisy thing!\" But the cuckoo only sat and stared at the\nlandscape, going up and down on its two notes like a musical see-saw.\n\nThe man stooped down, and took up a clod of earth and cast it at the\ncuckoo, which immediately flew away.\n\nA neighbour who was passing at the time saw him, and said, \"It's\nill-luck to drive away cuckoos: you would be better not to do it again.\"\n\"Do it again?\" cried the man. \"If it comes into my tree again I'll kill\nit!\" \"Nobody dares kill a cuckoo;\" replied the neighbour, \"it's against\nProvidence.\" \"I'll not only kill it, if it returns,\" exclaimed the man\nin a fury, \"but I'll eat it too!\" \"No, no,\" cried his neighbour, \"you\nwill think better of it. Even the parson daren't kill a cuckoo.\" \"Wait\nand see if I don't better the parson, then!\" growled the man, as he\nturned to go on with his work; \"just wait and see!\"\n\nAll the day he heard the cuckoo crying about in the field, now here, now\nthere, but always somewhere close at hand. It seemed to be making a mock\nof him, for it always kept within sound, but never returned to the tree.\nWhen he left off work for the day, he went into the house and grumbled\nto his wife about that everlasting cuckoo. \"Did you see what a big one\nit was?\" said his wife. \"I saw it as it sat in our tree this morning.\"\n\"It will make all the bigger pie then,\" said the man, \"if it comes\nagain.\"\n\nThe next morning he had hardly begun to work, when the bird came and\nsettled on the pear-tree over his head, and shouted \"Cuckoo!\"\n\nThen the man took up a great stone, which he had by him ready, and aimed\nwith all his might; his aim was so true, that the stone hit the bird on\nthe side of the head, so that it fell down out of the tree into the\ngrass in front of his feet.\n\n\"Wife,\" he shouted, \"I've killed the cuckoo! Come and carry it in, and\ncook it for my dinner.\" \"Oh, what a great fat one!\" cried his wife, as\nshe ran and picked it up by the neck; \"and heavy! It feels as heavy as a\nturkey!\"\n\nShe laid it in her apron, and went and sat in the doorway, and began\nplucking it, while her husband went on with his work. Presently she\ncalled to him, \"Just look here at all these feathers! I never saw\nanything like it; there are enough to stuff a feather-bed!\" He looked\nround, and saw the ground all covered with a great heap of feathers that\nhad been plucked from the bird: enough, as she said, for a feather-bed.\n\n\"This is a new discovery,\" cried he, \"that a cuckoo holds so many\nfeathers. We can make our fortunes in this way, wife--I going about\nkilling cuckoos, and you plucking them into feather-beds.\"\n\nThen his wife carried the cuckoo indoors, and set it down to roast. But\ndirectly the spit began to turn, the cat jumped up from before the front\nof the fire, and ran away screaming.\n\nThe smell of the roast came out to the man as he worked in his garden.\n\"How good it smells!\" said he. \"Don't _you_ touch it, wife! You mustn't\nhave a bit!\" \"I don't care if I don't,\" she replied: for she had watched\nit as it went turning on the spit; and up and down, up and down, it kept\nmoving its wings!\n\nWhen dinner-time came the man sat down, and his wife dished up the bird,\nand set it upon the table before him. He ate it so greedily that he ate\nit all--the bones, and the back, and the head, and the wings, and the\nlegs down to the last claw.\n\nThen he pushed back his plate, and cried, \"So there's an end of him!\"\nBut just as he was about saying that, a voice from inside of him called,\n\"Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!\"\n\n\"Oh my heart and liver!\" cried the man. \"What's that!\"\n\nThen his wife began laughing and jiggering at him. \"It's because you\nwere so greedy. If you had given me half of that cuckoo this wouldn't\nhave happened. Now you see you are paid.\"\n\n\"Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!\" cried the voice again from within.\n\n\"What have I done to myself?\" cried the man, in an agony of terror.\n\"What a poisonous noise to come from a man's belly! I shall die of it, I\nknow I shall!\"\n\nHis wife only said, \"See, then, what comes of being greedy.\"\n\nHe got up on to his feet, and looked down at his empty plate: there was\nnot a scrap left on it. Then he put his hands to his sides, and\nshrieked, \"I feel as if a windmill were turning round inside me! And I'm\nso light! Wife, hold me down--I'm going off my feet!\" And as he spoke,\nhe swung sideway, and began rising with a wobbling motion into the air.\nHis wife caught him by the head, while his feet swung like the pendulum\nof a clock, and all the time a voice inside him kept calling, \"Cuckoo!\ncuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!\"\n\nPresently it seemed to the unfortunate man as if the windmill had\nstopped, and he was able to strike the ground with his feet once more.\n\"Oh, blessed Mother Earth!\" he cried, and began rubbing it up and down\nwith his feet, and caressing it as if it had been a pet animal. But his\nface had grown very white.