{"collection":"folklore-oral-tradition","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_37547/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_37547","id":"gutenberg_37547","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37547","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Novels","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Christmas","Fairies -- Juvenile fiction","Fairy tales"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by David Edwards, eagkw and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: Cover]\n\n  [Illustration: The Fairies\n                 and the Christmas\n                 Child]\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n  [Illustration: _Fr._               \"We rocked the cradle\"\n                                         (_Page 182_)]\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: Title Page]\n\n  The\n  Fairies and\n  the Christmas Child\n  By Lilian Gask\n\n  The Illustrations are by\n  Willy Pogany\n\n  T. Y. Crowell & Co\n  New York\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nContents\n\n\n  Chapter                                    Page\n     I.  The Fairy Ring                         1\n\n    II.  The Princess with the Sea-Green Hair  25\n\n   III.  Rose-Marie and the Poupican           45\n\n    IV.  The Bird at the Window                67\n\n     V.  The White Stone of Happiness          89\n\n    VI.  The Seven Fair Queens of Pirou       109\n\n   VII.  In the Dwarf's Palace                133\n\n  VIII.  The Silver Horn                      157\n\n    IX.  The Little White Feather             175\n\n     X.  The Wild Huntsman                    197\n\n    XI.  The White Princess                   217\n\n   XII.  The Favourite of the Fates           239\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nList of Illustrations\n\n\n  \"We rocked the cradle\"                    _Frontispiece_\n                                                      Page\n  \"I fancied that I had seen those wee brown men\"       11\n\n  \"The Fairy Ring was thronged with dancing Elves\"      20\n\n  \"Here a Fairy Princess awaited him\"                   33\n\n  Rose-Marie and the Poupican                           54\n\n  \"They tossed him three times in the air\"              63\n\n  \"She hid herself behind a curtain\"                    83\n\n  \"What ails you, Madame Marguerite?\"                   99\n\n  \"The Lord of Argouges threw himself on his knees\"    114\n\n  \"They instantly changed into snow-white birds\"       129\n\n  \"The Dwarf invited me to be seated\"                  141\n\n  \"Elberich had jeered him finely\"                     151\n\n  \"'She is yours, O Otnit!' cried the Dwarf\"           154\n\n  \"In the old man's place sat a little Dwarf\"          167\n\n  \"A little white feather danced above their heads\"    189\n\n  \"'How now?' cried a reassuring voice\"                196\n\n  \"He entreated the maiden to come down\"               205\n\n  \"Went shyly down to meet him\"                        212\n\n  \"Lowered herself from her window by means of a rope\n      of pearls\"                                       224\n\n  \"He tickled the monster's nose\"                      233\n\n  \"Pepita rushed into his arms\"                        253\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: _To\n                 \"The Doctor\"\n                 and\n                 Mrs. Macnaughton-Jones\n                 my \"Good Fairies\"\n                 and best of\n                 Friends_]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nChapter I\n\nThe Fairy Ring\n\n\nThe worst of being a Christmas Child is that you don't get birthday\npresents, but only Christmas ones. Old Naylor, who was Father's\ncoachman, and had a great gruff voice that came from his boots and was\nrather frightening, used to ask how I expected to grow up without proper\nbirthdays, and I thought I might have to stay little always. When I told\nFather this he laughed, but a moment later he grew quite grave.\n\n\"Listen, Chris,\" he said. And then he took me on his knee--I was a small\nchap then--and told me things that made me forget old Naylor, and wish\nand wish that Mother could have stayed with us. The angels had wanted\nher, Father explained; well, we wanted her too, and there were plenty\nof angels in heaven, anyway. When I said this Father gave me a great\nsqueeze and put me down, and I tried to be glad that I was a Christmas\nchild. But I wasn't really until a long time afterwards, when I had\nfound the Fairy Ring, and met the Queen of the Fairies.\n\nThis was how it happened. Father and I lived at one end of a big town,\nin a funny old house with an orchard behind it, where the sparrows ate\nthe cherries and the apple trees didn't flower. Once upon a time, said\nFather, there had been country all round it, but the streets and the\nroads had grown and grown until they drove the country away, and now\nthere were trams outside the door, and not a field to be seen. I often\nthought that our garden must be sorry to be so crowded up, and that this\nwas why it wouldn't grow anything but weedy nasturtiums and evening\nprimroses.\n\nFather is a doctor, and most awfully clever. If you cut off the top of\nyour finger, he'd pop it on again in no time, and he used to cure all\nsorts of illnesses with different coloured medicines he made himself\nbehind a screen.\n\nBut though he had lots and lots of patients--sometimes the surgery was\nfull of them, 'specially on cold nights when there was a fire--they\ndidn't seem to have much money to give him, and sometimes they ran\naway with their furniture in the night so's not to pay their bills.\nThis worried Father dreadfully, and even Santa Claus was scared away\nby the things he said. On Christmas Eve the old fellow quite forgot\nto fill my stocking. It was all limp and empty when I woke in the\nmorning, and if I hadn't remembered that when I grew up I was going to\nbe a Commander-in-Chief, I should never have swallowed that lump in my\nthroat.\n\nFather couldn't even take me to hear \"Hark The Herald Angels\" at the big\nchurch down the road that day, for someone sent for him in a hurry, and\nwhen he didn't come in for dinner, I wished it wasn't Christmas at all.\nNancy Blake, who kept house for us and was most stingy over raisins,\nbanged the kitchen door when I said I would make her some toffee, and\nI couldn't find anything else to do. I looked at all my books and\npretended I was a soldier in a lonely fort; then I thought I would make\nup medicine myself, so's to save Father trouble when he came home. But I\nburnt my fingers with some nasty stuff in a green bottle, and it hurt a\ngood deal. So I determined to go to meet him, and tell him what I'd\ndone.\n\n[Illustration: \"Nancy Blake.\"]\n\nThe trams were running as usual, and as I had a penny left out of my\npocket money--I hadn't spent it before as it had got stuck in some\nbulls' eyes--I took the car to the corner; then I jumped out and walked.\nThere wasn't a sign of Father all down the road, and I remembered at\nlast that he had said he must look in at the Hospital, which was in\nquite a different direction. I should have gone home then, if it hadn't\nbeen so dull with no one but Nancy Blake.\n\n\"He won't be back until tea time anyhow,\" I thought, and I made up my\nmind to be a boy scout, and go and explore.\n\nIt was a splendid day, and the roofs of the shops and houses glittered\nfrom millions of tiny points, just as you see on Christmas cards. I\nwalked on and on, feeling gladder every moment, for my fingers had left\noff hurting me and I knew that I couldn't be far from the woods, which\nwere just outside the town. I had been there once with Father, and it\nwas lovely; so I hurried on as quickly as I could.\n\nWhen I got there they made me think of Fairyland. The trees were\nsparkling with the same frost-diamonds I had noticed on the roofs, and\nthrough the criss-cross branches above my head the sky was as blue as\nblue. A jolly little robin was twittering in a bush, enjoying himself no\nend; his bright red breast reminded me of the holly I had stuck over\nFather's mantelpiece, and I began to feel sad again. For it did seem\nhard lines that though Christmas was my birthday, no one, not even\nFather, had thought of it.\n\n\"I wish that I hadn't been born on Christmas Day!\" I said aloud, when I\nhad reached the very heart of the wood, and I sat down to rest on the\nstump of a tree close to a little circle of bright green. It was here\nI had come that day with Father, and he had told me that though it was\ncalled a \"Fairy Ring,\" it was really made by the spread of a very small\nfungus, or mushroom. I liked the idea of the fairy ring much better, and\nas I touched it with my foot I wished again that I wasn't a Christmas\nchild. And then I heard a sigh.\n\nIt wasn't the robin, for he was still twittering on his bush, and it\nwasn't the wind, for the air was quite sheltered behind the bank, which\nwas sweet with wild thyme in summer. The next moment I heard another\nsigh, and this seemed to come from a frond of bracken just outside the\nfairy ring. It was brown and withered, but the frost had silvered it all\nover, and as I looked at it I saw the loveliest little creature you can\nimagine clinging to the stem. She was only about three inches high, but\nher tiny form was full of grace, and her eyes so bright and beautiful\nthat they shone like stars. Her hair was the palest silver-gold, and\nshe had a crown of diamonds and an amethyst wand that sparkled when she\nmoved it. The scarf wreathed round her shoulders flashed all the colours\nof mother-of-pearl, and throwing it from her she hummed to herself a\nlittle song about violets and eglantine, and sweet musk roses. Her notes\nwere as clear as the lark's, and as if she had called them, more Fairies\nshowed amidst the bracken.\n\nThey were lovely too, though not so lovely as she. One was dressed in\npink, like a pink pea; another had a long grey coat, spangled with drops\nof dew, while the third had wings like a big grey moth, and the smallest\nElf was all in brown.\n\n\"It is Titania who sings,\" chirped the robin in my left ear; \"Titania,\nthe Queen of the Fairies, though some call her the fair Queen Mab!\" And\nhe hopped to the foot of the frond of bracken and made a funny little\nduck with his head.\n\n\"Good bird!\" cried Titania, breaking off her song. \"You, too, sing\nthrough the winter gloom, and are here to welcome the sweet o' the\nyear.\" Then she pointed her gleaming wand at me, and shook her head.\n\n\"O Christmas child,\" she said reproachfully, \"it is well that it was I\nwho heard you, and not my brave lord Oberon, who has less patience with\nmortal folly. So you wish you had not been born on Christmas Day? Why,\n'tis the day most blessed in all the year--the day when the King of\nKings sent peace and goodwill to Man in the form of the Christ Child. It\nis His birthday as well as yours, and in memory of Him the Fairies show\nthemselves to Christmas children, if they are pure in heart and word and\ndeed. Your Mother knew this, and she was glad. She called you 'Chris' to\nremind you always which day you came.\"\n\nAnd then I was sure that I hadn't been dreaming after all, though Nancy\nsaid, \"Stuff and Nonsense,\" when I fancied that I had seen those wee\nbrown men busy about the house on winter mornings, or flitting in\nshadowy corners at night, before she lit the gas. I had never spoken to\nthem, for I thought if I did they might run away; but I was pleased to\nknow they had been real.\n\n\"You would have seen us before,\" said Titania, \"but you live in a big\ntown, and your eyes were dimmed with smoke and fog. My dainty Elves love\ndales and streams, and the depths of forests; in spring they throng\nthe meadows, decking the cowslips' coats of gold at early dawn with\nsplotches of ruby, my choicest favours, and hanging pearls in their\ndainty ears. In summer they sleep in the roseleaves, and ride behind\nthe wings of butterflies, while in winter they hush the babble of the\nbrooks, and powder the branches of the trees with frost to hide their\nnakedness. Away with you, Peas-blossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustard-seed!\nGo, freeze the fingers of Father Time into glassy icicles, and forget\nnot to seek for crimson berries on which our friends the birds may feed\nat morn!\"\n\n[Illustration: I fancied that I had seen those wee brown men]\n\n[Illustration]\n\nShe clapped her hands, and the Fairies fled. I wondered why she did not\nfall, since she no longer clung to the frond of bracken; but her tiny\nfeet were firmly planted in the fork of a leaf, and behind her glinted a\npair of wings which had been invisible before. As I watched her I\nthought of a question I had often wanted to ask.\n\n\"Where do Fairies come from?\" I said, hoping she would not be offended.\n\n\"Ah,\" she replied, \"that is more than I may tell you. But we were here,\nin these very islands, long before the people of the woods, and the\nwhite-haired Druids who worshipped the God of the Oak. There were\nspirits then, as now, in streams and rivers, and sweet-voiced Sirens in\nthe deep blue sea. Some Fairies rode on magic horses, and some were even\nsmaller than I, and lived in the ears of the yellow corn. Dagda then was\nthe King of the Fairies, a mighty spirit whose cauldron was supposed\nto be the vast grey dome of the sky. Those were the days of Witches,\nDwarfs, and Giants, and little people who lived in the hills, and many\nother Fairies known by different names.\n\nWe are found in various guises all over the world, but our home is said\nfirst to have been in Persia. There dwelt the ancient Jinn who haunted\nthe mountain recesses and the forest wilds ages before the first man\ntrod the earth. Here, too, were Deevs, malicious creatures of terrible\nstrength who warred with our sisters, the Peries. These exquisite\ncreatures abode at Kaf, in the deep green mountains of Chrysolite, the\nrealm of Pleasure and Delight, wherein was the beauteous Amber City.\nSome day you may go to Persia, and then, if you meet a Peri, she will\ntell you how a mortal man once came to her sisters' rescue, and\nconquered the wicked Deevs.\"\n\nThe thought of meeting a Peri took my breath away, for I had read about\nthem on winter evenings.\n\n\"Do you mean that wherever I go I shall see the Fairies, just as I see\nyou now?\" I cried.\n\n\"Wherever you go!\" she said, nodding her head, \"and soon I believe you\nwill cross the sea and travel through other lands. But you must not\nthink,\" she went on earnestly, \"that the Fairies in your own country are\nless worth knowing, for you might spend your life in making friends with\nthem, and yet have much to learn.\"\n\nI can't remember half of all that Titania told me after this, but she\nspoke of fair White Elves who live among the trees, and are ruled by a\nKing who rides abroad in a beautiful little coach with trappings of gold\nand silver; of mischievous Black Elves who live underground, and haunt\npeople with nasty tempers; of Nymphs and Gnomes and sad-faced Trolls,\nand of Brownies and Portunes and Pixies. I should have liked to hear\nmore about the Brownies and Portunes, but it was fun to learn how the\nBrownies play tricks on lazy people who lie in bed and won't get up,\npulling the clothes right off them, and throwing these on the floor,\nand of how they help the farmers' wives to bake and brew if they are\nclean and neat. Titania said that Fairies dislike people who are untidy,\nand I hoped that she hadn't seen my playbox or my chest of drawers. I\nmade up my mind that directly I got home I would put them straight, and\nso that she might not notice how red I had grown, I asked her to tell me\nwhat Portunes were.\n\n[Illustration: The \"Portunes\" were queer creatures.]\n\n\"Queer little wrinkled creatures with faces like old men,\" she said.\n\"They wear long green coats covered with darns and patches, and are only\nfound now in the depths of the country. They like to live on prosperous\nfarms, and though some of them are barely an inch high, they can lift\nheavier weights than the strongest labourer. Like the Brownies, they can\nbe mischievous as well as helpful. A farmer once offended a Portune by\nspeaking disrespectfully of his kindred, and the next time that the good\nman rode home from market in the dusk, the little fellow sprang on to\nthe horse's reins, and guided him into the bog. Both horse and man had\nto flounder out as best they could, and the farmer was careful\nhenceforth to mind his tongue.\"\n\n\"And what are Pixies like?\" I asked. She had said that I reminded her of\none of these, so of course I was curious about them.\n\n\"They are much taller than we are, and very fair,\" answered Titania,\n\"with blue-grey eyes like yours. If you want to meet them, you must go\nto Devonshire, for it is there that they make their home. They love the\nferns and the heather, and the rich red earth, and live in a Pixy-house\nin a rock. They, also, are ruled by a King, who commands them as I do\nmy Elves and Fays, despatching them hither and thither to do his will.\nSometimes he sends them down to the mines, to show the men who work\nthere where the richest lode is to be found; and if the miners grumble,\nor are discontented, the Pixies lead them astray by lighting false\nfires. On other occasions they are told off to help the villagers with\ntheir housework, and their attentions are warmly welcomed by the Devon\nfolk. One good dame was so pleased with the help a ragged little Pixie\nwho had torn her frock on a sweet-briar bush gave her with her spinning,\nthat she made her a new set of clothes of bright green cloth, and laid\nthese by the spinning wheel. The Pixy put them on at once, and singing\n\n    \"Pixy fine, Pixy gay,\n    Pixy now will run away!\"\n\nsped out of the house in broad daylight, and, alas! she never came back\nagain.\"\n\n\"Ho! ho! ho!\" laughed a merry voice, and a shock-headed little fellow\nswung himself down from a bough just behind me, and turned a somersault\non the ground.\n\n\"Welcome, gay Puck!\" Titania cried. \"Whence do you come, and what do you\ndo this night?\"\n\n\"I come from the court of King Oberon, sweet Titania,\" answered the Elf,\n\"and to-night I plait the manes and tails of Farmer Best's grey horses.\nAt early dawn I shall skim the cream off the milk in his good wife's\ndairy, since yester-e'en she grudged a drink of it to an orphan child.\n'Robin Goodfellow has been here!' she will cry when she sees what I have\nbeen after, and her greedy old eyes will fill with tears. That is one\nof my pet names, Wide-eyes,\" he added, hopping on to my shoulder and\npinching my ear. \"I am also Pouke, Hobgoblin, and Robin Hood. But where\nare the Urchins, my merry play-fellows? It is high time that they were\nhere, for the lady moon has hung her lamp i' the sky.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"The Fairy Ring was thronged with dancing Elves\"]\n\nThe clouds were all tinted a deep rose pink, and behind the trees, just\nwhere the moon had risen, was a haze of purple. I knew by this that it\nmust be nearly tea-time, and I was just going to say that I must go,\nwhen Titania left the frond of bracken, and alighted in the centre of\nthe Fairy Ring. Waving her wand, she summoned her \"gladsome sprites,\"\nand next moment the Fairy Ring was thronged with dancing Elves who wore\nred caps and silver shoes, with bright green mantles buttoned with bobs\nof silk. Puck flew to join them, but Peas-blossom, Cobweb, Moth, and\nMustard-seed, who sprang from nowhere, danced in an inner circle round\nthe Fairy Queen. They sang as they danced, and this is their song. I\nfound it afterwards in a book of Father's, which he said had in it more\nwonderful things than all books in the world but one:\n\n    \"By the moon we sport and play,\n    With the night begins our day.\n    As we frisk the dew doth fall,\n    Trip it, little urchins all.\n    Lightly as the little bee,\n    Two by two and three by three,\n    And about goe wee, goe wee.\"\n\n\"And about goe wee, goe wee!\" echoed down the glade, and then the\nElves suddenly disappeared, with Puck and Titania and her attendants.\n\nThe wood was growing darker every minute, but the sparkles of frost were\nglittering still, and lit my way. At the end of the scrub I saw Father\ncoming to meet me, swinging down the road with such long steps that he\nlooked like a kindly big giant. He had guessed where I had gone, and he\nwas so pleased to find me that he forgot to say I mustn't explore any\nmore without him, as I was afraid he would. He took my hand, and we both\nran; it was lovely at home by the fire.\n\nI meant to have told him about Queen Titania while we were having tea,\nbut Nancy had made such scrumptious cakes that there wasn't time at\nfirst, and before I had finished he began to open the letters that had\ncome just after he left that morning. They seemed to be all bills, and\nFather sighed as he looked them over, his forehead puckered into rucks\nand lines. Presently he came to a big blue envelope, and he turned\nthis round and round as if he thought there might be something horrid\ninside. The paper crackled like anything as he drew it out, and when it\nwas unfolded he sat looking at it for a long time, though there didn't\nseem to be much writing. At last he gave an odd kind of gasp, and took\nmy face between his hands. He pressed it so hard that he made me say\n\"O!\" though I didn't want to do this, and I wondered what had happened.\n\n\"Your great-aunt Helen is dead, Chris,\" he said at last, as he let me\ngo. \"I haven't seen her for years and years.... She was not over kind to\nme when I was a lad, though I believe she meant well.... And now she's\nleft us all her money. We shan't be poor any more.\"\n\nThis was the beginning of ever so many surprises. First, Father and I\nhad warm new overcoats, with woolly stuff inside them that felt like\nblankets, only much more soft and fluffy, and Nancy had the blue silk\ndress she always vowed that she should buy when her ship came home.\nThere was a fire every night in Father's study, and I had one in my\nbedroom. More patients came up for soup than they did for medicine, and\nthey said \"God bless you, Sir!\" to Father so often that he wanted to run\naway. The children in the hospital had the biggest tree that the ward\nwould hold, and all the old men and women in the workhouse had a big\ntea, and shawls and mufflers.\n\nA few weeks later a strange young man with a very shiny collar and a new\nbrown bag came to stay with us. Father said he was a \"locum,\" but Nancy\nsaid it ought to be \"locust,\" for his appetite was enormous, and she\ncouldn't make enough buttered toast to please him. He had come to take\ncare of Father's patients until someone bought all the medicines and\nthings in the surgery, and I was awfully glad to hear we were going\naway.\n\n\"We'll go straight to the sunshine, Chris,\" said Father, \"where there\nare trees and flowers instead of long rows of houses, and the air isn't\nfull of smoke.\"\n\nAnd that night I dreamt all about fairies, and of what I was going to\nsee and hear in foreign lands.\n\n[Illustration: The \"Locust.\"]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nChapter II\n\nThe Princess with the Sea-Green hair.\n\n\nThe cliffs were hidden in the mist when we left Dover, and the sky was\ndull and grey. But very soon it began to clear; a silvery light shone\nbehind the clouds, and then the sun came out, and the rolling waves\nturned emerald green. They tossed our steamer up and down as if it were\na cork, and Father soon went below, but I begged so hard to be allowed\nto stay on deck that he said I might if I would promise, \"honour\nbright,\" not to get into mischief.\n\nWhen he had gone I put my cap into my pocket, so that it might not blow\noff, and leaned over the rails to watch the swell of the sea. I wasn't\nthinking of Fairies then, nor of being a Christmas child, but of how it\nmust feel to be shipwrecked. So when the spray blew in my face and made\nme blink, I was surprised to see a merry red face grinning up at me from\nthe foam. It had curls of seaweed upon its forehead, and a mouth like a\nbig round \"O\".\n\n\"I'm Father Neptune,\" it roared, so loudly that I could hear it quite\ndistinctly above the noise of the wind. \"Why not take a header, and\ncome and ride one of my fine sea horses? 'Father wouldn't like it?'\nHo! ho! ho! What a molly-coddle of a boy!\"\n\nA big wave tossed him on one side, and on its crest was a beautiful girl\nwith a shining tail, and hair like a stream of gold. Of course I knew\nshe was a mermaid, and would want me to go to her coral caves.\n\n\"Won't you come with me and play with my sheeny pearls?\" she cried.\n\"They gleam like the dawn on a summer morning, and you shall choose the\nloveliest for your very own.\"\n\nShe held out her arms and I nearly sprang into them, for I thought that\na pearl would be splendid for Father's pin. But just behind her I saw\ntwo ugly mermen, with horrid green teeth and bright red eyes, and ropes\nof seaweed in their long thin hands. Then I remembered that mermaids\nwere dangerous, and I ran straight over to the other side of the steamer\nand put my fingers into my ears, so that I might not hear her call. She\nspoke so sweetly that it was difficult to resist, but I did not trust\nher.\n\nThe water was calmer on this side, and I wondered why until I saw some\nfunny brown men, rather like Brownies, but ever so much bigger and\nstronger, stretched out at full length on the tops of the waves.\nThey were blowing on conchs as hard as they could, and wherever\nthey blew, the waves grew quieter. I guessed at once that they were\nTritons--seafolk who live with Neptune in his crystal palace under the\nsea. I was still watching them when Father came up behind me, and told\nme that we were really in.\n\nWe stayed the night at a big hotel where almost everyone spoke in a\nlanguage which I did not understand, and I had a grown-up dinner with\nFather, with heaps of different dishes, most of them tasting much alike.\nNext day we went on for hours in the train, and the air grew warmer and\nwarmer, and the grass more green, until at last we were in the south of\nFrance. There were palms and orange groves and heaps of flowers, and it\nwould have been just splendid if Father had been all right. He hadn't\nhad time to be ill at home you see, and now there were no sick people\nto worry him, he was so tired that he couldn't do anything. But he told\nme not to worry, for once he was really rested, he would soon get well.\n\nAnd so he did, though it took a long time to rest him, and we couldn't\nexplore a bit. In the mornings we strolled through the gardens, or down\nto the sea, and most afternoons we did nothing at all. Very often, as I\nsat beside him on the verandah, with the sun shining full on the green\nawning, and the roses nodding to us over the balcony, he would fall\nasleep; and then a Flower-Fairy would peep through the ferns, and tell\nme the loveliest stories. The Rose-Fairy came, and the Queen of the\nLilies, with a lovely gold crown upon her head; but my favourite Fairy\nlived in a bed of violets. Her frock was purple, and I knew when she was\ncoming because the air all round grew sweet. Her stories were the best\nof all. She had heard them from the wind, she said, as he played with\nher leaves at dawn. My favourite was one that she said he had brought\nfrom Provence.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Princess with the Sea-Green Hair.\n\n\"A worthy couple at Marseilles,\" she began, \"had longed for a child\nfor years in vain, and great was their joy when they knew at last that\ntheir wish was about to be granted. The boy was born during a fearful\nstorm, and the first sound he heard was the crash of the sea as it broke\non the shore. He was christened Paul, and grew up into a handsome lad\nwith a quantity of thick fair hair which curled like the tips of the\nwaves, and piercing blue eyes which were always twinkling with fun and\nmischief.\n\nThere was not any question as to what calling he should follow, for the\nsea claimed him as a son of her own, and he was never content on dry\nland. When his ship came home and the crew was dismissed, he could not\nrest, and every evening at sunset he would row himself out in a little\nboat as far as he could go. One summer night, when a thousand ripples\ndanced on the waves, he leaned over the side of his boat, gazing\ndown--down--down. He did not know why, but he felt quite sure that\nsomeone was calling him, and with all his heart he longed to obey the\nsummons. Presently he felt himself lifted gently, and drawn through\nthe gleaming water by hands which he could not see. It was black as\nnight before they released him, for neither sun nor moon pierce the\ndepths of the ocean. He would have been in total darkness but for the\nstrange-shaped fish who carried lanterns on their heads, and guided\nhim to the gates of a palace, formed of millions of barnacles. These\nwere piled one on the top of the other until they reached an enormous\nheight, and were decorated with what looked like a row of human eyes.\n\nThe gates flew open as Paul approached them, and through a passage of\nmother-of-pearl he reached a chamber that flashed with opal lights. Here\na Fairy Princess awaited him--a Princess so exquisitely beautiful in\nspite of her sea-green hair, that though his heart did not go out to\nher, he was not repelled by the love she showed him.\n\nShe kept him with her for many hours, and at dawn of day she bade him\nreturn to his home, giving him two golden fish which he was to show\nto all who asked him where he had spent the night, telling them he\nhad been a'fishing. The invisible hands which had brought him thither\nbore him back to his boat, and he landed just at sunrise. His golden\nfish were a source of awe and wonder to his neighbours, who had never\nseen their like before; but the priest shook his head, and warned him to\nhave no dealings with the powers of darkness.\n\n[Illustration: Here a Fairy Princess awaited him--]\n\n[Illustration]\n\nBut Paul could not resist rowing out to the edge of the sunset. Evening\nafter evening he plied his oars, and always at twilight he was drawn\ndown--down, to the palace of the strange Princess with the sea-green\nhair. When he went on a voyage all was well with him, for his vessel\nbore him to other seas, where no one called him when the sky grew red;\nbut he was no sooner at home with his parents than something within him\nmade him row out to the west.\n\nAt last it seemed as if he had forgotten the Princess, for he fell in\nlove with sweet Lucile, who was as good and gentle as she was fair, and\nwillingly gave him her troth. Their wedding was fixed for Easter Day,\nand the night before, Paul wandered down to the sea-shore, thinking\nof the bliss in store for him on the morrow. His love-lit eyes fell\ndreamily on his boat, which had lain for months in the shallow cove\nwhere he had moored her, and without thinking what he was doing, he\nstepped inside and took the oars in his hands. Alas! No sooner did he\nfeel the boat moving under him, than he was seized by the old wild\nlonging to sail towards the west.\n\nAll happened as before, until he reached the Princess's palace; but now,\ninstead of smiling sweetly, she received him with threatening looks\nwhich showed an array of cruel teeth behind her rose-red lips.\n\n'So! you have been unfaithful to me!' she cried. 'I will not slay you,\nsince I have greater punishments in store than death.... You shall stay\nin the depths of the sea until your yellow hair is bleached and white,\nand your face a mask of hideous wrinkles. Then, and then only, shall you\nreturn to land, and those who have loved you best shall spurn you from\nthem as something loathsome. Scorn for scorn, and pain for pain. Thus\nwill I take my revenge.'\n\nSo for seven long years Paul was a prisoner in the darkness of the deep,\nhis bed the black and slimy ooze, and his companions fearsome monsters\nwho would fain have devoured him. At last, when his hair was white\nas snow, and his face so wrinkled and ugly that the children of the\nmer-folk shuddered as they passed, he was seized by a sprawling octopus,\nand dragged up through the water. The loathsome creature held him fast\nuntil they reached a spot not far from the little brown cottage where\nLucile had lived with her old father, and here it loosened its coils;\nand a great wave cast Paul on shore. The cottage was empty and deserted,\nand the winding path he had trodden so often was covered with moss.\nClose by, however, was another cottage, far more spacious, and through\nthe open door of this Paul saw his old sweetheart sitting beside a\ncradle. She sang as she rocked it gently with her foot, and her shining\nneedles flew in and out of a fisherman's coarse blue sock.\n\nAs the shadow fell across the threshold she looked up brightly,\nexpecting to see her husband. Meeting Paul's gaze instead, her own\ngrew strained with horror, and snatching her baby from the cradle she\nfled to the inner room. Without a word Paul hastened away. He knew his\ndoom, and hastened to throw himself back to the sea.\n\nIn his headlong flight he stumbled against an old, old woman, gathering\ndrift-wood on the wreck-strewn coast. She would have fallen if he had\nnot caught her in his arms, and as he held her she saw his eyes. They\nalone were unchanged, and his mother knew them.\n\n'My boy--my dear boy!' she cried with a sob of joy. And she drew his\nseared face down to her bosom, murmuring over it the same fond words she\nhad used when he was a child. She kissed him, and the spell was broken;\nonce more he was good to look upon.... The Princess had not known, you\nsee, that a mother's love is immortal.\"\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nFather was still asleep when the story came to an end, so I implored the\nFairy to tell me another.\n\n\"This comes from Provence, too,\" she said in answer to my pleading, \"and\nwill show you that sea-folk can sometimes be merciful.\"\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Sailor and the Porpoise.\n\n\"Among the crew of the good ship _L'Oiseau_, was a sailor named Antoine,\nwho kept all on board alive with his merry wit. One day, while sailing\nthe waters of the Mediterranean, the sea only faintly ruffled by the\nbreeze that helped them on their way, they espied what at first appeared\nto be a huge sea-serpent making its way towards them. For a few moments\nthe mariners watched it in much alarm; then, to their immense relief,\nthey found that their 'sea-serpent' was a string of harmless porpoises,\nswimming in a row, with their shining black backs just appearing above\nthe surface of the water. As they neared the ship they broke their\nranks, and evidently regarding the sailors as their friends, gambolled\nupon the waves like boisterous children. No man dreamt of interfering\nwith them until Antoine thoughtlessly picked up a rusty spear and threw\nit at one of those farthest away. He did not do this from any desire to\nkill, but only to show how excellent was his aim, and when he saw his\nshaft strike home, tinging the sea with red as his victim sank with a\nconvulsive shudder, he was seized with self-reproach and a nameless\ndread.\n\nAnd behold! a great storm shook the sea, as if the gods themselves were\nangry. Thunder and lightning rolled and flashed, and raindrops heavy as\nleaden balls fell in swift torrents. So fearful was the tempest that it\nthreatened to overwhelm the ship, and the Captain was in despair.\n\nIn this dire extremity a knight on a magnificent black charger came\nriding over the waves.\n\n'Surrender him who threw the spear!' he cried, and the sea stayed its\nturmoil to listen. 'Do this, and I will save the ship. Else shall it\nperish, with all on board, and sea creatures shall gnaw your bones.'\n\nThe sailors were exceedingly afraid, but they would not betray their\ncomrade. Seeing this, Antoine stepped forth of his own accord, for he\nwould not let his shipmates suffer for his fault. Leaping from the deck,\nhe landed upon the haunches of the charger, behind the knight, and that\nmoment the sea became smooth as glass, and the strange steed disappeared\nwith his two riders.\n\nThe ship made good way, and his shipmates never expected to see poor\nAntoine again, but to the amazement and joy of all, he rejoined\nthe vessel a few days later as though it had stood by for him. The\nexcitement of the men was great as they gathered round him to hear of\nhis adventures.\n\nAnd truly he had a marvellous story to relate. He had ridden, he told\nthem, to a distant island, where in a castle of shimmering gold, on a\nbed of the softest eiderdown, he found a knight stretched in agony. It\nwas he whom he had wounded, while in the form of a porpoise, and the\nspear he had thrown so thoughtlessly was still sticking in his side.\nHe drew this out, with tears of shame, and then, with his guilty right\nhand, he cleansed and bathed the wound. When this was done, the knight\nfell into a deep sleep, and woke at dawn well as ever. Taking Antoine's\nhand, he led him through many corridors lit with gems to a resplendent\nbanquet hall, where the walls were encrusted with star-shaped sapphires,\nand the floor was of beaten gold. Many other knights were assembled\nhere, and maidens so fair that Antoine sighed to think of them. When he\nhad feasted on curious dishes of rich fruits, the same knight who had\nbrought him thither took him back to the sea-shore, where the same black\nhorse awaited their coming. Mounting as before, the charger sped like\nthe wind over the sea until the ship hove in sight. When they came to\nwithin one hundred yards of the vessel, the black steed and his rider\ndisappeared as mysteriously as they had come, and Antoine was left\nstruggling in the water. However, he was an excellent swimmer, and soon\nreached the ship's side, up which he easily clambered by the aid of a\nrope which fortunately happened to be trailing in the water.\n\nThis was the tale that Antoine told his shipmates, and in memory of the\nclemency of the porpoise-knight, the sailors vowed that never again\nwould they injure a porpoise. Not only were they as good as their word,\nbut the vow is kept to this day by their children's children.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nChapter III\n\nRose Marie and the Poupican.\n\n\nIt was spring time when we left for Brittany. Father had been there\nonce with Mother, and thought he would like to go again. So I said\ngoodbye to my Flower-Fairy, and promised that if I could I would come\nback one day to see her.\n\nThe sunny air of the south had done Father good, and now he was almost\nwell. While we were in the train he read from the guide book, and told\nme about curious \"dolmens,\" or mounds of stone, which are supposed\nto have been built to mark the ancients' burying places. There were\nhundreds of these in Brittany, he said, and I was glad, for I knew they\nwere haunted by \"Gorics\" and \"Courils\"--strange Fairies of olden times.\n\nThat very first evening, while Father was writing letters, I slipped\naway by myself instead of going to bed, for I wanted to see a Poupican.\nA Poupican, you must know, is the dwarf-child of a Korrigan--a Fairy who\nlooks lovely by night and horrible by day, and cares for nothing so that\nshe gets what she wants. Korrigans are said to have been princesses in\ndays gone by, but they were so cruel and selfish that someone laid them\nunder a spell, which lasts for thousands of years unless a mortal breaks\nit. On account of the wicked things they said their mouths are always\ndry, and they are consumed by thirst; so they chose their homes by\nstreams and fountains, of which there are many in Brittany.\n\nFather had been telling me that there was a famous fountain in a wood\nnot far from our hotel, and I thought I might find them here. The\nfountain was hidden behind a grove of fir-trees, but the moon shone\ndown on its rough grey stones, and turned the square pond of water in\nfront of it into a silver mirror.\n\nAt first there seemed to be no one there, but when my eyes had grown\nused to the gloom I saw a number of Elves about two feet in height, with\nmisty white veils wound round their bodies. A cloth was spread beside\nthe fountain. It was covered with the loveliest things to eat--honey and\nfruit, and queer-shaped cakes sprinkled with sugar comfits--while in\nthe centre stood a crystal goblet, from which the moon drew flashes of\nsoft fairy light. As I crouched in the ferns, a wee green Wood-Elf stole\nup behind me; her tiny face was good and kind, and although she was so\nsmall that I could almost have held her in my hand, I felt she was there\nto protect me.\n\nThen I turned my eyes to the crystal goblet and I grew thirsty all at\nonce; and I wondered what the Korrigans would do if I took a sip of the\namber wine which filled it to the brim.\n\n\"One drop would make you wise for ever,\" whispered the Wood-Elf, just as\nif I had spoken, \"but you would be silent for ever, also. No mortal can\ndrink that wine and live. The Korrigans pass it round to each other in a\ngolden cup at the end of their feast, which takes place but once in the\nyear. It gives them power to work many charms, and to take the form of\nanimals at will.\"\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Hunter who shot the white Doe.\n\n\"Once, in these very woods, a hunter shot a fair white doe, when to\nhis amazement, she spoke to him in a human voice. He was so touched by\nher reproaches that he tore his fine linen shirt into strips to bind\nup her wound, and then hurried off to the spring for water to quench\nher thirst. It was dusk by the time he could get back to her, for the\nfirst spring he reached was dry, and instead of the milk-white doe, he\nfound a beauteous maiden, who threw herself on his bosom and entreated\nhim not to leave her. For a year and a day he was under her spells,\nbut he escaped in the end by making the sign of the cross with his two\nforefingers. This sign puts a Korrigan to instant flight, for things\nwhich are holy fill them with terror.... Ah! they have been at their\nmischief again. Poor Annette will weep for this.\"\n\nThe Wood-Elf stopped speaking, for running lightly over the grass,\nholding each other's long white veils so as to form a swinging cradle,\ncame a group of nine smooth-limbed Korrigans, their red-gold hair\ntossing on the wind behind them. In the midst of the hanging cradle lay\na tiny baby, with widely opened eyes and a solemn pink face, sucking a\nfat round thumb.\n\n\"They have stolen him from his mother, while she dreamt of fairy gold,\"\nthe Wood-Elf sighed. \"She should not have left her door on the latch;\nit was a sad mistake. In her little one's place there is now a Poupican.\nAt first she will not know, but will fondle and kiss the changeling as\nif he were her own. After a while she will grieve to find that he gives\nher no love in return for hers, and plays as readily with strangers as\nwith his mother. But her husband, who is a hard man, will rejoice at the\nwee child's cleverness. For he will have an old head on young shoulders,\nand be wise beyond his years.\"\n\nWhile the Wood-Elf was speaking, poor Annette's baby lay contentedly\nbeside the crystal goblet, sucking his thumb and looking up at the\nstars. The Korrigans had left off singing now, and they were passing\nround the golden cup when there came on the wind the sound of a church\nbell. Flinging the cup and the goblet into the pond, and staying only\nto wind the baby in their clinging veils, the Korrigans fled into the\ndarkness with cries of anguish. Some spell seemed to hold me, or I\nshould have tried to rescue the little thing; for it was dreadful to\nthink what might happen to him with the Korrigans.\n\nBut the Wood-Elf was quite comforting. \"He will be well taken care of,\"\nshe said, \"and someday Annette may break the spell, with the help of the\nCure. Rose-Marie got back her child by her own wit, but then she has the\nname of the blessed Mother. 'You would like to know how?' Then I must\nspeak softly, lest a Korrigan should hear.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nRose Marie and the Poupican.\n\n\"Rose-Marie was very young when she married Pierre,\" began the Elf, \"and\nnothing his mother or hers could say would induce her to beware of\nKorrigans when her baby came.