\n\n\"Put me to bed,\" he said to his wife; and she put him to bed on the top\nof the great feather-mattress which she had made only that morning from\nthe cuckoo-pluckings.\n\nThe cuckoo kept him awake far into the night, and his wife herself could\nget no sleep; but towards morning he dozed off into a disturbed sort of\nslumber, and began to dream.\n\nHe felt his eyes turning inwards, so that he could see into the middle\nof his body. And there sat the cuckoo, like an unpleasant nestling, with\ngreat red eyes staring at him, and the wound on its head burning a blue\nflame. It seemed to grow and grow and grow, dislocating his bones, and\nthrusting aside his heart to make room for itself. Its wings seemed to\nbe sawing out his ribs, and its head was pushed far up into his throat,\nwhere with its angry beak it seemed reaching to peck out his eyes. \"I\nwill torment you for ever,\" said the bird. \"You shall have no peace\nuntil you let me go. I am the King of the Cuckoos; I will give you no\nrest. You will be surprised at what I can do to you; even in your\ndespair you will be surprised.\" Then it drew down its head and pecked\nhis heart, so that he woke in great pain. And as his eyes turned\noutwards he saw that it was morning.\n\n\"Wife,\" he said, before going out, \"I feel as though, if I went out, I\nmight be carried away, like a worm in a bird's beak. Fasten a chain\nround me, and drive it with a stake into the ground, and let me see if\nso I be able to work safely in my garden.\"\n\nSo his wife did as he told her; but whenever he caught hold of a spade\nthe bird lifted him off his feet, so that he could not drive it into the\nground. He wrung his hands and wailed, \"Alas, alas! now my occupation is\ngone, and my wife and I shall become beggars!\"\n\nThe villagers came and looked over the hedge, wagging their heads. \"Ah,\nyou are the man who killed the cuckoo yesterday! and already you are\ncome to this!\"\n\nEvery day things got worse and worse. His wife used to have to hold him\ndown and feed him with a spoon, for if he took up a knife to eat with,\nthe bird hurled him upon it so violently as to put him in danger of his\nlife. Also it kept him ceaselessly awake with its cry, so that he was\nworn to a shadow.\n\nOne day in the end of the month of June he heard a change come in its\nhorrible singing; instead of crying \"Cuckoo\" as before, it now broke its\nnote as is the cuckoo's habit to do before it goes abroad for the\nwinter, and cried \"Cuck-cuck-Cuckoo, cuck-cuck-Cuckoo!\" Some sort of a\nhope came into the man's heart at that. \"Presently it will be winter,\"\nhe thought to himself, \"and the cuckoo must die then, even if I have to\neat ice and snow to make him! if only I do not die first,\" he added, and\ngroaned, for he was now indeed but a shadow.\n\nSoon after this the cuckoo left off its crying altogether. \"Is he dead\nalready?\" thought the man. All the other cuckoos had gone out of the\ncountry: he grew quite happy with this new idea and began to put on\nflesh.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nBut one night, at the dead of night, the cuckoo felt a longing to be in\nlands oversea come into its wings. The man woke with a loud cry, and\nfound himself sailing along through the air with only the stars\noverhead, and the feeling of a great windmill inside him. And the cuckoo\nwas crying with a new note into the darkness: the cry it makes in far\nlands oversea which is never heard in this country at all: a cry so\nstrange and terrible and wonderful that we have no word that will give\nthe sound of it. This man heard it, and at the sound his hair went quite\nwhite with fright.\n\nWhen his wife woke up in the morning, her husband was nowhere to be\nseen. \"So!\" she said to herself, \"the cuckoo has picked him up and\nthrown him away somewhere; and I suppose he is dead. Well, he was an\nuncomfortable husband to have; and it all came of being greedy.\"\n\nShe drew down the front blinds, and dressed herself in widow's mourning\nall through the winter; and the next spring told another man he might\nmarry her if he liked. The other man happened to like the idea well\nenough, for there was a house and a nice garden for anyone who would\nhave her. So the first fine day they went off to the Parson and got\nmarried.\n\nIt was a very fine day, and well on in spring: and just as they were\ncoming back from the church they heard the note of a cuckoo.\n\nThe widow-bride felt a cold shiver go down her marrow. \"It does make one\nfeel queer,\" she said; \"that sound gave me quite a turn.\" \"Hullo! look\nat him up there!\" cried the man. She stared up, and there was her\nhusband sailing through the air, looking more of a shadow than ever, and\nvery miserable with the voice of the cuckoo calling across the land from\nthe inside of him.\n\nThe cuckoo deposited him at his own doorstep in front of the bridal\ncouple.\n\n\"O you miserable scare-crow!\" said his wife, \"whatever brought you\nback?