\n\n'They would not hurt him even if they could,' she cried. 'Who could harm\nanything so small and sweet?' And she actually set his cradle under\nthe cherry trees, so that his round pink face was covered with fallen\npetals. Then she went to fetch Pierre from his sowing that he might see\nhow his little son was hidden under the spring snow, and lingered on her\nway to gather a cluster of purple violets.\n\nWhen she had disappeared, the Korrigans stole her baby, leaving a\nPoupican in the fragrant nest. The sun had gone in when she came back,\nand the little creature was wailing fretfully, Rose-Marie snatched him\nto her bosom and tried to soothe him, but from that day forward she had\nno rest. Her milk was sweet and plentiful, and the cradle was soft and\nwarm, but he gave neither her nor her good man Pierre a moment's peace.\nAll through the hours of the night he wailed, and tore at her hair when\nshe held him close to her, scratching her face like an angry kitten.\n\n[Illustration: Rose-Marie and the Poupican]\n\nWhen he grew older, he was just as bad, for there was no end to his\nmischief. He shut the cat in a bin of flour, and opened the oven door\nwhen Rose-Marie was baking, so that the bread was spoilt. He drove the\nhens into the brook, and cut the cord which tethered Pierre's white cow,\nso that she roamed for miles. And with all he did, he never uttered a\nword. It was this which first roused Rose-Marie's suspicions, and after\nthat she watched him carefully.\n\nOne morning she made up her mind to surprise him into speaking, and as\nhe sat beside the hearth, peering at her through his half-closed eyes,\nshe set an egg shell on the fire, and placing in this a spoonful of\nbroth, stirred it carefully with a silver pin. The Poupican was amazed,\nfor it was nearing the dinner hour, and there would be ten to feed. At\nlast he could contain himself no longer.\n\n'What are you doing, Mother?' he asked in a strange cracked voice.\n\n'I am preparing a meal for ten,' returned Rose-Marie, without looking\nround.\n\n'For ten--in an eggshell?' he cried. 'I have seen an egg before a hen;\nI have seen the acorn before the oak; but never yet saw I folly such as\nthis!' And he fell to cackling like a full farmyard, rocking himself\nfrom side to side, and repeating, 'Such folly I never saw!' until even\ngentle Rose-Marie was moved to anger.\n\n'You have seen too much, my son,' she said, and lifting him up by the\nscruff of his neck in spite of his struggles, she carried him out of\nthe house. Then, sitting down on a heap of stones beside the brook,\nshe proceeded to whip him soundly. At his first cry of pain a Korrigan\nappeared, in the shape of an ugly old woman with bleared red eyes and\nstraggling tresses. She was leading a curly-haired boy by the hand,\nthe living image of Pierre. As she released him he flew across the\ngrass to Rose-Marie and hid his face in her skirts.\n\n'Here is thy son!' croaked the Korrigan. 'I have fed him on meal and\nhoney, and he has learnt no evil. Give me my Poupican, and I will go.'\n\nSo Rose-Marie gave up the Poupican, and with a thankful heart took her\nown son home.\"\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Do you know any more stories?\" I asked when the Elf stopped for breath.\nI didn't want to go back just yet, for it was jolly in the wood, and I\ncould smell violets close by.\n\n\"More than I can tell,\" replied the Elf, \"but you shall hear what\nhappened to Peric and Jean.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Story of Peric and Jean.\n\n\"In a beautiful valley not far from here a number of Korrigans were\naccustomed to gather on summer nights, for the grass was soft as velvet,\nand the mountains sheltered it from the breeze. None of the peasants\ndare cross the valley after dark, lest they might be forced to join\ntheir revels; for it was known by all that the Korrigans must dance\nwhether they would or not, until some mortal should break the charm that\nhad been laid upon them.\n\nOne evening, when the west was aglow with fire, a farmer was sent for\nto attend the sick bed of his mother, who lived on the other side of\nthe valley. His wife and he had been at work all day in the fields,\nsince labour was scarce and they were poor, and as both loved the old\nwoman dearly, they hurried off without stopping to lay aside their\n_fourches_--little sticks which are still used in some parts of\nBrittany as 'plough paddles.' By the time they were half-way across\nthe valley, the dusk had fallen, and they found themselves encircled\nby angry Korrigans, who shrieked with rage and made as if they would\ntear them to pieces. Before they had touched them, however, they all\nfell back, and a moment later broke into singing. This was their\nsong:--\n\n    'Lez y, Lez hon,\n      (_Let him go, let him go_,)\n    Bas an arer zo gant hook;\n      (_For he has the wand of the plough_;)\n    Lez on, Lez y,\n      (_Let her go, let her go_,)\n    Bas an arer zo gant y!'\n      (_For she has the wand of the plough_!)\n\nThen the dancers made way for the farmer and his wife, who reached the\nold mother safely, and comforted her last hours.\n\nWhen they returned to their own homes they told what they had seen and\nheard. Some of the villagers were still too much afraid of the Korrigans\nto venture, but others armed themselves with _fourches_, and hastened to\nthe valley when night had fallen. All of these witnessed the famous\ndance, but none felt inclined to join it.\n\nIn a neighbouring village two tailors dwelt, and they were as anxious as\nthe rest to see the Korrigans. The elder was a tall and handsome fellow\nnamed Jean, but in spite of his inches he had no pluck, and was idle as\nwell as vain. The other was Peric, a red-haired hunchback, so kind and\nlovable in spite of his looks that if ever a neighbour were in trouble,\nit was to Peric he went first. Though the hunchback and Jean shared the\nsame business, the latter was always gibing at Peric, and left him to do\nmost of the work.\n\n'Since you're so courageous,' he sneered, one fine warm night when\nhe and Peric had stayed behind in the valley to watch the Korrigans,\n'suppose you ask them to let you join their dance. Your hump should make\nyou safe with them, for they are not likely to fall in love with you.'\n\n'All right,' said Peric cheerfully, though at this unkind reference to\nhis deformity his face had flushed. And taking off his cap he approached\nthe whirling Elves.\n\n'May I dance with you?' he asked politely, dropping his _fourche_ to\nshow he trusted them.\n\n'You're more brave than good looking,' they replied, their feet still\nmoving to the same quick measure. 'Are you not afraid that we shall work\nyou ill?'\n\n'Not a bit!' answered Peric, joining hands with them; and he started to\nsing as lustily as they:--\n\n    '_Dilun, Dimeurs, Dimerc'her_,'\n\nwhich means 'Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.' After a while he grew tired of\nsinging these three words so often, and went on of his own accord:--\n\n    '_Ha Diriaou, ha Digwener_,'\n      (And Thursday and Friday!)\n\n'_Mat! Mat!_' (Good! Good!) cried the Korrigans in chorus, and though he\ncould not tell why they were so delighted, he was glad to have given\nthem pleasure. When they offered him the choice of wealth or power in\nreturn for some mysterious service which he seemed to have rendered\nthem, he only laughed, for he thought that they were poking fun at him.\n\n'Take away my hump, then,' he cried at last, 'and make me as handsome as\nmy friend Jean. A little maid whom I love dearly will not look at me\nwhen he is near, though she likes well enough to talk to me by the\nfountain if he is out of the way.'\n\n[Illustration: They tossed him three times in the air.]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n'Is that all?' exclaimed the Korrigans. 'That will not give us the\nslightest trouble!' and catching him in their veils, they tossed him\nthree times in the air. The third time he alighted on his feet. He was\nnow as tall and straight as he could wish to be, with fine soft hair as\nblack as the raven's wing.\n\nInstead of rejoicing at his friend's good fortune, Jean was full of\nenvy. Forgetting his fears in his greed for gain, he pushed himself into\nthe midst of the Korrigans, who had once more begun to dance, and joined\nthem in their singing. His voice was less melodious than Peric's, and he\ndid not keep time so well, but they suffered him amongst them out of\ncuriosity.\n\nPresently he, like Peric, grew tired of the monotonous chant, and\nshouted:\n\n    '_Ha Disadarn, ha Disul_'\n      (And Saturday and Sunday)\n\n'What else? what else?' cried the Korrigans in great excitement, but\nhe only looked as stupid as an owl, and repeated these words over and\nover. Catching him in their veils, they tossed him up as they had done\nPeric, and when he came down again he found he had red hair and a hump.\nThey were angry you see, that he had come so near to breaking the spell\nand had then disappointed them, for if he had only had the sense to add:\n\n      '_Ha cetu chu er sizun_,'\n    (And now the week is ended)\n\nhe would have broken the spell and set them free, since Peric had\nalready sung 'And Saturday and Sunday.'\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nChapter IV\n\nThe Bird at the Window.\n\n\nThere were so many things in Brittany that Father wanted to show\nme--places he had seen with Mother, and curious monuments, and lovely\nviews,--that I could not get out alone again until the day before we\nwent on to Normandy. No Fairy would ever speak to me unless I was quite\nby myself, and the quaint little men who peered out from the old ruins\nwhen I ran on in front, scampered away at once when Father came in\nsight.\n\nOn that last morning a funny old postman in a blue cap brought him some\nletters from home. They were about the practice, and Father said that he\nmust stay indoors to answer them. The patients did not seem to like the\n\"locust\" at all, according to Nancy. I don't suppose he gave them such\nnice-tasting medicines as Father did.\n\nThe moment he took up his pen I was off to the wood. The paths were\ncarpeted with velvet moss, and starry flowers peeped through the green.\nSome bees were buzzing round a clump of violets that grew by the side of\nthe fountain, and sitting on the steps were two hideous old women, with\nbleared red eyes and wisps of faded hair. As I drew near they scowled\nmost horribly, and vanished in the spray. I was delighted to find my\nWood-Elf by the violets, for somehow the sight of those two old crones\nhad made me shiver.\n\n\"They were Korrigans!\" the Wood-Elf whispered. \"That is how they look by\ndaylight, so it is no wonder that they hate to be seen by mortals! I\nshouldn't advise you to come here to-night, for they will bear you a\ngrudge, and might tempt you to dance with them!\"\n\nI thought of what had befallen Jean, and shook my head. It must be\ndreadful to have a hump, though I read of one once that turned into\nwings. But Jean's didn't seem that kind.\n\n\"I know better than to put myself in their power,\" I cried, and the\nWood-Elf laughed.\n\n\"You think you are very wise,\" she said, pausing the next moment to coax\na bee to give her a sip of honey, \"but mortal men are not a match for\nFairy Folk. The Dwarfs, or Courils, who haunt the stone tables and\ncurious mounds you find throughout this country, compel all travellers\nby night who come their way to dance with them, whether they will or no.\nThey don't let them stop dancing until they drop to the ground, worn\nout with fatigue, and sometimes the poor creatures never regain their\nstrength. Mere Gautier's husband danced with the Dwarfs when he was but\neight-and-twenty, and he has not done a stroke of work from that day\nto this, though now he is eighty-five. Mere Gautier keeps the home\ntogether, and he sits by the fireside and tells the neighbours how the\nDwarfs looked and what they said. The Cure declares that such idleness\nis sinful, and that he might work if he would; but one cannot be sure,\nand he makes himself out to be a very poor creature.\n\nThe Gorics--tiny men but three feet high, though they have the strength\nof giants--are little better than Courils. Near Quiberon, by the sea\nshore, is a heap of huge stones, some say no less than four thousand in\nnumber, known as 'The House of the Gorics,' and every night the Dwarfs\ncome out and dance round it till break of day. If they spy a belated\ntraveller, even in the distance, they compel him to join them, just as\nthe Courils do; and when he faints from sheer exhaustion they vanish in\npeals of laughter.\"\n\n\"The Fairy I met in the South spoke of little men who gave away fairy\ngold,\" I said, trying not to let my voice sound sleepy. The sun was hot,\nthough it was early spring, and there was a grasshopper just at my elbow\nwho had been chirping a lullaby to her babies for the last half-hour.\n\n\"If you shut your eyes you will see nothing!\" the Wood-Elf pouted; and\nI knew that she had noticed my yawn. I sat up then, and told her how\npretty I thought her frock, all brown and green, with a dainty girdle of\nsilver. She laughed at this, and I coaxed her to tell me another story.\nIt was one, she said, that had been sung in verse on the Welsh hills,\nfor in ancient times the people of Wales and those of \"Little Britain\"\nwere the closest friends.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Wee Men of Morlaix\n\n\"Long, long ago,\" she began, \"a lordly castle was built at Morlaix,\nin the midst of such pleasant surroundings that some little Dwarfs in\nsearch of a home thought that they could not do better than build their\nstronghold underneath it. So they set to work immediately, for they\nhave a very wise rule that when once they decide that a thing must\nbe done, it shall be done at once. By the time that the castle was\nfinished, their home was completed too. Far below the ground they had\nfashioned a number of oval chambers, with ceilings encrusted with\ngleaming pearls which they found in the bay, and floors paved with\nprecious amber. Beyond these chambers lay their treasure house, where\nthey kept rich stores of fairy gold, and the winding passages which led\nto the upper world were only just wide enough to allow them to creep\nthrough. Their entrances were cunningly contrived to look like rabbit\nholes, so that strangers might think they led to nothing more than some\nsandy warren.\n\nBut the country folk knew better, for they often watched the little men\nrun in and out, beating a faint tattoo on the silver basins in which\nthey collected the morning dew and the evening mist, which served them\nfor food and drink. Now and then, when the sky was a vault of blue,\nand the sun shone his brightest, they brought up piles of their golden\ncoins, that they might see them glisten in the light of day. So friendly\nwere they to mortals, that if they were surprised while thus employed,\nthey seldom failed to share their wealth.\n\nOne very bleak autumn there was much distress on the countryside, for\nthe harvest had failed for the third season, and many of the smaller\nfarmers were on the verge of ruin. Jacques Bosquet--_Bon Jacques_--his\nneighbours called him, for he had never refused his help to a friend in\nneed--was one of these. His frail old mother was weak and ailing, and he\ndid not know how to tell her that she must leave the homestead to which\nshe had come as a bride, full fifty years before. In his despair he\ntried to borrow a thousand francs from a rich merchant in the next town;\nbut the merchant was a hard man, and his mouth closed like a cruel steel\ntrap when he told Jacques roughly that he had no money to lend. As\nJacques returned home his eyes were so dim with the tears which pride\nforbade him to shed, that in passing the castle of Morlaix he all but\nfell over three little men, who were counting out gold by a deep hole.\n\n'What is wrong with you, friend, that you do not see where you are\ngoing?' cried the eldest of the three; and when Jacques told them of his\nfruitless errand, they at once invited him to help himself to their\ntreasure.\n\n'Take all you can hold in your hand!' they urged, and since Jacques'\nhand had been much broadened with honest toil, this meant a goodly sum.\nThe three little men had vanished before Jacques found words to express\nhis gratitude, and he hurried away with a thankful heart. The coins were\nof solid gold, and stamped with curious signs; to his great joy he very\nsoon sold them for a big price, and had now sufficient not only to pay\nhis debts, but to carry him through the winter.\n\nWhen the merchant who had received his appeal so churlishly heard of his\ngood fortune, he was full of envy, and determined to lay in wait for the\nlittle men himself. Though blessed with ample means, he coveted more,\nand when at last he surprised the Dwarfs as Jacques had done, he made\nso piteous a tale that they generously allowed him to take two handfuls\ninstead of one. But this did not content the greedy fellow, and pushing\nthe wee men rudely away, he stooped to fill his pockets from the heap.\nAs he did so, a shower of blows rained fiercely round his head and face,\nand so heavily did they fall that he had much ado to save his skull.\nWhen at last the blows ceased, and he dared to open his eyes, the Dwarfs\nhad gone, with all their gold, and his pockets were empty of even that\nwhich they had contained before.\"\n\nThe Wood Elf paused, for a large brown bird had perched himself on a\nbranch which overhung the fountain. She waited until he had dipped his\nbeak in the sparkling stream and flown away before she spoke again.\n\n\"That bird is a stranger to these woods,\" she said presently under her\nbreath, \"and I wondered if it were really an Elf or a Fee. One never\nknows in these parts.\"\n\n\"Tell me!\" I urged; for I knew by her look that she was thinking of\nanother story.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Bird at the Window.\n\n\"There was once a most beautiful lady,\" she began, \"whose face was so\nkind and gentle that wherever she went the children flocked round her\nand hung on her gown. No flower in the garden could hold up its head\nbeside her, for the roses themselves were not so sweet, and even the\nlilies drooped before her exceeding fairness.\n\nFrom far and near lovers came to woo her, but she would none of them;\nfor ever in her mind was a gallant knight to whom she had plighted\nher troth in the land of dreams. In the presence of a holy man, whose\nfeatures were those of the Cure who confirmed her, he had placed a ring\nupon her finger; and so real did this dream seem, that she held herself\nto to be the knight's true wife. Her songs were all of him as she sat\nat her spinning, and her tender thoughts made warp and weft with the\nshining threads. When she went to the fountain, she heard his voice in\nthe splash of the falling water, and when the stars shone through her\ncasement, she fancied that they were the adoring eyes of her beloved.\nShe prayed each night that she might be patient and faithful until he\nclaimed her, for he, and none other, should touch her lips.\n\nBut she was very beautiful, and her parents were very poor. And when the\nlord of those parts saw and desired her, they gave her to him, despite\nher prayers, though he was bent and old. He carried her off to his grim\ncastle, and that no man but he should gaze on her loveliness, he shut\nher in his tower, with only an aged widow as her attendant. The widow\nwas half-blind and wholly deaf, and withal so crabbed in disposition\nthat as she passed the very dogs in the street slunk off to a safe\ndistance. In vain the beautiful lady pleaded to be allowed to stroll in\nthe gardens, or to ply her needle on the balcony; he would not let her\nstir from her gloomy chamber, and for seven long years he kept her in\ndurance. His love had by this time turned to hate, for her beauty was\ndimmed with weeping. No longer did her hair make a mesh of gold for\nsunbeams to dance in, and her face was like a sad white pearl from which\nall tints had fled. And the heart of the wicked lord rejoiced, for since\nhe could not win her favour, and she no longer delighted his eyes, he\nwas glad that she should die.\n\nOne morning in May when the dew lay thick upon the meadows and every\nthrush had found a mate, the old lord went off for a long day's\nhunting, and the aged widow fell fast asleep. The beautiful lady sighed\nanew as the sweet spring sunshine flooded her prison, seeming to mock\nher with its splendour. 'Ah, woe is me!' she cried. 'I may not even\nrejoice in the sun as the meanest of God's creatures!' And in her great\ndespair she called aloud to her own true knight, bidding him deliver her\nfrom her misery. Even as she spoke, a shadow fell across the window. A\nbird had stayed his flight beside it; he pressed through the bars and\nwas at her feet. His ash-brown plumage and rounded wings told her he\nwas a goshawk, and from the jesses on his legs she saw he had been\na'hunting. While she gazed in surprise at his sudden appearance, she\nbeheld a transformation, and in less time than it takes to tell, the\ngoshawk had become a gallant knight, with raven locks and flashing eyes.\nIt was the knight of her dreams, and with a cry of joy she flew to him.\n\n'I could not come to thee before, my Sweet,' said he, 'since thou didst\nnot call for me aloud. Now shall I be with thee at thy lightest wish,\nand no more shalt thou be lonely. But beware of the aged crone who\nguards thy door! Her purblind eyes are not beyond seeing, and should\nshe discover me I must die.'\n\nAnd now the beautiful lady no longer pined to leave her prison, for she\nhad only to breathe his name, and her lover reappeared. Her beauty came\nback to her as gladness to the earth when the sun shines after rain, and\nher songs were as joyous as those of the lark when it soars high in the\nheavens. The old lord was greatly puzzled, and bade the ancient widow\nkeep a careful watch.\n\n'My beautiful lady is gay!' he said, with an ugly smile. 'We must learn\nwhy she and sighs are strangers. I had thought ere this to lay her to\nsleep beneath a smooth green coverlet, and it does not please me to see\nher thus content.'\n\nThe aged crone bathed her eyes in water that flowed from a sacred\nshrine, so that sight might come back to them, and hid herself behind a\ncurtain when the beautiful lady thought that she had left the tower.\nFrom this place of vantage she beheld, shortly after, the arrival of\nthe goshawk, and his transformation into a handsome and tender knight.\nSlipping away unseen, she hastened to her master and told him all, not\nforgetting to describe the beautiful lady's rapture in her knight's\nembrace.\n\nThe jealous lord was furious with rage, and caused, at dead of night,\nfour sharp steel spikes to be fixed to the bars of the window in the\ntower. On leaving his love, the goshawk flew past these safely, but\nwhen he returned at dusk the next evening, he overlooked them in his\neagerness, and was sorely hurt. The beautiful lady hung over her\nbeloved, distraught with grief; all bleeding from his wounds, he sought\nto comfort her.\n\n[Illustration: She hid herself behind a curtain.]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n'Dear love, I must die!' he murmured faintly, 'but thou shalt shortly\nbear me a son who will dispel thy sorrows and avenge my fate.' Then he\ngave her a ring from his finger, telling her that while she wore it\nneither the old lord nor the widow would remember aught that she would\nhave them forget. He also gave her his jewelled sword, and bade her keep\nit till the day when Fate should bring her to his tomb, and she should\n'learn the story of the dead.' Then, and then only, he commanded, was\nhis son to know what had befallen him.\n\nThe beautiful lady wept anew, and in a passion of grief begged him not\nto leave her; but once more bidding her a fond farewell, he resumed the\nform of a goshawk, and flew mournfully away.\n\nIt happened as the knight foretold. Neither the widow nor the old lord\nremembered his coming, and when the beautiful lady's son was born, the\nold lord was proud and happy. His satisfaction made him somewhat less\ncruel to the beautiful lady, who lived but for her boy. In cherishing\nhim her grief grew less, but though she had now her freedom, she never\nceased to long for the time when her son should know the truth about his\nfather.\n\nThe boy grew into a lad, and the lad into a handsome and gallant\nknight. He was high in favour at court, since none could approach him in\nchivalry or swordmanship, and many marvelled that one so brave and pure\nas he could be the son of the old lord, whose advancing years were as\nevil as those of his youth had been. One day his mother and he were\nsummoned by the King to a great festival, and rather than let them out\nof his sight, the old lord rose from his bed to go with them. They\nhalted on their way at a rich Abbey, where the Abbot feasted them\nroyally and before they left desired to show them some of the Abbey's\nsplendours. When they had duly admired the exquisite carvings in the\nchapels, and the golden chalice on the High Altar, he conducted them to\na chapter room, where, covered with hangings of finely wrought tapestry,\nand gorgeous embroideries of blue and silver, was a stately tomb. Tapers\nin golden vessels burned at its head and feet, and the clouds of incense\nthat filled the air floated from amethyst vessels. It was the tomb, the\nAbbot said, of 'a noble and most valiant knight,' who had met his death\nfor love's sweet sake, slain by certain mysterious wounds which he bore\non his stricken breast.\n\nWhen the beautiful lady heard this, she knew she had found the resting\nplace of her own true love, and taking his sword from the silken folds\nof her gown, where she had ever carried it concealed from view, she\nhanded it to the young knight and told him all.\n\n    'Fair son, you now have heard,' she said,\n    'That God hath us to this place led.\n    It is your father who here doth lie,\n    Whom this old man slew wrongfully.'\n\nWith this she fell dead at her son's feet; and forthwith he drew the\nsword from its jewelled scabbard, and with one swift blow smote off the\nold lord's head.\n\nThus did he avenge the wrongs of his parents, whom he vowed to keep in\nhis remembrance while life should last.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nChapter V\n\nThe white Stone of Happiness.\n\n\nThe fruit trees were a-glow with blossom when we reached Normandy, and\nthe pink and white Elves who played hide-and-seek in the boughs were as\nlovely as Titania. We spent some time at a big farm, where Father had\nstayed long ago with Mother, and we drove all over the country in the\nfarmer's gig.\n\nOne day I woke quite early, when the birds had only just commenced to\ntwitter, and the sky was still rosy with dawn. I threw open my little\ncasement window as wide as it would go, and the air smelt so sweet, and\nit was all so beautiful, that I longed to be out-of-doors. In the quiet\nof the early morning the Elves might be abroad, so I slipped on my\nthings and stole down to the orchard. And there, sure enough, were the\nElfin hosts.\n\nBut though I told them who I was, they were too shy to talk, and\nscattered the blossom on my upturned face, when I tried to coax them.\nA fat brown thrush scolded me for disturbing her babies at their\nbreakfast, and fluttered round me, beating her wings, until I moved\naway, when the Elves seemed to be as pleased as she was, for they\nwanted to be left to themselves.\n\nOn the opposite side of the orchard was a bank of moss, and I strolled\nacross and sat down in a little hollow. The moss was soft as velvet, and\nthrough the boughs of a pear tree, laden with bloom, I could see the\ngate to the farm-yard. A speckled hen was the only creature in sight,\nand it amused me to watch how daintily she pecked this side and that.\nAll at once there came an excited chorus of \"_Cluck-Cluck-Cluck!_\" and\nit seemed as if every fowl in the place were trying to go through the\ngate. They were led by a fine young cock, with beautifully bright green\nhead feathers. Once he was safely through, he perched himself on an\nempty pail, and crowed indignantly.\n\n\"_Cock-adoodle-do-oo!_\" mocked a voice behind him, and a little boy in\na red cap gave him a box on the ears which sent him flying.\n\n\"That bird thinks twice too much of himself,\" he grinned, as he ran to\nme over the grass. \"Who am I? Why, _Nain Rouge_ of Normandy, first\ncousin to Puck and Robin Goodfellow across the water.\"\n\nHe had twinkling eyes that were never still, and a roguish face. I knew\nI was going to like him immensely, so I showed him my new knife and said\nhe might whittle his stick if he'd promise to give it back to me. _Nain\nRouge_ felt both blades with a small brown finger, and said they were\ntoo blunt for him.\n\n\"Blunt?\" I cried. \"Why, they're as sharp as sharp can be! Just see!\" But\nwhen I tried to show him how sharp they were, neither would cut at all.\nI was so surprised that I hadn't a word to say, and _Nain Rouge_ doubled\nhimself in two with laughter.\n\n\"Never mind,\" he gasped, when he could speak, \"I'll make them all right\nfor you.\" He touched them again, twisting his tongue round the corner of\nhis mouth, and screwing his eyes up comically.\n\n\"Now cut!\" he said, and when I found they were as sharp as ever, I shut\nup the blades, and put the knife back into my pocket. I was glad I had\nleft my watch in the house, for _Nain Rouge_ might have tried to play\ntricks with that.\n\n\"Another name I go by is the 'Lutin,'\" he said, throwing himself on the\nground beside me. \"When I have nothing better to do, I _lutine_, or\ntwist, the horses' manes. One summer afternoon two lazy maids fell fast\nasleep in the hay loft, when they ought to have been down with the\nreapers in the long field. I _lutined_ their hair so nicely for them\nthat when they woke they could not untwist it, and had to cut it off!\nThe House Spirits made rather a fuss, for those girls were pets of\ntheirs, but Abundia, Queen of the Fees and Lutins, said I had done\nquite right. We can't bear laziness, you know, for we're always busy\nourselves.\"\n\n\"What do you do besides mischief?\" I said slyly, as he smoothed the\nfeather in his pretty cap. _Nain Rouge_ looked quite offended.\n\n\"If the truth were told,\" he said in a huff, \"I should fancy I'm twice\nas much use as you are. The farmers couldn't get on without me. I look\nafter the horses, and help to rub the poor beasts down when they come\nhome tired at the end of the day; I stir their food so that it agrees\nwith them, and scare off the grey goblins who might put it into their\nheads to work no more at the plough. And I'm as good to the farmers'\nwives as an extra maid, even if I do take my pay in a drink of cream. I\ndance my shadow on the wall to amuse the children if they are fretful,\nand tell them stories when the wind moans down the chimney and would\nfrighten them if it could. And I pinch their toes when they are naughty,\nand hide the playthings they leave about.\"\n\nHe looked so much in earnest while he told me all this, and so very\ngood, that I was beginning to think he was not half so mischievous as\nPuck, when he gave a funny little chuckle, and rubbed his hands.\n\n\"Such fun as I have with the fishermen!\" he cried. \"If they forget to\ncross themselves with holy water before they go to sea, I fill their\nnets with heavy stones, or entice away the fish. When the fancy takes\nme, I change myself into the form of a handsome young man, and if folks\ndo not then treat me with proper respect, and call me '_Bon Garcon_'\ncivilly, I pelt them with stones until they run! Their wives and\ndaughters are always gentle to poor _Nain Rouge_, however; and when I\ncan, I do them a good turn. Shall I tell you how I consoled the fair\nMarguerite when she wept? Then listen well!\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe white Stone of Happiness.\n\n\"A favourite haunt of mine,\" began _Nain Rouge_, \"is a little fishing\nvillage, close to Dieppe. The maidens there are more to my mind than\nthose on any other part of the coast; their skin is like clear pale\namber, warmed into redness where the sun has kissed it, and their\neyes--ah! you should see them! The fairest of all was Marguerite, and\noften I sat for hours on her window-sill to watch her at her spinning.\nEtienne would come and watch her too, and he thought, foolish lad, that\nher angel-face meant an angel temper; but I knew she had a tongue.\n\nAnd such a tongue! It was like the brook, for it never stopped, and she\nsaid such sharp and bitter things that the love of her friends withered\nup as they heard them, just as spring lilies droop before a cruel East\nwind. Etienne was a stranger, or he would have known better than to woo\nher seriously. Strange to relate, the wayward maid was different from\nthe day he came. I had never known her so soft and sweet, and the\nneighbours said that surely some good fairy had laid her under a spell.\n\nEtienne and she were wed one summer morning, but the little new moon had\nnot shone in the heavens a second time when there was trouble between\nthem. Marguerite's tongue was sharper than ever from its long rest, and\nEtienne could not believe it belonged to his 'angel' bride. He left the\ncottage without a word, and when he came back his mouth was grim, for\nhis mates had hastened to make things worse by telling him many tales.\nA foolish man was Etienne, or he would not have heeded them; but that is\nneither here nor there.\n\nFrom this time on he made as though he were deaf when Marguerite railed\nat him, and he took her no more to his breast when he came back from the\nsea. And Marguerite grieved, for she loved him well in her woman's way,\nand longed for his caresses. The sight of his pale set face, and his\nsombre eyes--they were like the eyes of a dog in pain, when the hand he\nloves best has struck him--stung her to fresh taunts, and there came a\nday when he answered her back in the same way, and all but struck her.\nAh! a woman's tongue can do rare mischief! His mother had never heard an\nugly word from him.\n\nOne eve I met Marguerite on the shore. She was sobbing bitterly, for she\nhad just come out of a cave in the rocks, where dwelt a Witch who\ncould read the future.\n\nI had taken the form of a slim, dark, serious looking lad, and laying\na gentle hand upon her arm, 'What ails you, Madame Marguerite?' I said.\nShe glanced at me piteously, as one who seeks a refuge and knows not\nwhere to turn, and wrung her hands.\n\n[Illustration: \"What ails you, Madame Marguerite?\"]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n'I have lost my Etienne's heart for ever, for ever,' she wailed, 'unless\nI can find the White Stone of Happiness, which a mermaid throws from the\ndepths of the sea once in a thousand years. I may search for months, and\nnever find it; and Etienne holds aloof from me, and grows further away\neach day.'\n\nNow just at her feet lay a small white stone, smooth and round as a\nFairy's plaything. I picked it up and showed it to her.\n\n'It shall be yours,' I told her gravely, 'if you give me your solemn\npromise to heed my words.'\n\n'I promise!' she answered fervently, and the wind tossed her unbound\nhair until it floated round her shoulders like a Kelpie's mane. A\nseventh wave rushed up to her feet, and as she moved nearer the\nbreakwater, I sang her this little song:\n\n    'Fairy stone of fairy spell,\n    Marguerite, O guard it well!\n    When thine anger doth arise\n    Elves would rob thee of thy prize.\n    Press it 'neath thy tongue so red,\n    Hold it firm till wrath has sped.\n    Smile, speak softly, and behold,\n    Love shall warm thee as of old.'\n\nThen I gave her the stone, and she clasped it against her bosom and sped\nto her home.\n\nWhen Etienne returned he was in a bitter mood. Luck had been against\nhim; he had caught no fish, and his largest net had been torn on the\nrocks. Marguerite set a meal before him, but he pushed it angrily away;\nfor the broth had burned while she was with the Witch, and tasted\nanything but pleasant.\n\n'Such food is not fit for a dog!' he cried. ''Twas an ill day for me\nwhen I came to _Le Pollet_! I had done better to drown myself.'\n\nMarguerite stayed her fierce reply that she might slip the white stone\nbetween her lips; and as she held it beneath her tongue her anger\nsuddenly melted. She thought now of Etienne's hunger and weariness, and\nwas sorry that she had nought in the house for him to eat. And as he sat\nin moody silence she stole away, and begged some good broth from her\ngodmother, who had always enough and to spare. This she placed before\nhim beside the hearth, and smiled, and spoke in a gentle voice that made\nhim turn to her with a start--it was just as if the Marguerite he loved\nhad come back to him from the grave. Then he drew her to him, hiding his\nface in her dress; and for the first time since many a long day there\nwas peace between them. Marguerite kept that white stone always, and\nwhen she was tempted to speak in anger it worked like a Fairy spell.\"\n\n\"And wasn't it one?\" I asked, as _Nain Rouge_ put on his cap again, and\na delicious smell of fried eggs and bacon came from the farmhouse\nkitchen on the breeze.\n\n\"Not it,\" said _Nain Rouge_, laughing heartily, \"there were thousands\nlike it on the beach, but you see it did just as well. For if once a\nwoman can be induced to hold her tongue when she is angry, there'll be\nlittle trouble 'twixt man and wife. This has been so from all time.\"\n\n\"_Cock-a-doodle doo!_\" cried the black cock, strutting grandly in front\nof us. _Nain Rouge_ darted after him, and I left them to themselves and\nwent in to breakfast.\n\nI did not see _Nain Rouge_ again, but I heard a great deal about him\nfrom Madame Daudet, the farmer's wife; she called him \"the plague of\nher life.\" She said he hid her spectacles every time that she laid them\ndown, and that it was quite impossible to make good butter, for he would\nplay tricks with the cream. I think she was fond of him, all the same,\nfor when I mentioned his name her jolly old face crinkled up into\nsmiles, and she looked quite pleased and happy.\n\nOne day when Father had gone to the village to see some sick child whom\nthe peasants believed to have been gazed at with \"an evil eye,\" because\nit seemed unable to get well, Madame came to me as I stood prodding\nwith a stick some fat black pigs who would not stir.\n\n\"Since you are so fond of Fairy Folk,\" she said, \"why not go to the\nvalley, and see if you can meet a Fee? I have never seen one myself,\nbut my great-great-grandmother came across a bevy of them in a\nforest near Bayeux. The loveliest one was their Queen, and my\ngreat-great-grandmother talked of her beauty until her dying day.\"\n\n\"All right,\" I said. And she gave me some brown bread and a golden\napple, so that I need not come home for tea. Perhaps she wanted to get\nme out of the way, for the sick child's aunt was coming to pay her a\nvisit, and she liked a gossip.\n\nThe valley was very still. Even the birds seemed to have gone to sleep,\nand the stream that trickled down from the hill tinkled very softly, as\nif it had to be careful not to wake the ferns that fringed its banks.\nAs I looked up the glade I saw a lovely little lady coming slowly\ntowards me, and my heart began to thump in the queerest way. She wore a\ntrailing silvery gown, with a deep band of blue at its border. Her shoes\nwere set with tiny diamonds, and her dainty feet moved through the grass\nas prettily and as softly as the wind does through the corn. She did not\nsee me until she had come quite close, for I stood in the shade of a\nblossoming bush. As I took off my cap, her fair face flushed deeply, and\nfor a moment I feared she would run away. So I hastened to tell her that\nI was a Christmas Child, and why I had come to the valley. At this she\nsmiled, and I saw that her eyes were as blue as the depths of the sea.\n\n\"You are welcome,\" she said, \"though at first I feared you. Such sorrow\nhas come to Fees through mortals that we are wont to fly at man's\napproach. But a Christmas Child is almost a Fee himself, and I may talk\nto you. My name is Mellisande.\"\n\nThen she asked me to walk with her through the wood, and I felt quite\nproud when she took my hand. A cheeky little Elf, who overheard me say\nthat I would go with her anywhere, turned a somersault in the air and\nburst out laughing, but I pretended not to hear. It wasn't his business,\nanyhow, and I wished that that walk through the valley had been twice as\nlong.\n\nAt the further end, quite hidden among the larches, was a natural grotto\nof moss-grown stones, and just inside it a heap of ferns, piled up to\nmake a throne that was fit for a queen. Mellisande seated herself on\nthis, and I sat down at her feet.\n\nWe did not talk for a long while, for she seemed to be thinking as\nshe stroked my hair, and I only wanted to look at her. After awhile\nI asked her if she had been one of the Fees that Madame Daudet's\ngreat-great-grandmother had met in a forest near Bayeux. She smiled\nand sighed as she told me \"Yes,\" and a wood dove flew out of the trees\nand perched on her shoulder.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nChapter VI\n\nThe Seven Fair Queens of Pirou.\n\n\n\"Once upon a time,\" said Mellisande, \"there dwelt at the Castle of\nArgouges a noble lord who was famous not only for his bravery, but for\nthe extreme beauty of his dark features and slender form. All women\nloved him, but though he served them with chivalry, as became a knight,\nhe sought his pleasure in the woods and fields rather than in their\ncompany. He knew what the brook was humming as it gurgled over the\nstones, and the wind told him all its secrets as it rustled among the\npines. Sometimes he wrote these things on a sheet of paper and read them\nto himself aloud as he lay on the green sward. The Fees in the forest\ndrew near to listen, for the voice of this lord of Argouges was sweet as\nthe lute of Orpheus, and their lovely Queen lost her heart to him. Day\nafter day she hovered by his side, sighing when he was sad, and\nrejoicing when the words he sought came quickly to his pen.\n\nOnce when he looked up suddenly he saw her as in a vision. A silvery\nveil of misty gauze half hid her exquisite form; and out of this her\nface looked down upon him, pure as an angel's, but with the love of a\nwoman in her lustrous eyes. As he sprang to his feet, she melted away in\na white cloud, and close to his ear he heard a mournful sigh, as if her\nspirit grieved to part from his. And he wrote no longer of flowing water\nor whispering wind, but of the Lady of the Woods.\n\nFor many a day he saw her no more, for Henry I of England coveted\nNormandy, the ancient patrimony of his house, and sent his armies to\ntake possession of it. When the city of Bayeux was besieged, the Lord of\nArgouges was amongst its most gallant defenders, and his resource and\ndaring were the talk of all. None who crossed swords with him lived to\ntell the tale, for his courage was equalled by his skill.\n\nOne morn a giant sprang from the enemy's ranks--a lusty German, well\nover seven feet, with the limbs of a prize-fed ox.\n\n'I dare you to fight me singly, Lord of Argouges!' he cried, for he\nknew with whom he had to deal. The soldiers near stayed their hands to\nwatch; the hearts of the Normans almost stood still, but the English\nexulted, for surely now would the Lord of Argouges bite the dust, and\nhis fiery sword no more work havoc in their ranks! Their dismay was\ngreat when he proved himself victor, though they would not have\nwondered had they had vision to see how ever beside him moved the\nshadowy form of his Lady of the Woods, directing his arm that his aim\nmight be swift and sure, and oft-times interposing her tender body\nbetween him and the German's thrusts. Later on, when the gallant\nknight fainted from his wounds and was left for dead, she tended him\npitifully as he lay on the blood-stained earth, moistening his lips\nwith the dew of heaven, and whispering such sweet thoughts to him that\nthe weary hours were eased by blissful dreams. He was still alive when\nmorning dawned, and was found by his friends and carried into camp.