\" The unhappy man pointed below the surface, and the shut-up cuckoo\nspoke for him.\n\n\"And here I find you marrying yourself to another!\" cried her returned\nspouse: but the other man had shrunk away in disgust and disappeared, so\nthere was no more trouble with him.\n\nBut the old trouble was as bad as ever, the cuckoo was just as\nindustrious in his cuckooings, and just as untimely: and the man went on\nwearing himself to a shadow with vexation and grief.\n\nSo all the summer went by, till again the cuckoo was heard to break its\nnote into a double sound. But this time, no glimmer of hope came to the\nman's mind. \"Tie me fast to the bed,\" he said sorrowfully to his wife,\n\"and keep me there, lest this demon of a bird carry me away again as he\ndid last year; a thing which I could never survive a second time. Nay,\ngive me a sheath-knife to keep always with me, for if he carry me away\nagain I am resolved that he or I shall die.\"\n\nSo his wife gave him the sheath-knife, and by-and-by the bird became\nvery quiet, so that they almost hoped he was dead from old age.\n\nBut one night, at the dead of night, into the birds wings came the\nlonging to be once more in lands oversea. He stretched out his wings,\nand the man woke with a loud cry. And behold, there were he and his\nwife, sailing along under the stars tied into the feather-bed together,\nall complete and compact; and inside him was the feeling of a great\nwindmill going round and round and round.\n\nThen in despair he drew out his sheath-knife and cut himself open like\na haggis. And on a sudden out flew the cuckoo, all plucked and bald and\nready to roast. At the very same moment the bed-ticking burst, and away\nwent the cuckoo with his feathers trailing after him, uttering through\nthe darkness that strange terrible cry of the lands oversea.\n\nBut the man and his wife and the empty bed-ticking, they fell and they\nfell and they fell right down, till they got to the bottom of the deep\nblue sea; and there was an end of them.\n\n\n\n\nA CHINESE FAIRY TALE\n\n\nTIKI-PU was a small grub of a thing; but he had a true love of Art deep\ndown in his soul. There it hung mewing and complaining, struggling to\nwork its way out through the raw exterior that bound it.\n\nTiki-pu's master professed to be an artist: he had apprentices and\nstudents, who came daily to work under him, and a large studio littered\nabout with the performances of himself and his pupils. On the walls hung\nalso a few real works by the older men, all long since dead.\n\nThis studio Tiki-pu swept; for those who worked in it he ground colours,\nwashed brushes, and ran errands, bringing them their dog chops and\nbird's nest soup from the nearest eating-house whenever they were too\nbusy to go out to it themselves. He himself had to feed mainly on the\nbreadcrumbs which the students screwed into pellets for their drawings\nand then threw about upon the floor. It was on the floor, also, that he\nhad to sleep at night.\n\nTiki-pu looked after the blinds, and mended the paper window-panes,\nwhich were often broken when the apprentices threw their brushes and\nmahl-sticks at him. Also he strained rice-paper over the\nlinen-stretchers, ready for the painters to work on; and for a treat,\nnow and then, a lazy one would allow him to mix a colour for him. Then\nit was that Tiki-pu's soul came down into his finger-tips, and his heart\nbeat so that he gasped for joy. Oh, the yellows and the greens, and the\nlakes and the cobalts, and the purples which sprang from the blending of\nthem! Sometimes it was all he could do to keep himself from crying out.\n\nTiki-pu, while he squatted and ground at the colour-powders, would\nlisten to his master lecturing to the students. He knew by heart the\nnames of all the painters and their schools, and the name of the great\nleader of them all who had lived and passed from their midst more than\nthree hundred years ago; he knew that too, a name like the sound of the\nwind, Wio-wani: the big picture at the end of the studio was by him.\n\nThat picture! To Tiki-pu it seemed worth all the rest of the world put\ntogether. He knew, too, the story which was told of it, making it as\nholy to his eyes as the tombs of his own ancestors. The apprentices\njoked over it, calling it \"Wio-wani's back-door,\" \"Wio-wani's\nnight-cap,\" and many other nicknames; but Tiki-pu was quite sure, since\nthe picture was so beautiful, that the story must be true.\n\nWio-wani, at the end of a long life, had painted it; a garden full of\ntrees and sunlight, with high-standing flowers and green paths, and in\ntheir midst a palace. \"The place where I would like to rest,\" said\nWio-wani, when it was finished.\n\nSo beautiful was it then, that the Emperor himself had come to see it;\nand gazing enviously at those peaceful walks, and the palace nestling\namong the trees, had sighed and owned that he too would be glad of such\na resting-place. Then Wio-wani stepped into the picture, and walked away\nalong a path till he came, looking quite small and far-off, to a low\ndoor in the palace wall. Opening it, he turned and beckoned to the\nEmperor; but the Emperor did not follow; so Wio-wani went in by himself,\nand shut the door between himself and the world for ever.