\nThough visible to him alone, the Lady of the Woods was there beside\nhis couch, and the terrible sights and sounds that accompanied the\nmerciful efforts of those who tended the wounded could not scare her\naway from him. When his suffering was over, and he could raise himself\nto eat and drink, she came to him no more, and as his strength slowly\nreturned he was consumed with a passionate desire to find her.\n\nAt length he was able to go home to his castle, and once more he roamed\nthe forest. The songs of the birds were hushed by now, and the trees\nunder which he used to rest were almost bare. It was autumn, for he had\nbeen long absent, and even yet his step was slow and his proud head bent\nwith weakness. He was sick with longing for his gentle lady; 'If I do\nnot find her, I shall die!' he cried.\n\nPresently he came to a glade where the naked boughs formed a splendid\narch above his head, and he saw a troop of horsewomen riding toward him\non snow-white steeds. In their midst was his Lady of the Woods, a bridal\nveil on her star-crowned hair, and myrtle at her breast. He awaited her\napproach in a trance of delight; nearer and nearer came the prancing\nhorses, their skins of satin glinting in the sun. The cavalcade reached\nhis side; the Queen of the Fees dismounted and stood beside him, while\nthe ground at her feet became a bed of lilies. The Lord of Argouges\nthrew himself on his knees amidst their fragrance, gazing up at her with\nenraptured eyes, as softly and shyly she bent toward him.\n\n'Once more I greet you, dear lord!' she said, and as she touched his\nforehead with her lips, the birds still lingering in the forest burst\ninto joyful song. When the knight found words to tell her of his great\nlove, she plighted her troth to him, but only he heard her whispered\npromise that she would be his wife.\n\nOnce more she mounted her snow-white steed; he seated himself behind\nher, and thus they rode to the castle gates, accompanied by her maidens.\nHere the Lord of Argouges sprang to the ground; light as a wisp of\nthistledown, she floated into his arms, and to the amaze of the\nhousehold, who had watched the approach of the procession from the\ncastle windows, her horse, thrice neighing, changed into a bird, and\nfluttered sorrowfully away.\n\n[Illustration: \"The Lord of Argouges threw himself on his knees\"]\n\n'Farewell, sweet Queen!' her maidens cried, and kissing their hands to\nher, rode swiftly back to the depths of the forest.\n\nThen the Lord of the Argouges drew the Lady of the Woods across the\nthreshold of the castle, and so queenly was her beauty and so gracious\nher demeanour, that even his aged mother, jealous of the son for whom\nshe would have shed her life-blood, found no word to say against his\nchoice.\n\n'My love for him is nought beside thine,' the Fee Queen pleaded very\nsweetly, 'for thou didst bring him into the world, and hast anguished\nfor him as none else can. But I too have suffered on his behalf; I pray\nthee, let me love him too!'\n\nThen his mother looked long and deeply into the eyes of the woman who\nhad dethroned her from her dear son's heart, and what she saw there\nfilled her with peace. 'Be it as thou wilt,' she said, and that\nself-same night the Lord of Argouges wedded his Lady of the Woods in\nthe castle chapel, which was decked with the fragrant lilies that sprang\nwherever her feet had trod. The rejoicings lasted for seven days, and\nthe Lord of Argouges looked as one to whom the gates of Paradise had\nopened.\n\nThe Queen of the Fees was now to all seeming a mortal woman, and so far\nfrom regretting that she had laid aside her rank, each day found her\nmore content in her husband's love, and by every womanly art she knew\nshe sought to please him. One favour only she asked of him--that never\nin her hearing would he mention the word 'Death.'\n\n'If you do, you will lose me for ever,' she told him fearfully, and he\nvowed by all that he held most sacred that this dread word should not\ncross his lips.\n\nThe years went on. The lovely Lady of the Woods bore him fair daughters\nand gallant sons, and all was well with the Lord of Argouges. But one\nthing grieved him; since the Fees' sweet Queen had linked her lot with\nhis, she too was subject to the laws of Time, and her beauty waned with\nincreasing age. The gold of her hair was streaked with silver, and her\nface lost some of its soft pink bloom. Her lord spake no word of what\nwas in his mind as he looked at her earnestly one bright spring morn,\nbut she divined his regretful thoughts, and full sorrowful were her own.\n\nThe Fees could not help her, since she had left her fairy kindred\nto throw in her lot with mortal man, and so, with woman's wit, she\ndetermined that at the forthcoming festival at the Court the splendour\nof her attire should make her lord forget Time's changes. She therefore\nsummoned to the castle the most skilful workers in silks and broideries,\nwho toiled in her service day and night, that she might be richly\nadorned at the Royal Tournament.\n\nHer gown was of azure satin, encrusted with many gems, and her long\ncourt train glittered and shone with gold and silver. Diamonds blazed at\nher breast and neck, while a circlet of rubies glowed in her hair. But\ntheir rich red lustre made her pale sweet face look paler than ever,\nand she still gazed wistfully at her glass though the Lord of Argouges\nwaited below, wondering what delayed her. At length he sought her\nhimself, and in spite of his impatience, he could but admire her\nresplendent attire.\n\n'You have robbed the sky of his morning glories!' he told her gallantly.\nThen, as she lingered still, his impatience returned: 'Fair spouse,' he\nsaid, 'it were well if Death should send you as his messenger, for you\ntarry long when you are bidden to haste!--Forgive me, Sweet! I should\nnot have said that word!'\n\nHis remorse came too late, for the ominous sound had scarcely crossed\nhis lips when with a cry of bitter anguish, his lady became once more a\nFee, and vanished from his sight. Long and vainly did he seek her, for\nthough her footmarks are still to be seen on the battlements of the\nCastle, and night after night she wandered round it clad in a misty robe\nof white, they two met on earth no more. She is pictured still in the\ncrest of the house of Argouges, over its motto, 'A la Fe!'\"\n\nI liked this story, but I wished that it had not ended quite so sadly.\nWhen I said so to Mellisande she turned her face away from me, and I\nthink it was a tear drop that glittered on her hand.\n\n\"Then I will tell you neither of Pressina nor Melusina,\" she said, \"for\nboth these Fees lived to rue the day when they put faith in the word of\nman. It was different with the fair Norina. She demanded no pledge, for\ndoubt and distrust came not nigh her path, and her love brought her only\ngladness.\"\n\nThe shadows lengthened; the wood dove flew off to rejoin her mate; and\nMellisande's lips began to smile as she thought of another story.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Seven Fair Queens of Pirou.\n\n\"Long, long ago,\" she went on presently, \"when our beautiful Normandy\nwas known by another name, and formed part of the kingdom of Neustria,\nwhich was given to the Duke of Paris by Charles the Bald, there lived a\nwise and noble lord who was said to have magic powers. So gentle was he\nthat the very birds would perch on his shoulder and twitter their joys\nto him, yet so brave and strong that the proudest knight cared not to\nprovoke his wrath. He was skilled in the lore of plants and herbs, and\nby means of a slender hazel from the woods could tell where crystal\nwaters flowed deep in the bowels of the earth. Full many a maid would\nhave flown to him had he lifted his little finger, but though he was\noften lonely as he wandered beneath the stars, his heart went out to\nnone, whether of high or low degree, and he preferred his own company to\nthat of a mate whom he could not love.\n\nOne Mayday he was up at dawn, searching the fields for a tiny plant\nwhich had some special gift of healing. The grass was spangled with\nmyriad flowers, but he passed them all till he came to the one he\nsought--a small pale blossom of faintest lilac, with perfume as sweet as\na rose's. While yet he held it in his hand he heard a cry; it was that\nof some creature in pain, and forcing his way through a prickly hedge,\nhe found a pure white dove with a broken wing lying under a thornbush.\n\n'Poor bird!' he exclaimed compassionately. 'Who has dared to injure so\nfair a thing?' With tender hands he set the broken wing, binding it to\nher side with three green leaves and some long-stemmed grass, and fed\nher with juice from the lilac flower as he soothed her with gentle\nwords. When he had stilled her flutterings, he laid her on his breast,\nthat he might bear her home and tend her until she could fly once more\nunder the vault of heaven.\n\nOn he strode through the meadow, and high in the sky the larks trilled\ntheir paeans of joy. Never to him had seemed the earth so fair, and the\nmorning sun tinged his cheek with gladness. Suddenly he felt the burden\non his breast grow heavy, and stayed his footsteps in surprise. No\nlonger did he hold a wounded dove against his bosom, but a beauteous\nmaiden in pure white garb, with three green leaves bound about her arm\nwith stems of grass.\n\nHe set her on her feet and stared at her in amaze; she met his\nenraptured gaze with eyes that shone like twin blue stars. Then her\neyelids fell; she drooped beneath his glance as a fragile flower beneath\nthe sun's fierce wooing.\n\nAnd as the wind sweeps over a field of corn when it is ripe for reaping,\nlove took possession of him. Fee or woman, he swore, this beauteous maid\nshould be his wife if she were willing, and he would guard her through\ngood and ill while life should last.\n\n'Art thou mine?' he asked her presently, hoarse for very joy.\n\n'I am thine!' she said, for she had loved him long, and had but taken\nthe form of a dove to try him. And taking her home to his castle, they\nwere wedded by the holy priest.\n\nNo longer now was he lonely, no longer did he wander solitary beneath\nthe stars, for the lovely Fee was as true and tender as mortal woman,\nand made him a faithful wife. Sons were denied them, but seven fair\ndaughters came, and he called them after the seven gems that graced\ntheir mother's diadem.\n\nThe maidens were of such supreme loveliness that as they grew up to\nwomanhood they were known as the Seven Fair Queens; each was without\nrival in her own style of beauty. Pearl was fair as day, with a skin\nlike milk; Ruby's dark splendour was a gift from the Queen of Night,\nand her red, red mouth the bud of a perfect flower. The glorious hair\nof Amber fell round her shoulders in shimmering waves of light, and\nsunbeams lost themselves in her lashes. Sweet Turquoise had her mother's\neyes of blue forget-me-not, while Sapphire's were of deeper hue, and\nAmethyst's that of the violet. Chrysolite's were a misty green, like the\nsky in the early morning, and no mermaid sang sweeter songs than she as\nshe sat on the rocks at low tide.\n\nThere came a time when the father of the Seven Fair Queens fell very\nsick, and not all his potions could prolong his days. His call had come,\nand so closely were he and Norina united, that one eve at sunset her\nlife went out with his. For awhile their orphaned daughters wept with\ngrief as they paced the gardens, or sat by the crackling fire in the\ngreat hall. But youth cannot mourn for ever, and with a second spring,\nglad hopes came back to them, and once more they rode in the chase.\nSince they were rich as well as beautiful you may be sure they had many\nwooers, but all preferred to reign alone.\n\n'When we wed, it will be with Fees!' they said disdainfully. This\nangered their lovers, and presently they were left in peace.\n\nFull wisely did they use their parents' wealth, improving the land and\nmaking sure provision for all dependant on their bounty. On the coast\nof the Cotentin they built the Castle of Pirou, which gave work to the\npoor for several succeeding years, and when it was finished they filled\nit with gorgeous tapestries and all the treasures of art they could\ncollect. Here they lived in splendour, keeping open house; no passing\nwayfarer, however humble, need miss a welcome if he cared to claim it.\n\nThey were still in the first full bloom of their beauty when their fame\nreached the ears of one of the great sea pirates, the dreaded Vikings\nwho rode the waves like giant birds of prey. North, South, East and\nWest, from Norway and Sweden, and little Denmark, they sailed in search\nof plunder, and such was their love of fighting that they would, if\nneed be, challenge each other rather than allow their swords to rust\nwith disuse. Although they robbed, they were brave men, and believed\nthemselves entitled to all they took. Their vessels were small, and\nlight of draught, so they could penetrate many rivers, but the great\nchiefs chose the sea for their battle ground, and ravaged many a town\nand village on the coast of France.\n\nWhen the mighty Siegmund heard of the Seven Fair Queens of Pirou, he\nresolved to storm their castle and take the loveliest for his bride.\nWith this intent he set sail for the coast of Cotentin with a gallant\nfleet. The wind and the tide were with him; he reached it one soft\nspring morning when the sea was a sheet of blue.\n\nAs the vessel which bore him neared the shore, the Viking espied a bevy\nof maidens in a sheltered cove, where the sand lay in golden ripples.\nRuby and Pearl, and the gentle Turquoise sported in a sun-kissed pool;\nwhile Sapphire and Amethyst wove wreaths of seaweed, and Amber was\nsmoothing her shining hair with a slender shell of mother-of-pearl\nthat the waves had thrown at her feet. Chrysolite sat on a dark rock,\nsinging, and her soft clear notes rang over the waters, enchanting\nSiegmund with their music.\n\n'By Thor and Odin,' he thundered, 'our journey was well planned. Haste\nthee, my men, and get me to that rock! That maiden shall be my bride.'\n\nThe boat sped swiftly, with Siegmund sitting in the stern. His yellow\nlocks streamed over his stalwart shoulders, and his face was like that\nof some eager god as he noted Chrysolite's beauty. The maiden saw his\napproach; and now the glad notes of her exquisite song changed to a\nmournful rhythm. She was chanting the words that her mother had\nbreathed to her seven daughters as she lay a'dying:\n\n    'Women ye, my daughters fair\n      (Cloudless spreads the sky);\n    But when menace fills the air,\n      Fees, as once was I.\n    Slender arm shall change that day\n      Into snow-white plume;\n    Winged as birds, haste swift away\n      From thy threatening doom!'\n\nAs the last words left her sorrowful lips, Chrysolite's sisters gathered\nround her; the boat's keel grated on the sand, and Siegmund sprang\neagerly forward. At the same moment the Seven Fair Queens of Pirou\nraised their arms, and instantly these changed, before his eyes, to\nfluttering wings. High in the air mounted the maidens, and to the\nbewildered gaze of Siegmund they were nought but a line of snow-white\nbirds flying westward in single file high up in the sky.\n\n[Illustration: \"They instantly changed into snow-white birds.\"]\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWhen Siegmund had somewhat recovered from his amazement, he and his\nfollowers sacked the castle, and pillaged the surrounding country;\nit did them but little good, for a storm blew up as they sailed back\nnorthward, and the ships that carried the stolen treasure were wrecked\non the rocks. As for the Seven Fair Queens, they mated with Fees, and\nwere glad as the morning. Every year as spring comes round, they return\nto Pirou with their numerous descendants, in the form of a flock of wild\ngeese, and take possession of the nests which they have hollowed out in\nthe crumbling walls. They also appear when a child is born to the house\nof Pirou; if it be a daughter, and Fate has destined her for a nun,\none sits apart in a corner of the courtyard, and sighs as if in sore\ndistress. If a son is born, the male birds display their plumage, and\nshow by their mien that they rejoice.\"\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nMellisande rose from her throne of ferns, \"It will be twilight soon,\"\nshe said, \"and we must go. See! the mists are already rising in the\nvalley, and the night-birds awake and call. Farewell, dear Christmas\nChild, farewell!\"\n\nAnd, stooping down, she kissed my forehead.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nChapter VII\n\nIn the Dwarf's Palace.\n\n\nNow I knew that Germany was the very country for Dwarfs and Fairies,\nand when I heard that this was where we were going next I determined to\nbe on the look out. I did not see them, though, for a long time after we\narrived, for I was so tremendously interested in everything else. Even\nin the big cities where Father spent hours and hours in the hospitals,\nwatching the wonderful things that the German doctors did, most of the\nchildren looked plump and rosy, and I didn't see any so thin and pale\nas those we had left at home. One of the Herr Professors, with whom we\nstayed, said that this was because the State made so kind a Grandmother,\nbut when I asked him what he meant, he only laughed.\n\nI liked this professor best of all--he had such a nice way of talking,\nand he loved Fairies as much as I do. He said \"_Ach! So!_\" when I told\nhim I was a Christmas Child, and smiled all over his kind old face. Then\nhe put his hand on my shoulder, and told me that I must remember to do\nmy part to make my birthday the gladdest day in the year for everyone\naround me.\n\n\"It is different in your country,\" he went on, \"but here, in the\nFatherland, there is scarcely a cottage home which has not its Christmas\ntree, even if this is only a branch of fir stuck in a broken pot, and\nhung with oranges and golden balls. No child is so poor but has his\nChristmas presents of cakes and toys, for if his mother cannot provide\nthem, she tells his teacher in good time, and the teacher sees that he\nis not forgotten.\"\n\nI thought this was a ripping plan, for it is horrid when Santa Claus\nforgets you, and your stockings hang all limp and flat, like mine did\nlast year. And I made up my mind, then and there, that next Christmas\nthere should be a tree for all the littlest and grubbiest children in my\nold home.\n\nWhile Father was at the hospitals with the Herr Professor, I stayed with\nRudolf and Gretchen, two of his grandchildren--fat little things with\nbig blue eyes, who stared at me as if I had seven heads when I told them\nabout the Korrigans. Gretchen believed in Fairies of all kinds, but\nRudolf only in Dwarfs and Giants. He even said that Santa Claus was\njust his own father dressed up, and declared he had seen his old brown\npipe peeping out of Santa Claus' pocket the last time he paid them a\nvisit. Gretchen said that if so, Santa Claus had taken away the old\nbrown pipe to bring a lovely new one in its place, and Rudolf told her\ngirls knew too much. They were both angry by this time, and their faces\nlooked very red. So I thought we had better talk about Dwarfs and\nGiants.\n\n\"Grandfather says there are no Giants now,\" Rudolph said seriously, \"but\nthere are plenty of Dwarfs in the hill which looks down on the forest. I\nsaw one there myself last summer; he ran away and wouldn't speak to me,\nas if he were afraid.\"\n\nWithout saying anything to Rudolf, who might have wanted to come too, I\nstarted for the hill directly after dinner, while he and Gretchen were\narguing again over the pipe and Santa Claus. The Professor's house was\njust at the end of the town, so I didn't have far to go; but the hill\ntook much longer to climb than I thought it would, and I was quite out\nof breath when I reached the top and sat down on a flat white stone. As\nI looked about me, I swung my foot, and it tapped against a biggish rock\nthat was just in front. The third time that I did this, a little brown\nman hopped briskly out of a crevice and stood before me. He wore a\nbright red coat trimmed with green buttons, and carried in his hand a\nclose-fitting cap of grey.\n\n[Illustration: Fat little things, with big blue eyes.]\n\n\"Gently, gently, good child!\" he cried. \"One knock is enough, if we want\nto hear it, for our ears are as keen as we could wish. Why did you call\nme, and what would you have?\"\n\n\"I would hear of you, and of your kinsmen, Master Dwarf!\" I said. \"I am\na Christmas Child, and the Fairies are all my friends.\"\n\nAt this he bowed, and said he was glad to meet me, nodding his head with\na sort of grunt as I told him where I had met Titania.\n\n\"If it be your pleasure,\" he said, looking round to see that no one was\nnear but me, \"I will take you within the hill, and introduce you to my\nwife. The ground whereon you stand is hollow, as you will soon perceive,\nand we are less than a stone's throw from my palace.\"\n\nI told him that nothing would please me more than to pay him a visit,\nand muttering a word in some strange language, he rapped his knuckles on\na cleft in the rock. It widened sufficiently to let us both through, and\nclosed again with a thud.\n\nThe winding passage in which I found myself was lit by a soft red glow,\ncoming from hundreds of rubies set deep in the walls, which seemed to\nbe of oxidised silver. After several twists and turns, it ended in a\nwide hall, where I could just stand upright under the jewelled dome! As\nsoon as my eyes grew accustomed to the blaze of light which came from\nthe diamond stars set round it, I saw a sweet little creature in a frock\nof pale purple silk, cut short in the sleeves to show her pretty white\narms, on which she wore many bracelets.\n\n\"My wife!\" said the Dwarf proudly, and he explained to her who I was and\nwhat I wanted, and a great deal more about me that I was astonished he\nshould know. My surprise amused him a good deal, and as his wife led the\nway to her boudoir he chuckled merrily.\n\n\"There are Kobolds, or House-Spirits in most old houses,\" he remarked,\n\"and it is more than two hundred years since the first stone was laid of\nthe Herr Professor's. I knew this noon that you were coming, and the\nKobold spoke well of you, and said that you were not above taking advice\nfrom others wiser than yourself. Now, sir! What do you think of this?