\n\nThat happened three hundred years ago; but for Tiki-pu the story was as\nfresh and true as if it had happened yesterday. When he was left to\nhimself in the studio, all alone and locked up for the night, Tiki-pu\nused to go and stare at the picture till it was too dark to see, and at\nthe little palace with the door in its wall by which Wio-wani had\ndisappeared out of life. Then his soul would go down into his\nfinger-tips, and he would knock softly and fearfully at the beautifully\npainted door, saying, \"Wio-wani, are you there?\"\n\nLittle by little in the long-thinking nights, and the slow early\nmornings when light began to creep back through the papered windows of\nthe studio, Tiki-pu's soul became too much for him. He who could strain\npaper, and grind colours, and wash brushes, had everything within reach\nfor becoming an artist, if it was the will of Fate that he should be\none.\n\nHe began timidly at first, but in a little while he grew bold. With the\nfirst wash of light he was up from his couch on the hard floor and was\ndaubing his soul out on scraps, and odds-and-ends, and stolen pieces of\nrice-paper.\n\nBefore long the short spell of daylight which lay between dawn and the\narrival of the apprentices to their work did not suffice him. It took\nhim so long to hide all traces of his doings, to wash out the brushes,\nand rinse clean the paint-pots he had used, and on the top of that to\nget the studio swept and dusted, that there was hardly time left him in\nwhich to indulge the itching of his fingers.\n\nDriven by necessity, he became a pilferer of candle-ends, picking them\nfrom their sockets in the lanterns which the students carried on dark\nnights. Now and then one of these would remember that, when last used,\nhis lantern had had a candle in it, and would accuse Tiki-pu of having\nstolen it. \"It is true,\" he would confess; \"I was hungry--I have eaten\nit.\" The lie was so probable, he was believed easily, and was well\nbeaten accordingly. Down in the ragged linings of his coat Tiki-pu could\nhear the candle-ends rattling as the buffeting and chastisement fell\nupon him, and often he trembled lest his hoard should be discovered. But\nthe truth of the matter never leaked out; and at night, as soon as he\nguessed that all the world outside was in bed, Tiki-pu would mount one\nof his candles on a wooden stand and paint by the light of it, blinding\nhimself over his task, till the dawn came and gave him a better and\ncheaper light to work by.\n\nTiki-pu quite hugged himself over the results; he believed he was doing\nvery well. \"If only Wio-wani were here to teach me,\" thought he, \"I\nwould be in the way to becoming a great painter!\"\n\nThe resolution came to him one night that Wio-wani _should_ teach him.\nSo he took a large piece of rice-paper and strained it, and sitting down\nopposite \"Wio-wani's back-door,\" began painting. He had never set\nhimself so big a task as this; by the dim stumbling light of his candle\nhe strained his eyes nearly blind over the difficulties of it; and at\nlast was almost driven to despair. How the trees stood row behind row,\nwith air and sunlight between, and how the path went in and out, winding\nits way up to the little door in the palace-wall were mysteries he could\nnot fathom. He peered and peered and dropped tears into his paint-pots;\nbut the secret of the mystery of such painting was far beyond him.\n\nThe door in the palace-wall opened; out came a little old man and began\nwalking down the pathway towards him.\n\nThe soul of Tiki-pu gave a sharp leap in his grubby little body. \"That\nmust be Wio-wani himself and no other!\" cried his soul.\n\nTiki-pu pulled off his cap and threw himself down on the floor with\nreverent grovellings. When he dared to look up again Wio-wani stood over\nhim big and fine; just within the edge of his canvas he stood and\nreached out a hand.\n\n\"Come along with me, Tiki-pu!\" said the great one. \"If you want to know\nhow to paint I will teach you.\"\n\n\"Oh, Wio-wani, were you there all the while?\" cried Tiki-pu\necstatically, leaping up and clutching with his smeary little puds the\nhand which the old man extended to him.\n\n\"I was there,\" said Wio-wani, \"looking at you out of my little window.\nCome along in!\"\n\nTiki-pu took a heave and swung himself into the picture, and fairly\ncapered when he found his feet among the flowers of Wio-wani's beautiful\ngarden. Wio-wani had turned, and was ambling gently back to the door of\nhis palace, beckoning to the small one to follow him; and there stood\nTiki-pu, opening his mouth like a fish to all the wonders that\nsurrounded him. \"Celestiality, may I speak?\" he said suddenly.\n\n\"Speak,\" replied Wio-wani; \"what is it?\"\n\n\"The Emperor, was he not the very flower of fools not to follow when you\ntold him?\"\n\n\"I cannot say,\" answered Wio-wani, \"but he certainly was no artist.\"\n\nThen he opened the door, that door which he had so beautifully painted,\nand led Tiki-pu in. And outside the little candle-end sat and guttered\nby itself, till the wick fell overboard, and the flame kicked itself\nout, leaving the studio in darkness and solitude to wait for the\ngrowings of another dawn.\n\nIt was full day before Tiki-pu reappeared; he came running down the\ngreen path in great haste, jumped out of the frame on to the studio\nfloor, and began tidying up his own messes of the night, and the\napprentices' of the previous day. Only just in time did he have things\nready by the hour when his master and the others returned to their work.\n\nAll that day they kept scratching their left ears, and could not think\nwhy; but Tiki-pu knew, for he was saying over to himself all the things\nthat Wio-wani, the great painter, had been saying about them and their\nprecious productions. And as he ground their colours for them and washed\ntheir brushes, and filled his famished little body with the breadcrumbs\nthey threw away, little they guessed from what an immeasurable distance\nhe looked down upon them all, and had Wio-wani's word for it tickling\nhis right ear all the day long.\n\nNow before long Tiki-pu's master noticed a change in him; and though he\nbullied him, and thrashed him, and did all that a careful master should\ndo, he could not get the change out of him. So in a short while he grew\nsuspicious. \"What is the boy up to?\" he wondered. \"I have my eye on him\nall day: it must be at night that he gets into mischief.\"\n\nIt did not take Tiki-pu's master a night's watching to find that\nsomething surreptitious was certainly going on. When it was dark he took\nup his post outside the studio, to see whether by any chance Tiki-pu had\nsome way of getting out; and before long he saw a faint light showing\nthrough the window. So he came and thrust his finger softly through one\nof the panes, and put his eye to the hole.\n\nThere inside was a candle burning on a stand, and Tiki-pu squatting with\npaint-pots and brush in front of Wio-wani's last masterpiece.\n\n\"What fine piece of burglary is this?\" thought he; \"what serpent have I\nbeen harbouring in my bosom? Is this beast of a grub of a boy thinking\nto make himself a painter and cut me out of my reputation and\nprosperity?\" For even at that distance he could perceive plainly that\nthe work of this boy went head and shoulders beyond his, or that of any\npainter then living.\n\nPresently Wio-wani opened his door and came down the path, as was his\nhabit now each night, to call Tiki-pu to his lesson. He advanced to the\nfront of his picture and beckoned for Tiki-pu to come in with him; and\nTiki-pu's master grew clammy at the knees as he beheld Tiki-pu catch\nhold of Wio-wani's hand and jump into the picture, and skip up the\ngreen path by Wio-wani's side, and in through the little door that\nWio-wani had painted so beautifully in the end wall of his palace!\n\nFor a time Tiki-pu's master stood glued to the spot with grief and\nhorror. \"Oh, you deadly little underling! Oh, you poisonous little\ncaretaker, you parasite, you vampire, you fly in amber!\" cried he, \"is\nthat where you get your training? Is it there that you dare to go\ntrespassing; into a picture that I purchased for my own pleasure and\nprofit, and not at all for yours? Very soon we will see whom it really\nbelongs to!\"\n\nHe ripped out the paper of the largest window-pane and pushed his way\nthrough into the studio. Then in great haste he took up paint-pot and\nbrush, and sacrilegiously set himself to work upon Wio-wani's last\nmasterpiece. In the place of the doorway by which Tiki-pu had entered he\npainted a solid brick wall; twice over he painted it, making it two\nbricks thick; brick by brick he painted it, and mortared every brick to\nits place. And when he had quite finished he laughed, and called\n\"Good-night, Tiki-pu!\" and went home to be quite happy.\n\nThe next day all the apprentices were wondering what had become of\nTiki-pu; but as the master himself said nothing, and as another boy came\nto act as colour-grinder and brush-washer to the establishment, they\nvery soon forgot all about him.\n\nIn the studio the master used to sit at work with his students all about\nhim, and a mind full of ease and contentment. Now and then he would\nthrow a glance across to the bricked-up doorway of Wio-wani's palace,\nand laugh to himself, thinking how well he had served out Tiki-pu for\nhis treachery and presumption.\n\nOne day--it was five years after the disappearance of Tiki-pu--he was\ngiving his apprentices a lecture on the glories and the beauties and the\nwonders of Wio-wani's painting--how nothing for colour could excel, or\nfor mystery could equal it. To add point to his eloquence, he stood\nwaving his hands before Wio-wani's last masterpiece, and all his\nstudents and apprentices sat round him and looked.