\"\nAnd he opened a door with a great flourish, holding it back for me to\nenter.\n\n\"It's grand!\" I said, for so it was. The silver floor was inlaid with\na gold scroll; the walls, of tinted mother-o'-pearl, were adorned with\nwreaths of forget-me-nots, each tiny turquoise flower having an amber\ncentre. The furniture was of filigree silver, so fragile to look at\nthat I was afraid to touch it, much less to sit down on one of the tiny\nchairs, even if I could have fitted myself in. The Dwarf invited me to\nbe seated, and his small wife gave me a roguish smile as she brought a\nvelvet cushion from an inner room, and placed this on the ground. I\nfound afterwards that it was the Dwarfs own bed, and that his pillow was\nmade of spun spider silk, filled with scented roseleaves and wild thyme.\n\n[Illustration: The Dwarf invited me to be seated.]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"When you are rested and refreshed,\" said the Dwarf kindly, as his\nlittle spouse offered me a sip of nectar from a crystal goblet, \"I will\nshow you my palace. There is not much to see, for we are humble folk,\nand this hill comparatively a small one. The estates of some of our\nnobles extend for miles, and that of our Emperor runs through a range\nof mountains. In times gone by we welcomed mortals as our guests, for\nwe were anxious to be their friends. But they grudged us even a handful\nof peas in return, and met our advances with jeers. Now we keep to our\nhills as far as possible, and when we desire to walk abroad, we are\ncareful to wear our mist caps, which render us quite invisible.\"\n\nHe sighed so deeply that the dainty lace cap poised on his wee wife's\nhair was almost blown away, and then, straightening his bent shoulders,\nhe took me to see his Banquet Hall. The curtains were all of filigree\nsilver, fine as lace, and on the walls of the kitchen, where silent\nlittle men in big white aprons kneaded cakes on crystal slabs, shone\nruby and sapphire butterflies.\n\nBut this was nothing to what I saw in the long low vault where the Dwarf\nkept his treasures. At one end was a shimmering heap of pearls, some\nlarger than pigeons' eggs; at another, a conical mound of diamonds,\nwhich threw out marvellous lights as the Dwarf stirred them gently with\none small hand.\n\n\"We know the properties of each stone,\" he said; \"how some give\nstrength, and some wisdom and power to rule, while others still stir\nup strife and envy, and make men merciless as beasts of prey. That\nruby you see has an evil history; a woman gave her soul for it, and\nthousands were slain in her cause.\"\n\nI picked up the beautiful, glowing gem, and fancied I saw the face of an\nevil demon grinning at me from its depths. Dropping it quickly, I looked\ninstead at a pile of rings at the other side of the vault. One in\nparticular drew my attention; it was of beaten gold, with a curious\nstone set deep in its centre. As I held it aloof and stared at it, I\ncaught a glimpse of a waving meadow, with a tiny path leading past a\nbrook.\n\n\"That is the ring which the Queen of Lombardy gave to her son, Otnit,\"\nsaid the Dwarf. \"Come with me to the Court of Rest, and you shall hear\nthe story.\"\n\nThis was the loveliest place which I had yet seen in the palace. A\ncircle of orange trees in full bloom enclosed a space round a rippling\nfountain, where from the gleaming beak of an opal bird a stream of water\nsplashed into an emerald basin. The invisible wind that stirred the\npetals of the orange blossom brought with it the swish of the sea, and\nsomewhere, far off, a nightingale was singing.\n\nThe Dwarf seated himself on one of the velvet cushions strewn on the\nground, and motioning me to take another, began his tale.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nDwarf Elberich and the Emperor.\n\n\"Otnit, Emperor of Lombardy, was one of the greatest kings that ever\nlived. By force of wisdom more than by might, he subdued the surrounding\nnations, and his people looked up to him as to a god. When the time came\nfor him to wed, no maid in his wide dominions pleased his fancy, for\nthe wife he pictured in his dreams was sweet and simple, though of royal\nbirth, and quite unspoiled by praise and flattery. He told his ministers\nthis, and they shrugged their shoulders.\n\n'His Majesty desires the impossible!' they whispered amongst themselves,\nand so it seemed until the Emperor's Uncle Elias, the wild-bearded King\nof the Russians, told him of a highborn maid who was as good as she was\nbeautiful, and had never yet been wooed by man.\n\n'She shines o'er other women as bright roses do!' he cried, and Otnit\nvowed to win her.\n\nOn the eve of his departure for Syria, where she dwelt with her father\nthe Soldan, Otnit's mother gave him the ring you held, bidding him take\nhis horse and ride toward Rome while gazing at the gem in the ring, that\nwhat he saw there might direct his path. The Emperor smiled, but wishing\nto humour her, did as she requested, and rode through the silver\nstarlight thinking of his fair maid. At early dawn, when the welkin rang\nwith the song of birds, he saw mirrored in the ring a narrow pathway\ntrodden in the green grass. Making his way by this fragrant road, he\nreached a linden tree by a lake. Here he stayed his courser, and sprang\nto the ground, peering beneath its boughs.\n\n'Never yet from tree came so sweet-breathing a wind,' he laughed; for\nlo! an infant lay on the grass, his fair white frock fringed with many\ngems. Otnit found it all he could do to lift him, in spite of his\nstrength, but placing the little creature on the saddle, declared his\nintention of taking him to the palace, and putting him in his mother's\ncare.\n\nBut this did not please Dwarf Elberich, who for his own purpose had\ntaken the form of an innocent babe. He offered Otnit such splendid\nransom of sword and shield to set him free, that the Emperor laid him\ndown again, and even allowed him to hold the magic ring, by the wearing\nof which it had been possible for him to see what is usually hidden from\nmortal sight.\n\nNow it was Elberich's turn, and being once more invisible, he teased\nthe Emperor to his heart's content, dwelling on the anger of the\nQueen-Mother should she find that her gift was lost. Not until the\nEmperor was out of patience, and on the point of riding away did\nElberich restore the ring to him.\n\n'And now, O Otnit,' he said, 'since I see you love well your mother,\nwhom I loved long ere you saw the light, I will help you to gain your\nbride.'\n\nAnd Otnit was glad, for he knew that the word of a Dwarf is ever as good\nas his bond.\n\nIn the spring of the year, 'when all the birds were singing,' the\nEmperor called his friends together and bade them embark their troops\nwith his in the ships at anchor in the harbour. The waters of the bay\ngleamed as a field of gold as the stately vessels glided over them, and\nfor long the carols of the birds on shore went with them on the breeze.\nOtnit's hopes were high as he paced the deck, though he grieved that the\nDwarf had not come to join him.\n\nAt length the fleet reached the Eastern coast of the Mediterranean,\nand there King Otnit beheld a haven full of ships, far more in number\nthan his own. 'I would that Elberich were here, for he is skilled in\nwarfare,' he murmured uneasily, for his men looked askance at the fleet\nbefore them. The words had barely left his lips when the sound of a\nlaugh came from aloft, and straightway the Dwarf displayed himself. He\nhad been in hiding amongst the rigging, and was now at hand to use his\nFairy powers in Otnit's service.\n\nElberich's gift of a small round stone, which he bade him thrust into\nhis cheek, conferred upon Otnit the gift of language, and enabled him\nto impersonate a rich merchant with so much success that his ship was\nallowed to drop anchor in the harbour. When dusk had fallen, and all\nwas quiet, the Emperor disembarked, encamping with his troops among the\nrock-hewn burial places of the ancient Phoenicians, which abounded on\nthat coast. Here he abode for three whole days, while Elberich sought\nthe King of Syria, demanding his daughter's hand in marriage for his\nroyal master. It was refused point blank, and, more than this, the\nSoldan ordered his unwelcome visitor to be put to death. But the\nflashing blades of the guards cut the empty air, and Elberich jeered at\nthem finely.\n\n[Illustration: Elberich had jeered him finely.]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n'Your daughter shall go to my lord of her own free will,' he cried to\nthe Soldan, 'and only so shall your skull be saved!' He then returned to\nthe Emperor, who bade his troops attack the city of Sidon.\n\nA desperate battle with the heathen followed; for awhile the enemy's\nnumbers triumphed, but not for long. The Emperor's charge swept all\nbefore him, and the Soldan's soldiers fell like corn before the scythe.\nThen the Dwarf led the army to the Syrian capital; and red as had been\nthe field of Sidon, it was as nothing to that of Muntabur, where men's\nblood flowed as a crimson river.\n\nWhile yet the battle was at its height, Elberich made his way, unseen,\nto an inner chamber of the Royal Palace, and though he had come to\nrate the Princess for her father's obstinacy, words forsook him in her\npresence. So fair a maid he had never seen; her mouth 'flamed like the\nrose,' her flowing hair was the colour of rich red gold, and her lovely\neyes had the radiance of the moon. Elberich drew her to the window, and\nby the aid of his power over space, showed her King Otnit in the thick\nof the fight. The sun fell full on his upturned face, as, seated on his\nwhite charger, he rallied his men for the final onslaught; he looked as\nbrave a knight as the Princess had ever seen, and she lowered her glance\nas Elberich told her how she could save her father.\n\n'Death alone can wean King Otnit's desire to wed you,' he said. 'His\nlove for you passes the love of man, and is withal as tender as that of\na woman for her child.'\n\nMuch more Elberich spake to her to the same purpose, and at close of day\nshe allowed him to lead her where he would. Together they passed through\na secret passage beneath the Palace, and so through the royal gardens,\nto a path which wound down to the field of battle.\n\nFighting had ceased for awhile, for the heathen had been sore smitten;\nand since his men had neither eaten nor slept for many long hours,\nthe Emperor must needs let them rest until dawn. Full of impatience at\nthe delay which kept him from storming the walls that held the lady of\nhis love, he paced his tent, and turned to find her standing before him.\nHer mouth flamed red as the reddest rose; her eyes had the lustre of the\nharvest moon, and her red-gold hair framed a snowy brow that was white\nas the breast of a swan. Bending his knee, he touched with his lips the\nhem of her gown, and when the Princess gave him her exquisite hand, he\ncould scarce breathe for rapture.\n\n[Illustration: \"'She is yours, O Otnit!' cried the Dwarf\"]\n\n'She is yours, O Otnit!' cried the Dwarf; and the Emperor lifted her on\nto his charger, speaking to her with such tender and kindly words that\nher fears were stilled. With Elberich perched on the horse's mane,\nthey straightway rode to the coast, where the sails of the Emperor's\nvessel swelled roundly in the wind. On the summer seas of the blue\nMediterranean, they two were wed; and never had mortal man a sweeter\nwife, or maid a more gallant husband.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nChapter VIII\n\nThe Silver Horn.\n\n\nWhen the Dwarf had come to the end of his story, he very politely bade\nme goodbye, and bowed me out of his Castle. A week or two later we went\nto Saltzburg, and there I had a real adventure.\n\nThe Professor with whom we were staying hadn't a single grandchild, and\nas all his books were old and dusty, to say nothing of being written in\nGerman, I should have found it rather dull if he had not lent me his\nnephew's pony. I had learnt to ride as a little chap, when we lived in\nthe country. It was lovely there, but no one was ever ill, and Father\nhad so few patients that we could not stay.\n\nThe pony's name was Heinrich. He knew his way everywhere, the Professor\nsaid, so Father didn't mind my riding him alone, and I had a ripping\ntime.\n\nOne day we went to the Wunderberg, a big hill on a wide bleak moor,\nwhich was supposed to be quite hollow, and the favourite haunt of Wild\nWomen.\n\nThe ground was extremely bumpy, and several times I was almost thrown\nout of the saddle. At last I got off, for I thought I would rather\nwalk.\n\nIt was a splendid morning, and I was glad that I wasn't the Professor's\nnephew, away at school, as I lay on my back and looked up at the sky.\n\nA small black beetle crawled over my hand, but I was so comfortable that\nI scarcely stirred. It crossed my cuff and climbed a blade of grass; and\nas I watched it a shadow fell between me and the sunlight.\n\nA slender woman in a white gown was standing close to me. Her face was\nthin, and very wistful, and over her shoulders, down to her very feet,\nfell a mantle of glistening yellow hair.\n\n\"Are you hungry, child?\" she asked gently, holding out to me a slice of\nfine white bread.\n\n\"Not yet,\" I answered, for we had had _Sauerkraut_ for breakfast, and I\nfelt that I should not want anything more to eat for a long time. She\nlooked disappointed, and sighed as she threw the bread away. A bird\nflew down and pecked it, but after a taste or two he left it where it\nwas.\n\n\"Then surely you are thirsty, and will drink from my horn?\" she pleaded,\nshowing me a silver vessel with curious scrolls and writings traced in\ngold, which had been hidden by her beautiful hair. I took a sip from its\nbevelled edge, and had scarcely swallowed the first drop when I felt\nmyself sinking through the hill, the Wild Woman still beside me.\n\n\"At last! At last!\" she cried, clapping her shadowy hands as we stood in\na wide hall lit with amber light. \"O sisters, rejoice with me! I have\nfound a child, and his eyes, his eyes are crystal clear.\"\n\nShe bent over me as she spoke, half smothering me with her silken\ntresses, and I was so afraid that those sisters of hers would hug me\ntoo, that I scrambled away and I took to my heels and _ran_.\n\nBut you couldn't get far in that place. It was a miniature town, with\nsilver streets and golden houses, and gorgeous palaces in between.\nEvery turn I took led to a wide square filled with rose trees, where\nfountains of gold and silver water bubbled and sparkled in the\nmysterious pale green light. A flock of brilliant humming birds whirred\ntheir wings in my face so that I could not see where I was going, and\nthe Wild Women formed a circle round me and began to sing:\n\n    \"Only once did mortal child,\n    By our silver horn beguiled,\n            Find a way to leave us;\n    Though they call us strange and wild,\n    Thou shalt find us soft and mild.\n            Stay, and do not grieve us.\"\n\nTheir voices were very sweet, but when they had sung that verse twice\nover, I did not want to hear it again.\n\n\"I don't mind staying with you for an hour or two,\" I said, as they\nstopped singing, \"but I shouldn't care to live here. I am a Christmas\nChild, and there are other Fairy Folk I want to see.\"\n\nThen they looked at each other, and drew away.\n\n\"Since he is a Christmas Child,\" said one, \"we cannot keep him. You\nshould have known better, Sister Snow-blossom, than to bring him here!\"\n\n\"How could I tell,\" wailed Snow-blossom. \"He seemed like any other boy,\nand would just have fitted the green silk suit that I wove so long ago.\"\n\n\"Alas, alas!\" the others sighed. \"The longer he stays, the more it will\nwring our hearts to part with him. Take him back to the hill at once,\ndear Snow-blossom, and bid him hasten home.\"\n\nBut I didn't want to go just yet, for now that they did not wish to hug\nme, I thought they were rather nice. Their faces were like pure marble,\nso still and pale, and their light green eyes were very gentle. So I\nasked if Snow-blossom might not show me round, as the Professors did\nFather when he came to a strange town. Her sisters still urged her to\nsend me away at once, before she had time to grow fond of me, but she\nwould not listen.\n\n\"What do you want with a mortal child?\" I said, when I had been all over\nthe empty golden houses, and had seen the tiny cathedral, the model of\nthe one at Saltzburg, set with pearls and rubies, and many other\nprecious stones of which I did not know the name.\n\n\"Because we are lonely,\" she answered; \"so lonely, child. Our only\nfriends are the little people who guard our treasures in the centre of\nthe earth, and we would fain have mortals to bear us company. Once, long\nago, a goodly youth of noble birth was almost tempted to sip from our\nsilver horn, and had he done so his home would have known him no more.\nSweet Stella, the fairest Wild Woman who drew breath between the last\nfaint pulse of the night time and the glowing dawn of day, waylaid him\non the brow of the hill when he was heated in the chase, but although he\ncraved the cooling draught she offered him, he would not drink from her\nhand; her exceeding beauty excited his suspicions, and he guessed that\nshe was no mortal maid.\n\n'Let me see what your wine is like before I taste it!' he said warily,\ntaking the silver horn from her hands. He had no sooner grasped it,\nthan he sprang to his horse and rode away. For many years the horn was\nkept amongst the treasures of the House of Oldenburg, to which he\nbelonged, but at last, after many generations, it came back to us. No\none but you and the little Karl has drunk from it since then.\"\n\nWe were under the rose trees in the great square, and I had found a seat\nin a ruby and pearl pavillion, with queer golden faces staring down on\nme from each corner. Snow-blossom hid her face in her hands when I asked\nher who was Karl, and rocked herself to and fro; then she lifted her\nhead and looked at me, and I saw that she was crying.\n\n\"I will tell you,\" she said, \"but first come close. For words have wings\nin the Wunderberg, and I would not have my sisters know I am grieving\nstill.\"\n\nI sat down beside her, and then she began, speaking very softly and\nslowly, with deep sighs in between. The tears on her cheeks seemed to\nshine like pearls, and her hair gleamed more golden than ever.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe little Karl and the wild-woman.\n\n\"There was once a poor man named Henzel who should have been well\ncontent, for his girl-wife, Gretchen, was good and sweet, and the black\nbread he ate when his toil was over was pleasant to his taste. His bed\nwas warm, and his sleep was sound. What could a man want more?\n\nBut Henzel was ever full of complainings. His neighbour, Johann, had\nmarried a rich woman, and now owned a well stocked farm with many herds.\nEach time that he met him, Henzel sighed.\n\n'I might have done better than he,' he grumbled, even when he heard that\nJohann's wife was a great scold, and did not allow her husband a\nmoment's peace. He looked askance at his gentle Gretchen, who bore with\nhis rough moods tenderly, since once he had been her lover. But she\ngrieved in secret, for never a good word had he for her now, and her\nflaxen hair lost its shimmer of satin, and her cheeks their dainty\nbloom.\n\nShe was digging in the cottage garden, for Henzel would do no work at\nhome, when a very old man toiled slowly up the hill. His clothes were\ndusty, and his staff was bent; he looked very weary, and his voice, as\nhe bade her 'Goodmorrow,' was faint and low. Gretchen's heart was filled\nwith pity; she invited him to enter her tidy kitchen, and put before him\nthe best she had. It was not much, but her strange guest thanked her\ngratefully. While he rested, she went to the forest, to cut him a strong\noak sapling for a staff. The old man had vanished when she returned, and\nin his place sat a little Dwarf, not more than twelve inches high.\n\n[Illustration: In the old man's place sat a little Dwarf.]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n'I perceive that you have a kind disposition, Gretchen, which is better\nthan a rich dower,' he said, waving his hand for her to be seated also.\n'You are already sufficiently blessed,' he went on, 'in being both\nvirtuous and patient, but I am willing to grant you your dearest wish.\nSpeak out, and tell me what you most desire.'\n\nGretchen bent her brows, and pondered deeply. If she asked the Dwarf for\ngold, Henzel would rejoice, but she had lived with him long enough to\nknow that whatever he had, he would still want more. Should she ask for\nanother husband, then, since the one she had, had ceased to love her,\nand threw her but scornful looks? Nay--that would be wrong, for whatever\nhappened she was Henzel's wife. And the flush on her girlish face became\nyet deeper, for a very sweet thought had fluttered across her mind. She\nwould ask for a little child to lie on her breast, and bear her company\nthrough the long nights and days.\n\nWhen the Dwarf heard her whispered request, he smiled on her very\nkindly.\n\n'You are a true woman,' he said, and disappeared as Henzel crossed the\nthreshold.\n\n'Who has been here?' he asked, scowling at the empty cup and platter.\n\n'An old, old man, who was tired and hungry,' Gretchen replied,\nand anxious to escape his further questioning, she turned to the\nnewly-kindled fire, and put on a saucepan of broth for him. But Henzel\nwas very curious, for strangers came that way but seldom, and before\nlong he had drawn the whole story from Gretchen's lips, with the\nexception of the Dwarf's offer to grant her a wish.\n\n'Did he not speak of rewarding you for your hospitality?' her husband\npersisted, guessing that something had been kept back from him. And\nGretchen shyly told him for what she had asked.\n\nFierce was Henzel's anger at her neglect of this opportunity to make him\nrich. He stormed and raved until poor Gretchen longed to hide, and when\nat last his rage had spent itself, he was sullen as winter clouds. She\nwould have minded this more had it not been for the dear new hope that\nfilled her bosom, and early in the spring a little son was born to her.\n\nWhat cared she then for Henzel's anger, so long as it did not touch her\nchild? It was joy enough to feel the wee thing's fingers straying over\nher face, to see his limbs grow round and dimpled, and to hear him laugh\nas she sang to him baby songs. Henzel went in and out, taking little\nnotice of either of them; his thoughts were all absorbed in schemes for\ngrowing rich, for the love of money held him in its grip.\n\nWhen little Karl was six years old his mother died. Instead of sorrowing\nfor her, Henzel was glad, for now he could marry the elderly widow in\nthe next town who was ready to exchange her wealth for a handsome\nhusband.\n\nSo Henzel, too, had now a well-stocked farm, but this brought him small\nsatisfaction. For his new wife was a greater scold even than Johann's,\nand he dare not so much as cross the threshold without taking off his\nboots. As to Karl, he was sent to mind the cattle on the Kugelmill close\nby; the little lad was so ill-clad that his ragged tatters blew in the\nwinter wind. He was hungry also, for his stepmother grudged him the\nsimplest food, and but that he shared their berries with the birds, he\nmust have starved.\n\nWhen the hawthorns were white with the snows of spring, and the daisies\nshowed their golden centres on the grassy slopes, we heard him crying\nfor his mother. Stella flew to his side, and gathered him in her arms.\nHer lovely hair covered his shivering limbs, and the desolate child\nclung close to her as she held the silver horn to his curved red lips.\nHis soft embrace set her woman-love on fire, and veiling him in her\ngolden tresses, she brought him here.\n\nHe was happy with us--as happy as the days were long. We wove for him\ngarments of silken sheen, and taught him to call us by the sweet name of\n'Mother.' ... One day he begged us to let him play on the hill, so we\ntook him thither, hiding close by, that we might guard him from harm. He\nwas seen by some wood-cutters working near, and they took word to his\nfather; but before he could fetch him, we had spirited him away. Karl\nnever asked to play on the hill again, and all went well with us for\nmany years, till he sprang into a gallant youth, with his mother's eyes\nand a lordly will, unlike her yielding way.\n\nAnd then? Ah me! His love for our beautiful Stella grew fierce and\nwild--the love of a mortal man for a maid. And since no Wild Woman may\nwed, one night he bore her away from our hill to the evening star, which\nis the sanctuary of lovers. Thence she sends glad dreams to motherless\nchildren, and to lonely women who pine for love.\"\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nI did not stay much longer in the Wunderberg, for somehow the scented\nair seemed to have grown chilly. When I said to Snow-blossom that I\nmust leave her, she wept again, and gave me a shining strand of hair to\nguide me back to the moor. It turned into gossamer when I reached the\ndaylight, and floated softly away.\n\nHeinrich was still munching at the short grass, and stared at me very\nhard when I caught his bridle. I suppose he thought I had been a long\nwhile gone.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nChapter IX\n\nThe Little White Feather.\n\n\nIf you've ever tried to count the raindrops, you will know how I felt\nwhen for three whole days it poured in torrents. I was alone in the\nlibrary, watching a hole in the wainscotting through which a mouse had\njust poked her head, when some one said \"_Guten Morgen_\" in a piping\nvoice, and I knew this must be a Kobold. I was rather surprised that I\nhad not met one of these House-Spirits before.\n\nHe was sitting on the edge of a bookcase--a little brown man with a\nwrinkled, good-natured face, and wearing no clothes. He chuckled when I\nsaid that I would rather speak English if he did not mind, and remarked\nthat all languages were the same to him.\n\n\"I believe you have met some cousins of mine, the Brownies,\" he went\non affably, kissing his hand to the mouse, who popped back to her hole\nas if he had shocked her. \"They are good little chaps, but quiet and\nhumdrum. You always know what a Brownie will do, but as for us--mortals\ncan never tell what a Kobold will be up to next. We make ourselves quite\nat home in their houses, and really own them, if the truth were known.\nBut excuse me--I should not appear before you in this undress.\"\n\nIn the twinkling of an eye the Kobold had changed himself into a\ncurly haired boy, with smooth pink cheeks and a red silk coat, and\nknickerbockers of dark green velvet. \"This is my best suit,\" he\nexplained proudly, turning himself from side to side. \"I usually wear\nit when I play with children who were born, like yourself, at the\nblessed feast of Christmas-tide. It is only one of my many disguises,\nhowever, though I seldom allow myself to be seen at all. I can even\nhide in the cast-off coat of a harmless snake, and woe to him who lays\nstick upon me or seeks to drive me away. The Heinzelmaenchen, as we are\ncalled, can be bitter foes as well as powerful friends, and 'twas an\nevil day for the city of Koeln when we marched out of it. It has never\nprospered since.\"\n\n\"Why----\" I began, and the Kobold held up his hand to stop me, puckering\nhis baby face into a dreadful frown.\n\n\"Why? Why? Why?\" he mimicked. \"How like the child of mortal man!\nEverything has to tell its reason--you rob the peach of its velvet bloom\nthat you may find the secret of its ruddy splendour, and the fairy gems\non the grass at dawn are to you but water distilled from earth! You\nwould know how the tide finds a way to turn, why the light of the stars\ntranscends your rush-lights! Elves and Fairies and such-like things are\ndriven away by your curiosity, as the Heinzelmaenchen were by Rosetta.\"\n\nI was going to ask who Rosetta might be, but I remembered just in time\nthat this would be another question. The Kobold chose a more comfortable\nseat, and told me of his own accord.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Sin of Rosetta.\n\n\"Toward the end of the eighteenth century,\" he began, \"the\nHeinzelmaenchen, took up their abode in the city of Koeln, where Johann\nFarina distilled the sweet-scented waters now famous all over the world.\nWhen first he blended the fragrant oils of bergamot, citron, orange and\nrosemary, it was we who whispered to him in what proportion he should\nmix them, and how to imprison their lasting perfume. Not only him did\nwe help, but wherever we came across a worthy fellow who was poor\nbut honest, we gave him a lift up; such was Rudolph the tailor, whom\nwe found when a lad on the steps of the great Cathedral, without a\n_pfennig_ in his pocket, and with a wolf inside him big enough to\nswallow a little pig. When we saw how readily he returned a _thaler_\nthat rolled to his feet to the feeble old woman who had dropped it,\nthough he might well have said he had not seen it fall, we took him to\nour hearts, and swore to befriend him.\n\n'So!' we said, one to the other. 'Rudolph is worthy to be our comrade.\nHe is a good lad, and henceforth we will see that he does not want.'\n\nThe first thing to be done was to procure him decent clothing, for no\none would employ him while he went in rags. We did this by pointing him\nout to the wife of a rich merchant, who fancied she saw in his pinched\nwhite face a likeness to the son she had lost long since.\n\nTouched by the poor lad's poverty, she gave him a suit of clothes which\nhad lain by for many a day, and on finding he was an orphan, apprenticed\nhim to a tailor. The lad worked well. We took it in turns to sit beside\nhim, showing him just where to place his needle, so that his seams were\nalways neat, and guiding his scissors so that he cut the cloth to the\nbest advantage. So skilful did he become that, when his time was out,\nhis master begged him to stay on with him as head assistant, and gave\nhim a good wage.\n\nA fine young spright was Rudolph now, with jet-black hair and eyes like\ncoals. His master's daughters, Euralie and Rosetta, both looked on him\nwith favour, and for a time it seemed that he knew not which to choose.\nEuralie was small and slight, with eyes like a dove's; Rosetta was tall\nand buxom, and had she been free from the vice of curiosity would have\nmade him a model wife. She was clever and industrious as well as witty,\nand when Dark Rudolph passed by the gentle Euralie, and took Rosetta for\nhis betrothed, it was only the Heinzelmaenchen who shook their heads.\n\nNever was grander wedding feast than his. While he and Rosetta where\nstill in church, we brought to his house the finest drinking vessels\nthat we could lay our hands on, and pots and pans of beaten copper that\nwere the envy of every housewife bidden as a guest. There were fairy\ncakes in the silver dishes, and luscious fruits such as grew in no\nwestern lands; the wine in the ruby goblets was honeyed nectar, and\nthough his friends quaffed deeply, their heads remained quite clear. A\nproud man was Rudolph as he drank to his bride, and she looked so happy\nand gay and bright, that we resolved to take her, too, under our\nprotection.\n\nAnd this we did. When her children came, we rocked the cradle and sang\nthem lullabies while she baked and brewed, and when they slept we\nscrubbed and polished from garret to cellar, until her house was the\npride of the street. Often she would ask to be allowed to see us, but we\nalways refused, telling her to respect our wish, and be content. Still\nshe would not rest, and nothing that Dark Rudolph could say to her would\ninduce her to hold her peace.\n\nHe had now three shops instead of one, and counted lords and barons\namong his customers. No one could fit as he could, for we were always at\nhand to nip in here or let out there, and many a fine straight figure\nwas the result of our cunning skill. His fame spread far through the\nneighbouring towns, and one spring a great noble travelled to Koeln to\norder some rich apparel for himself and his suite. Our busy tailor was\nat his wit's end how to get it finished in time, for all his assistants\nwere working their hardest, and still they were behind.\n\n'Have no fear! Dark Rudolph,' we cried, when we found him alone. 'Send\nyour men to rest, and leave it to us. When you wake in the morning you\nshall find all done.'\n\nWe lost not a moment that livelong night--it was as if our needles had\nwings. Just before cockcrow, the door of the workroom creaked softly\nopen, and there stood Rosetta in her white nightgown, with her hair in\ntwo long plaits, peering round the corner to see if she could catch us\nat work. We were justly enraged, but since we heard her in time to\nrender ourselves invisible, and also because we loved Dark Rudolph, we\ndecided to give her one more chance.\n\nIt was our custom to leave the lower part of the house at the hour of\nmidnight, no matter what we might be doing, and climb the steep stairs\nthat led to the bedrooms, to watch that the ghosts which were free to\nroam till cockcrow might not ruffle the children's hair, or wake them\nwith their long-drawn sighs. Rosetta knew this, for she had often heard\nus comforting the little Rudolph when his sleep was disturbed by a bad\ndream, and with gross ingratitude she tried to be-fool us. One night,\nshe strewed dried peas on the top steps of the winding staircase, so\nthat when we came up we should lose our footing and fall to the bottom,\nand thus she might see us struggling on the ground. We knew perfectly\nwell, however, why she had bought the peas, and stayed below. When she\nrose next morning, she forgot the trap she had laid for us, and tumbled\nheadlong down the stairs. While she groaned and moaned over her broken\nankle, the Heinzelmaenchen marched out of the town to stirring music,\nwhich was heard by all the citizens. We sailed down the Rhine in a\nphantom boat, which you may yet see floating on its waters if you look\nfor it at the right time. And Dark Rudolph and his Rosetta sighed for\nour help in vain.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Kobold was a most entertaining little fellow, and stayed with me all\nthe morning, telling me of well known House Spirits of days gone by. One\nof these tales was about\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Little white Feather.\n\n\"Hinzelmann,\" said the Kobold solemnly, \"was a Spirit who haunted the\ncastle of Hudemuehlen, though it was not until late in the sixteenth\ncentury that those who lived there were aware of his presence. He seemed\nof so friendly a disposition that the servants became quite used to\nhim. They never saw him, but he would often talk with them while they\nworked, telling them of what went on in the Underworld, and of the\nmighty Giants of bye-gone days who had been created in order to protect\nthe Dwarfs from savage beasts, but had become themselves so savage in\nthe course of the ages that they had to be done away with. In time the\nlord of the castle heard of his strange visitor, and sent him a message\nsaying he desired his presence at a certain hour.\n\n'No need to wait until then, good Sir!' laughed Hinzelmann over his\nshoulder. 'I assist each morning at your lordship's toilet, though you\ndo not perceive me, and I blunt your razors when you are out of temper.'\n\nThis displeased the lord of the castle, for he thought it unseemly to be\non terms of such familiar intimacy with a bodiless House-Spirit. When he\nrebuked him for his presumption, Hinzelmann laughed more loudly still.\n'Better men than you have to put up with my company, if I will!' he\ncried, 'and, believe me, I do not intend to leave you!'\n\nThe nobleman grew more and more uneasy, for it disturbed him to feel\nthat he was never alone. Hinzelmann whistled and sang through the State\nrooms, and when his lordship expressed irritation this was the\nHouse-Spirit's favourite song:\n\n    'If thou here wilt let me stay,\n    Good luck shalt thou have alway.\n    But if hence thou dost me chase,\n    Luck will ne'er come near the place.'[1]\n\n         [Footnote 1: The Fairy Mythology]\n\nHe hummed this morning, noon, and night, until the lord of the castle\nwas sick of it. 'Since I cannot drive this fellow away,' he said at\nlast, 'I must e'en go myself;' and telling no one of his intentions, he\nsummoned his coach and set out for Hanover. On the way he noticed that\nno matter how fast his horses went, a little white feather danced above\ntheir heads. Although he wondered at this, he did not connect it with\nthe House-Spirit, and when he arrived at his chosen Inn, sought his\ncouch with a mind at ease.\n\n'Thank heaven,' he muttered, as he turned him over and went to sleep, 'I\nam free at last of this troublesome Hinzelmann. By the time I see fit\nto return home, he may have gone elsewhere.'\n\n[Illustration: A little white Feather danced above their heads.]\n\n[Illustration]\n\nNext morning he missed his fine gold chain, which was an heirloom, and,\ngreatly distressed, he haughtily demanded of the Innkeeper that his\nservants should be searched.\n\n'They have robbed me,' he cried, 'and they shall suffer for it! Cannot\none sleep at your house without meeting with knaves and thieves?'\n\nAt this the Innkeeper was very angry. Instead of condoling with the\nnobleman on his loss, and offering to make it good, he roundly rebuked\nhim for taking away the character of honest men without due proof. The\nnoble was leaving the Inn in much haste when a soft voice asked him why\nhe was troubled.\n\n'If it be on account of the bauble upon which you set such store,' it\ncontinued, 'look under your pillow and you will find it. You cannot get\non without Hinzelmann after all!'\n\n'I would I had never known you, base spirit!' stormed the nobleman. 'You\nhave put me greatly in the wrong with all these men, and my journey has\nbeen for nought, since you are here. If you do not quit me I will leave\nthis country; it is not wide enough to hold us both.'\n\nThen Hinzelmann spoke to him with much reason, pointing out that he\nwished him no harm, and that it was impossible to shake him off, since\nwherever the lord went, he could follow.\n\n'It was I who flew as a little white feather in front of your coach,' he\nconcluded. 'You played the part of a poltroon when you fled from what\nyou believed to be evil, instead of fighting it on your own ground. Come\nback with me, and if you give me your friendship, I will work but good\nto you and yours.'\n\nSo the nobleman went back to his castle, and Hinzelmann lived there with\nhim. A little room was set aside for his use in an upper story, and here\nthey placed, by the nobleman's orders, a small round table, and a tiny\nbed. No one could ever make out if he slept on this, but once when the\ncook entered very quickly, to take him the dish of new milk and wheaten\ncrumbs which was placed each morn on his table, she saw a shallow\ndepression on the down pillow, as if something very small and soft had\nrested there.\n\nWhen the time came for Hinzelmann to leave the castle, he presented its\nlord with three fairy gifts, the last of these being a leather glove\nrichly wrought with pearls in a curious pattern of snails and scrolls.\nSo long as this glove was in possession of his house, he told him, so\nlong would his race flourish. And thus he requited the kindness which\nhad been shown him. There is nothing that we like better than to help\nour friends.\"\n\n\"I know,\" I said, nodding my head. And the House Spirit smiled as if\nthis pleased him.\n\n\"We need take no credit for this,\" he remarked, \"since the Dwarf King\nhimself sets us the example. His rescue of the poor old couple at\nSchillingsdorf is but one of many instances of the way in which he\ngladly helps those who show hospitality to him or his.\n\nCaught in a storm, he wandered from door to door, entreating each person\nwho answered his knock to let him enter and warm himself. One and all\nthey refused, for his green velvet garments were stained and draggled,\nand they had not the wit to see that in spite of his dripping clothes\nand dishevelled beard he was still every whit a king. At last he came to\nthe hut of an ancient shepherd, whose little old wife was as thin as he,\nfor food had been very scarce. The moment she saw the wanderer, her\nheart went out to him.\n\n'Come in and welcome, you poor little fellow!' she said, setting wide\nher door. 'Our fire is not much to boast of, but 'tis better than none\non a night like this.' And the shepherd hobbled to the inner room that\nhe might bring his Sunday coat, and place this round their visitor's\nshoulders while his own lay drying on the hearth. Then the old woman\nspread a white cloth on the table, and gave the Dwarf her share of the\ncoarse black bread which was all her cupboard contained.\n\n'I thank you, my friends,' he said, breaking the bread into two\nfragments. As he did so, one became a fine white loaf, and the other a\nnoble cheese. The Dwarf laughed at the old couple's amazement, and bade\nthem feast to their heart's content.\n\n'So long as you leave on the platter a crust of bread and an inch of\ncheese,' he said, 'so long will a fresh loaf and a fresh cheese spring\nfrom these fragments during the night; but if ever a beggar entreats\nyour help, and you refuse him, they will turn to dust and ashes. Now I\nbid you farewell, but ere long we shall meet again.'\n\nSo saying, he went out in the rain, despite their entreaties that he\nwould at least stay with them until the storm was over.\n\nLittle sleep did they have that night, for wind and rain swept through\nthe valley. Torrents roared down the mountain side, flooding the wooden\nhouses, and even worse befell at daybreak. An enormous rock snapped off\nfrom a topmost peak, and carrying with it great masses of stones and\nuprooted firs, crashed down on the little village. All living things\nwere buried beneath its weight except the shepherd and his wife, whose\ncottage yet was spared. Tremblingly they stood on the threshold, for\nthey thought their last hour had come.\n\n'Thou hast been a good wife, my dear one,' breathed the shepherd, as he\ndrew her frail form close to him.\n\n'It is well that we should go together, since thou hast lain by my side\nfor nigh sixty years,' she whispered, hiding her face against his\nbreast.\n\n'How now?' cried a reassuring voice. 'Dost despair so easily?' And\nlooking up they saw their friend the Dwarf riding on a rough raft in\nthe centre of the stream, and steering before him the trunk of an\nimmense pine. This he proceeded to fix crosswise in front of their\nlittle garden, so as to form a dam. The torrent now passed by the\ncottage, leaving it undisturbed, and the voice of the wind was hushed.\nThe sun came out, and the birds sang; but the only people alive in\nSchillingsdorf were the shepherd and his old wife.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"'How now?' cried a reassuring voice.\"]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nChapter X\n\nThe Wild Huntsman.\n\n\nThe forest paths were dappled with sunlight as Father and I strolled\ndown its winding glades, and all the wood things were chirping and\nchattering with joy. Now and then something brown and furry scuttled\nacross our path, and once I all but trod on a tiny mouse, who had hidden\nherself under last year's leaves.\n\n\"You clumsy boy!\" said a tiny voice, and I turned in time to catch sight\nof a wee pink Elf as she sprang from the flower Father wore in his\nbutton hole upon a bright blue butterfly which had been hovering above\nher for some time, and now darted swiftly away.\n\nAfter a while we came to an open space where the woodmen had been\nfelling timber. Several great trees still lay on the ground; one was\nparticularly straight and round, and I noticed three wide crosses cut\ndeep into the bark. I thought I would like to carve my name there too,\nfor my knife had been most beautifully sharp since the _Nain Rouge_\ntouched it, so when Father sat down soon afterward to read his letters,\nI went straight back to the spot. As I reached it I heard the distant\nbaying of hounds; the sound came nearer and nearer, and mingling with\nit were shouts in a strange deep voice, which almost frightened me.