\n\nSuddenly he stopped at mid-word, and broke off in the full flight of his\neloquence, as he saw something like a hand come and take down the top\nbrick from the face of paint which he had laid over the little door in\nthe palace-wall which Wio-wani had so beautifully painted. In another\nmoment there was no doubt about it; brick by brick the wall was being\npulled down, in spite of its double thickness.\n\nThe lecturer was altogether too dumbfounded and terrified to utter a\nword. He and all his apprentices stood round and stared while the\ndemolition of the wall proceeded. Before long he recognised Wio-wani\nwith his flowing white beard; it was his handiwork, this pulling down of\nthe wall! He still had a brick in his hand when he stepped through the\nopening that he had made, and close after him stepped Tiki-pu!\n\n[Illustration]\n\nTiki-pu was grown tall and strong--he was even handsome; but for all\nthat his old master recognised him, and saw with an envious foreboding\nthat under his arms he carried many rolls and stretchers and portfolios,\nand other belongings of his craft. Clearly Tiki-pu was coming back\ninto the world, and was going to be a great painter.\n\nDown the garden path came Wio-wani, and Tiki-pu walked after him;\nTiki-pu was so tall that his head stood well over Wio-wani's\nshoulders--old man and young man together made a handsome pair.\n\nHow big Wio-wani grew as he walked down the avenues of his garden and\ninto the foreground of his picture! and how big the brick in his hand!\nand ah, how angry he seemed!\n\nWio-wani came right down to the edge of the picture-frame and held up\nthe brick. \"What did you do that for?\" he asked.\n\n\"I ... didn't!\" Tiki-pu's old master was beginning to reply; and the lie\nwas still rolling on his tongue when the weight of the brick-bat, hurled\nby the stout arm of Wio-wani, felled him. After that he never spoke\nagain. That brick-bat, which he himself had reared, became his own\ntombstone.\n\nJust inside the picture-frame stood Tiki-pu, kissing the wonderful hands\nof Wio-wani, which had taught him all their skill. \"Good-bye, Tiki-pu!\"\nsaid Wio-wani, embracing him tenderly. \"Now I am sending my second self\ninto the world. When you are tired and want rest come back to me: old\nWio-wani will take you in.\"\n\nTiki-pu was sobbing and the tears were running down his cheeks as he\nstepped out of Wio-wani's wonderfully painted garden and stood once more\nupon earth. Turning, he saw the old man walking away along the path\ntowards the little door under the palace-wall. At the door Wio-wani\nturned back and waved his hand for the last time. Tiki-pu still stood\nwatching him. Then the door opened and shut, and Wio-wani was gone.\nSoftly as a flower the picture seemed to have folded its leaves over\nhim.\n\nTiki-pu leaned a wet face against the picture and kissed the door in the\npalace-wall which Wio-wani had painted so beautifully. \"O Wio-wani, dear\nmaster,\" he cried, \"are you there?\"\n\nHe waited, and called again, but no voice answered him.\n\n\n\n\nHAPPY RETURNS\n\n\nBY the side of a great river, whose stream formed the boundary to two\ncountries, lived an old ferryman and his wife. All the day, while she\nminded the house, he sat in his boat by the ferry, waiting to carry\ntravellers across; or, when no travellers came, and he had his boat\nfree, he would cast drag-nets along the bed of the river for fish. But\nfor the food which he was able thus to procure at times, he and his wife\nmight well have starved, for travellers were often few and far between,\nand often they grudged him the few pence he asked for ferrying them; and\nnow he had grown so old and feeble that when the river was in flood he\ncould scarcely ferry the boat across; and continually he feared lest a\nyounger and stronger man should come and take his place, and the bread\nfrom his mouth.\n\nBut he had trust in Providence. \"Will not God,\" he said, \"who has given\nus no happiness in this life, save in each other's help and\ncompanionship, allow us to end our days in peace?\"\n\nAnd his wife answered, \"Yes, surely, if we trust Him enough He will.\"\n\nOne morning, it being the first day of the year, the ferryman going down\nto his boat, found that during the night it had been loosed from its\nmoorings and taken across the river, where it now lay fastened to the\nfurther bank.\n\n\"Wife,\" said he \"I can remember this same thing happening a year ago,\nand the year before also. Who is this traveller who comes once a year,\nlike a thief in the night, and crosses without asking me to ferry him\nover?\"\n\n\"Perhaps it is the good folk,\" said his wife. \"Go over and see if they\nhave left no coin behind them in the boat.\"\n\nThe old man got on to a log and poled himself across, and found, down in\nthe keel of the boat, the mark of a man's bare foot driven deep into the\nwood; but there was no coin or other trace to show who it might be.\n\nTime went on; the old ferryman was all bowed down with age, and his body\nwas racked with pains. So slow was he now in making the passage of the\nstream, that all travellers who knew those parts took a road higher up\nthe bank, where a stronger ferryman plied.\n\nWinter came; and hunger and want pressed hard at the old man's door. One\nday while he drew his net along the stream, he felt the shock of a great\nfish striking against the meshes down below, and presently, as the net\ncame in, he saw a shape like living silver, leaping and darting to and\nfro to find some way of escape. Up to the bank he landed it, a great\ngasping fish.\n\nWhen he was about to kill it, he saw, to his astonishment, tears running\nout of its eyes, that gazed at him and seemed to reproach him for his\ncruelty. As he drew back, the Fish said: \"Why should you kill me, who\nwish to live?\"\n\nThe old man, altogether bewildered at hearing himself thus addressed,\nanswered: \"Since I and my wife are hungry, and God gave you to be\neaten, I have good reason for killing you.\"\n\n\"I could give you something worth far more than a meal,\" said the Fish,\n\"if you would spare my life.\"\n\n\"We are old,\" said the ferryman, \"and want only to end our days in\npeace. To-day we are hungry; what can be more good for us than a meal\nwhich will give us strength for the morrow, which is the new year?\"\n\nThe Fish said: \"To-night someone will come and unfasten your boat, and\nferry himself over, and you know nothing of it till the morning, when\nyou see the craft moored out yonder by the further bank.\"\n\nThe old man remembered how the thing had happened in previous years,\ndirectly the Fish spoke. \"Ah, you know that then! How is it?\" he asked.\n\n\"When you go back to your hut at night to sleep, I am here in the\nwater,\" said the Fish. \"I see what goes on.\"\n\n\"What goes on, then?\" asked the old man, very curious to know who the\nstrange traveller might be.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the Fish, \"if you could only catch him in your boat, he could\ngive you something you might wish for! I tell you this: do you and your\nwife keep watch in the boat all night, and when he comes, and you have\nferried him into mid-stream, where he cannot escape, then throw your net\nover him and hold him till he pays you for all your ferryings.\"\n\n\"How shall he pay me? All my ferryings of a lifetime!\"\n\n\"Make him take you to the land of Returning Time. There, at least, you\ncan end your days in peace.\"\n\nThe old man said: \"You have told me a strange thing; and since I mean to\nact on it, I suppose I must let you go. If you have deceived me, I trust\nyou may yet die a cruel death.\"\n\nThe Fish answered: \"Do as I tell you, and you shall die a happy one.\"\nAnd, saying this he slipped down into the water and disappeared.\n\nThe ferryman went back to his wife supperless, and said to her: \"Wife,\nbring a net, and come down into the boat!\" And he told her the story of\nthe Fish and of the yearly traveller.\n\nThey sat long together under the dark bank, looking out over the quiet\nand cold moonlit waters, till the midnight hour. The air was chill, and\nto keep themselves warm they covered themselves over with the net and\nlay down in the bottom of the boat. It was the very hour when the old\nyear dies and the new year is born.\n\nBefore they well knew that they had been asleep, they started to feel\nthe rocking of the boat, and found themselves out upon the broad waters\nof the river. And there in the fore-part of the boat, clear and\nsparkling in the moonlight, stood a naked man of shining silver. He was\nbending upon the pole of the boat, and his long hair fell over it right\ndown into the water.\n\nThe old couple rose up quietly, and unwinding themselves from the net,\nthrew it over the Silver Man, over his head and hands and feet, and\ndragged him down into the bottom of the boat.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe old man caught the ferry pole, and heaved the boat still into the\nmiddle of the stream. As he did so a gentle shock came to the heart of\neach; feebly it fluttered and sank low. \"Oh, wife!\" sighed the old man,\nand reached out his hand for hers.\n\nThe Silver Man lay still in the folds of the net, and looked at them\nwith a wise and quiet gaze. \"What would you have of me?\" he said, and\nhis voice was far off and low.\n\nThey said, \"Bring us into the land of Returning Time.\"\n\nThe Silver Man said: \"Only once can you go there, and once return.\"\n\nThey both answered \"We wish once to go there, and once return.\"\n\nSo he promised them that they should have the whole of their request;\nand they unloosed him from the net, and landed altogether on the further\nbank.\n\nUp the hill they went, following the track of the Silver Man. Presently\nthey reached its crest; and there before them lay all the howling winter\nof the world.\n\nThe Silver Man turned his face and looked back; and looking back it\nbecame all young, and ruddy, and bright. The ferryman and his wife gazed\nat him, both speechless at the wonderful change. He took their hands,\nmaking them turn the way by which they had come; below their feet was a\ndeep black gulf, and beyond and away lay nothing but a dark starless\nhollow of air.\n\n\"Now,\" said their guide, \"you have but to step forward one step, and you\nshall be in the land of Returning Time.\"\n\nThey loosed hold of his hands, joined clasp, husband with wife, and at\none step upon what seemed gulf beneath their feet, found themselves in a\ngreen and flowery land. There were perfumed valleys and grassy hills,\nwhose crops stretched down before the breeze; thick fleecy clouds\ncrossed their tops, and overhead amid a blue air rang the shrill\ntrilling of birds. Behind lay, fading mistily as a dream, the bare world\nthey had left; and fast on his forward road, growing small to them from\na distance, went the Silver Man, a shining point on the horizon.\n\nThe ferryman and his wife looked, and saw youth in each other's faces\nbeginning to peep out through the furrows of age; each step they took\nmade them grow younger and stronger; years fell from them like worn-out\nrags as they went down into the valleys of the land of Returning Time.\n\nHow fast Time returned! Each step made the change of a day, and every\nmile brought them five years back towards youth. When they came down to\nthe streams that ran in the bed of each valley, the ferryman and his\nwife felt their prime return to them. He saw the gold come back into her\nlocks, and she the brown into his. Their lips became open to laughter\nand song. \"Oh, how good,\" they cried, \"to have lived all our lives poor,\nto come at last to this!\"\n\nThey drank water out of the streams, and tasted the fruit from the trees\nthat grew over them; till presently, being tired for mere joy, they lay\ndown in the grass to rest. They slept hand within hand and cheek against\ncheek, and, when they woke, found themselves quite young again, just at\nthe age when they were first married in the years gone by.\n\nThe ferryman started up and felt the desire of life strong in his blood.\n\"Come!\" he said to his wife, \"or we shall become too young with\nlingering here. Now we have regained our youth, let us go back into the\nworld once more!\"\n\nHis wife hung upon his hand, \"Are we not happy enough,\" she asked, \"as\nit is? Why should we return?\"\n\n\"But,\" he cried, \"we shall grow too young; now we have youth and life at\nits best let us return! Time goes too fast with us; we are in danger of\nit carrying us away.\"\n\nShe said no further word, but followed up towards the way by which they\nhad entered. And yet, in spite of her wish to remain, as she went her\nyoung blood frisked. Presently coming to the top of a hill, they set off\nrunning and racing; at the bottom they looked at each other, and saw\nthemselves boy and girl once more.\n\n\"We have stayed here too long!\" said the ferryman, and pressed on.\n\n\"Oh, the birds,\" sighed she, \"and the flowers, and the grassy hills to\nrun on, we are leaving behind!\" But still the boy had the wish for a\nman's life again, and urged her on; and still with every step they grew\nyounger and younger. At length, two small children, they came to the\nborder of that enchanted land, and saw beyond the world bleak and wintry\nand without leaf. Only a further step was wanted to bring them face to\nface once more with the hard battle of life.\n\nTears rose in the child-wife's eyes: \"If we go,\" she said, \"we can never\nreturn!\" Her husband looked long at her wistful face; he, too, was more\nof a child now, and was forgetting his wish to be a man again.\n\nHe took hold of her hand and turned round with her, and together they\nfaced once more the flowery orchards, and the happy watered valleys.\n\nAway down there light streams tinkled, and birds called. Downwards they\nwent, slowly at first, then with dancing feet, as with shoutings and\nlaughter they ran.\n\nDown into the level fields they ran; their running was turned to a\ntoddling; their toddling to a tumbling; their tumbling to a slow crawl\nupon hands and feet among the high grass and flowers; till at last they\nwere lying side by side, curled up into a cuddly ball, chuckling and\ndimpling and crowing to the insects and birds that passed over them.\n\nThen they heard the sweet laughter of Father Time; and over the hill he\ncame, young, ruddy, and shining, and gathered them up sound asleep on\nthe old boat by the ferry.\n\n\n  _Printed in Great Britain by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld.,\n  London and Aylesbury._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nObvious punctuation errors repaired.\n\nPage 35, \"ful\" changed to \"full\" (struck him full)\n\nPage 61, \"you\" changed to \"your\" (laid your moon-children)\n\nPage 83, \"thing sat\" changed to \"things at (two things at the)\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Moonshine & Clover","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":47224}