\nAs I looked up, my knife was jerked out of my hand by a little woman\ndressed in green, who pushed me breathlessly aside and sat down,\nsobbing bitterly, on the middle cross. I was still staring at her when\nthere flashed through the air a huntsman on a fiery horse, followed by\nmany hounds. Their hurrying feet knocked off my cap and rumpled all my\nhair. They had passed in a second, and next moment I heard their\nbaying far away.\n\nThe little woman in green sobbed still, but she seemed to be growing\ncalmer. Her hair and eyes were a soft light grey, and her frock was most\nprettily trimmed with tufts of moss.\n\n\"Aha!\" I thought when I noticed this, \"you are one of the Moss-women,\nI've no doubt.\" For I knew that these were supposed to haunt the forests\nof Southern Germany.\n\n\"That was the Wild Huntsman,\" said the little thing, looking at me\ntrustfully. \"But for the kindness of the woodcutters who make these\nmarks in the trees they fell, I should have fallen to his bow and\nspear. When we can find three crosses we are safe, for he dare not touch\nus then.\"\n\nI waited to hear what else she would say, for I thought of the Kobold's\n\"_Why? Why? Why?_\" and did not like to ask her questions. In a little\nwhile her lips were smiling, and swaying to and fro, as a tree sways in\nthe wind, she began to sing. I knew I had heard that song before, but I\ncould not think where until I remembered that the pines which rustled\nagainst the windows of my night nursery had often sung it when I was\nsmall.\n\n\"It's the song of the wind,\" she told me, \"and the very first sound we\nhear. We are born in the roots of the tree which is to be our home, and\nwhen this dies, we must die too. So long as the sap runs through its\nbranches, and the bark is not cut or injured, we are safe and sound in\nour snug recess, but at certain times we are bound to leave it, to seek\nfor food, or to attend our lords. It is then that we are in such grave\ndanger--and all because Elfrida tried her witcheries on a stranger.\"\n\n\"What did she do?\" I could not help asking.\n\n\"I will tell you,\" said the Moss-woman sadly, \"and then you will\nunderstand why even the youngest of us has now grey hair.\"\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Wild Huntsman.\n\n\"Elfrida was the fairest of our race,\" she sighed, \"and her palace the\ntallest and straightest pine that ever raised its boughs to Heaven.\nWhen she left its shelter at early dawn to bathe in some sparkling\nstream, or seek for sweet berries in the thickets, the Flower-Elves\nflocked to greet her; wild roses gave her their bloom for her oval\ncheeks, and the violets scented her sunny hair. Wherever she passed, the\nmoss grew a brighter green, and she had but to breathe on a gnarled old\ntrunk, and the softest feathery fronds came to hide its ugliness. The\ncreatures of the forest were all her friends, and took pride, as we did,\nin her loveliness.\n\n'Have a care, Elfrida--a stranger comes!' cried a squirrel one summer\nmorning, staying his dancing feet to warn her. His up-cocked ears had\ncaught the thud of some well-shod charger's swift approach, and he\nguessed he would not be riderless.\n\n'Go back to thy palace, dear child!' cooed a motherly pigeon who had\nreared many broods of snowy fledglings, and misdoubted the sparkle in\nElfrida's pale green eyes.\n\n'Haste thee home, Elfrida!' cried the stream as it gurgled over the\nstones; 'haste thee home, and hide thy face from the sunlight.' But\nElfrida pretended not to hear as she shook out the crystal drops from\nher gorgeous hair.\n\nThe horse and his rider were close to her now; the huntsman blew his\ngolden horn, and in the excitement of the chase might have passed her\nby, unseeing, but for his hounds. In a moment they had surrounded her,\nbaying like hungry wolves, and Elfrida sprang to a branch that overhung\nthe water, where her white limbs gleamed against its green. The huntsman\nsent the dogs to heel, and dismounting from his horse, entreated the\nmaiden to come down to him. Nothing loth, Elfrida coyly descended, and\nthe huntsman was amazed anew at her perfect form. He sat at her feet\nthrough the hush of noonday, and at even he was there still. When the\nmoon turned the glades to silver, Elfrida left him, but she promised to\nmeet him again next day, and he could not sleep for thinking of her.\n\nBut although she smiled on him sweetly as she lay on the banks of the\nstream, and listened with languid pleasure to his fond fierce wooing,\nwhich passed for her many an idle hour, she would not consent to be his\nwife.\n\n'I like best the gems that I find on the lilies at daybreak,' she said,\nwhen he vowed that the richest jewels that the earth could give should\ndeck her fair white arms. 'You must offer me something rarer than these\nif I am to forsake my kindred to go with you.'\n\nThen the huntsman swore that he would give her all he had; only his\nhonour would he hold back, for he was sick with love and longing.\n\nNow behind Elfrida's loveliness dwelt a spirit of malice and wanton\ncruelty, and though she loved not this wild Huntsman, and had no\nintention of being his bride, she wished to see how far her power over\nhim could go. So she asked of him these three things: the crest of his\nHouse cut in the stone over his castle gates, where it had stood for\ncenturies; the leaf from his dead mother's Bible, whereon she had\nwritten the date of her marriage day, with the names of the children\nborn to her; and his father's sword.\n\n[Illustration: He entreated the Maiden to come down.]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n'Nay, Sweetheart!' cried the Huntsman. 'Ask me for aught else in the\nworld, but not for these things, since they touch my honour!'\n\n'These will I have, and nothing less,' said Elfrida wilfully, looking at\nhim through her long gold lashes until his soul went out from him. His\nface was white as milk as he rode away, and the creatures of the forest\ncringed with shame. For they knew she had asked what was unseemly; and\nthey ceased to attend her when she went to the stream at dawn.\n\nWhen the moon was at her full the Huntsman returned with the three\ngifts, and now he thought to take Elfrida in his arms. But she thrust\nhim from her with bitter words, tearing the leaf from the sacred Book\ninto a thousand shreds, and tossing the crest and sword into the running\nstream.\n\n'What!' she cried, and her scornful laugh rang through the woodland,\n'shall I, Elfrida, be the sport of a man who holds the honour of his\nhouse as something less than a maiden's whim? I will have none of\nyou--get you gone!' And she flung out her arms to the strong North Wind,\nwho caught her to him and bore her off. But not to her high pine palace\ndid he take her, for he was angry because of her cruelty; and far away\nat the grim North Pole, she shivers yet under the thickest ice. Her\ngreen eyes shine through the frost-bound floes, and light the depths of\nthe Northern seas.\"\n\n\"And the Huntsman?\" I questioned.\n\n\"He died in his rage, where Elfrida left him!\" said the Moss-woman\nmournfully, \"and his spirit seeks still to avenge his wrongs. To the\nlast of our race it will pursue us, until none of our kindred lives.\"\n\n\"Chris! Chris! where are you?\"\n\nIt was Father's voice, and the Moss-woman vanished. Father wanted to\nread me a funny letter from the Locust, who complained a lot of being\ncalled up at night by patients who had no money, and wouldn't have paid\nhim even if they had. This was the way they often treated Father, but he\nsaid \"Poor beggars!\" and then forgot it, while the Locust was very\ncross.\n\nNext day I went back to the forest, hoping to find the Moss-woman again,\nbut she was not there. I found instead an Elf who was almost too small\nto be seen. She told me that she and her sisters lived in the cells\nwhich make leaves so green, and mixed things they drew in from the air\nand sunlight with the water that came through the roots, turning these\ninto sugar to feed the tree. It sounded like magic, and I was so much\ninterested that I almost forgot to ask about the Moss-women.\n\n\"Poor little things!\" said the Leaf-Elf kindly, when I said I had seen\none. \"It is well that the woodcutters are their friends, or they would\nfare badly. Many a meal did they have from them in past times, and even\nHans the Unlucky never grudged them what he gave. They paid him back for\nit, never fear, for they do not forget a kindness.\"\n\n\"Who was he?\" I asked. And this is what she told me.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Luck of Hans.\n\n\"Of all the unlucky mortals, Hans was surely the most to be pitied, for\nthough he was honest and frugal, nothing he touched seemed to prosper.\nThe farm had done well in his father's lifetime, but after he died there\nwas not one good season for three bad ones. Far from being idle, Hans\nwas up before dawn, and still hard at work at sundown. His mother sent\naway her maids, since she could not pay them their wages, and kept the\nhouse straight herself; where could you find a worthier pair? But Hans'\naffairs went from bad to worse, and when (at the busiest time of the\nyear) his mother lost her sight and became quite blind it was clear he\nwas born to be unlucky.\n\nThe farm went to rack and ruin, and there came a time when Hans was\nforced to go off to the forest to fell a tree that his poor old mother\nmight have fuel to warm her. When the sun was high, he drew out his\nlunch, and a poor little Moss-woman stole out from the undergrowth to\nbeg a few crumbs for her hungry children.\n\n'Take it all!' he cried, thrusting his bread into her tiny hands. 'It is\nwaste of good food for a man to eat who is as unlucky as I.'\n\n'I cannot repay you in kind, friend Hans,' said the Moss-woman, 'but I\nwill give you some good advice. In the house by the mill lives a sweet\nyoung girl, with a face tinged with pink like a daisy's. She has loved\nyou long, for you are her mate. Take her to wife, and your luck will\nturn.'\n\nHans flushed deep crimson beneath his tan, and the veins on his forehead\ngrew tense and hard.\n\n'You--you--' he stammered; 'you must mean Elsa? And Elsa, you say, Elsa\ncares for _me_? It can't--it can't--be true.'\n\n'A woman's heart goes where it will,' answered the Moss-woman. 'Try your\nluck, friend Hans, and lose no time. Life is short, and the days are\nflying.'\n\nHans went at once to the house by the mill, for had he not gazed at it\ntime and again as the casket which held his treasure?\n\nWhen Elsa saw him coming with that look upon his face, she twisted a\nribbon, blue as her eyes, in the pale gold plait that crowned her head,\nand went shyly down to meet him.\n\n[Illustration: \"Went shyly down to meet him\"]\n\nHans said not a word, but he found a way to make her understand, and his\neyes spoke, though his lips were dumb.\n\nThey were betrothed and married within the month, and little cared sweet\nElsa that her friends marvelled at her choice. She comforted the sad\nblind dame, whose son was now her husband, as a happy woman comforts one\nwho fears she has lost all, and behold! the old woman smiled again. As\nto Hans, the neighbours scarcely recognised him when they met him in\nthe markets; she trimmed his beard, did Elsa, with her own hands, and\nmothered him as if he were a child of seven. His fields grew green, and\nthen golden with harvest; his scanty flocks increased and multiplied.\n\n'Hans' luck has changed!' the neighbours said, and they scoffed at him\nno more.\n\nBut good luck itself does not last for ever, and after three years of\nplenty came a bad one for all in those parts. There was a long and\nunusual drought, followed by so much rain that the roots rotted in the\nground, and sickness spread amongst sheep and oxen. Hans lost all that\nhe had re-gained, and to add to his misfortunes, he chopped his hand\ninstead of a log of wood, and could do no work for weeks. He was in\ndespair, and the old blind woman beside his hearth wept and wailed from\nmorn till eve.\n\n'I would I were dead,' she moaned. 'I am a useless burden, for I cannot\neven knit. My store of wool is exhausted, and we have no money to buy\nmore.'\n\n'Dear Mother,' said Elsa tenderly, 'who has a greater right than you to\nthe last penny that Hans possesses? You carried him on your breast when\nhe was small and helpless, and have loved him faithfully all these\nyears!'\n\nBut the mother turned her face to the wall and wrung her idle hands.\n\nThen Elsa sold the ring that had been her lover's gift in order to buy\nfor her soft white bread and warming cordials, and wool wherewith to ply\nher needles. As she returned home with her basket, grieving to think of\nthe pain of those she loved, a Moss-woman accosted her in the forest.\n\n'I have nought for my children to eat,' she said. And Elsa, pitying her\nthe more that she herself was hungry, gave her a share of what she had,\neven to a skein of the wool, that she might weave a coat for her crying\nbabe.\n\n'Wait for me here!' cried the Moss-woman earnestly, and Elsa leaned\nsadly against a tree, too weary to be surprised. In a moment or two the\nMoss-woman returned, carrying a grey ball of wool and some chips of\nwood.\n\n'Give the wool to the old crone who weeps by your hearth,' said the\nlittle thing, 'and the chips to Hans. He is lucky in his wife, if in\nnought else!'\n\nSo saying, she disappeared, and Elsa went quickly home. Thinking to\nwin a laugh from her husband, she opened her apron to show him the\nMoss-woman's gifts, and, to her amazement, found that the chips had\nturned to yellow gold, and the little grey ball of wool into a large one\nof fleecy whiteness, so soft and thick that it felt like velvet! The\ngolden chips stocked the farm again, for they were of pure metal, and\nweighty, and the ball of white wool was never exhausted during the old\nwoman's life time. She knitted away until her hundredth year, and when,\nlong afterward, the summons came also for Hans and Elsa, in their turn,\ntheir children had good cause to bless the name of the Moss-woman.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nChapter XI\n\nThe White Princess.\n\n\nIt was to Italy we travelled next, to stay with the Signor, who had\nlived in England once, and was a patient of Father's.\n\nIt was fearfully hot when we arrived, and most English people had gone\naway; but Father and I could bear a lot of sunshine, and we did not go\nout in the middle of the day.\n\nIn the early mornings I went off to explore while Father was still\nasleep. Sometimes I made for the hills, but often I chose the city,\nfor I liked to wander through the streets and make friends with the\nchattering children. They were jolly little beggars, with bare brown\nfeet and thick dark hair that fell over their faces. My favourites were\nGiovanni and Mariannina; their mother worked for a grand Contessa\nwho lived not far from the Signor. Giovanni was thin as a reed, but\nMariannina, whose curly head did not reach her brother's shoulders, was\nas plump as a partridge, and her cheeks were red instead of brown.\nAdelina, the Signor's housekeeper, told me their names, and that\nMariannina was the pride and torment of Giovanni's life.\n\n\"He adores her,\" she said, \"but she is surely bewitched. She runs\nfrom him like a squirrel, and is an imp for mischief. Ah, the poor\nGiovanni--he has his hands full!\"\n\nAfter this I often met them, and if Mariannina were in a good humour she\nwould smile at me through her lashes, while if she were cross she would\nfrown like a Witch, and even shake her tiny fist. At this, Giovanni\nwould look quite shocked, and would beg me in broken English not to be\nhurt at '_la sorellina's_' unkindness.\n\n\"She so ver' small!\" he pleaded wistfully, and this was always his\nexcuse for her.\n\nOne day she took it into her head to run away from him, and darted into\nthe middle of the road, almost under the heels of some prancing horses.\nI happened to be close by, and seized her red skirt just in time to drag\nher back. Panting with terror, Giovanni took her from me, and when he\nfound she was not hurt, for the first time in his life he shook her. And\nthen he tried to kiss my hands; I almost wished I had left Mariannina to\nbe run over. Before I could get away from him, he had thrust upon me\nthe small gilt cage he always carried about with him, and had but just\nnow tossed on the ground. It held his cherished '_grillo_,' or cricket,\na curious pet of which all his playmates seemed very fond.\n\n\"It is yours, it is yours!\" he cried, and seemed so grieved when I tried\nto give it back to him that I was obliged to keep it.\n\nThe cricket was a merry little creature, with a very loud voice for his\nsize. \"_Cree-cree-cree!_\" he chirped, as I carried him to the villa, and\nhe never once stopped all day. I believe that he sang the whole night\nthrough, for I heard him in my dreams; and when I woke I determined to\nset him free.\n\nI carried the little gilt cage up the slope of a hill before I\nopened the door. No sooner had he hopped on the grass, when his\n\"_Cree-cree-cree_\" was taken up by hundreds of other crickets, who\ngathered round him in great excitement, chirping with all their might.\nAs I put my fingers into my ears, a little old woman appeared from\nnowhere, and with a wave of her hand sent them all away.\n\n\"Many mouths make a small noise great,\" she said, \"and you are not the\nfirst to be wearied by the crickets' song. The Sorcerer of the Seven\nHeads[2] liked it as little as you did, and the White Princess owes her\nhappiness to this. I say what I know, for I am her Fairy Godmother.\"\n\n        [Footnote 2: Crane's Italian Fairy Tales]\n\n\"Why, they told me there were no Fairies in Italy!\" I cried. And then I\nwas sorry that I had spoken, for the little old woman grew pale with\nrage.\n\n\"No Fairies?\" she exclaimed. \"Ah, foolish ones, worse than blind! Had\nyou not believed them you had seen countless Witches and Fays ere this,\nfor Ascension Day has come and gone, and they are all set free. Besides\nthese, there are Goblins and Spirits, and fearsome Incubas, and shadowy\nFates who sway men's destinies. All these abound in our sunny Italy for\nthose who have eyes to see; and there are also Fairy Godmothers, such as\nI. The maidens for whom I stand sponsor comb jewels out of their hair;\ndiamonds and pearls, rubies, and shining turquoise. But the White\nPrincess' were always pearls; and pearls often turn to tears.\"\n\nThen, drawing close to me, as I sat in the long grass, she told me of\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe White Princess.\n\n\"The fates had dowered Queen Catherine with gifts; but though her\nhusband was devoted to her, and the kingdom was blessed by a long spell\nof peace, she sighed unceasingly. One boon alone had been denied her,\nand without this she did not care to live.\n\n'Let her have her way!' cried the Fates at last, weary of her\ncomplainings. So one summer dawn a babe was found in the bed of lilies\nbeneath her window, and now her mourning was turned into joy. For a\ndaughter had been her heart's desire.\n\nThe little Princess was christened Fiorita, but from the day of her\nbirth she was known as the White Princess. Her skin was as purely pale\nas the petals of her guardian flowers, and the yellow gold of their\nstamens was the colour of her hair. But out of her eyes looked a spirit\nthat boded sorrow--the spirit that would fain know all.\n\nThe White Princess grew lovelier day by day, smiling but seldom, and\nstaring for hours at the distant line of the far horizon, where the\nhills kept watch for ever over the land Beyond. The Queen looked on with\ndelight at the unfolding of this tender blossom, but her happiness did\nnot bring strength, and when in due time the sweet coral lips lisped the\nsoft word 'Mother,' her soul broke the bonds which held it, and sped\naway.\n\nFiorita was now twice orphaned, for her father, the King, would scarcely\nlook at her, since he connected her coming with the death of his beloved\nwife. In order that the sight of her might not continually remind him\nof his sorrow, he built a fine tower of gold and crystal, and here,\nsurrounded by all her ladies, the White Princess grew into womanhood.\nLovely as snow crystals, and cold as the arctic wastes, Fiorita made\nfew friends, and spoke to none of her inmost thoughts. The Kings of the\nEarth who came to woo her were abashed by her strange white beauty, and\nonly the Prince Fiola remained to ask her hand.\n\nHe was brave as a lion, and gentle as a woman, as true knights are to\nthis very day. The sound of his voice as he spake of his love stirred\nthe Princess' heart to a secret joy; but him, too, she sent away\nwith but a glance from her blue-grey eyes. And though I, her Fairy\nGodmother, scolded her well and entreated her to say him yea, she\nwould not be persuaded.\n\n[Illustration: \"Lowered herself from her window by means of a rope of\npearls\"]\n\n'First I must see what lies hid in the land Beyond,' she said, and that\nvery night, when the Crystal Tower shone wanly in the moon-light, and\nall her ladies were sleeping, the Princess covered her snow-white robe\nwith a gossamer cloak of clouded grey, and lowered herself from her\nwindow by means of a rope of pearls, passing through her gardens and\ninto the forest, which lay between her and the land Beyond. All fearless\nin her virgin purity, she listened neither to the Goblins who eyed her\nhungrily from the shapeless trees and besought her to show them favour,\nnor to the warnings of compassionate Fays who bade her return to the\nCrystal Tower.\n\n'I seek the land Beyond,' she cried, not knowing that she could never\nreach it except on spirit wings.\n\nNow the Prince Fiola could not sleep for love of her, and this night he\nstayed his restless wanderings in the Palace grounds by the waters of a\nplacid lake, for the fancy came to him that therein dwelt some kindly\nSprite who, perchance, would give him counsel and further his suit.\nClear shone the moon above, making the smooth surface into a fairy\nmirror which reflected the swaying trees and the mysteries of forest\ndepths; and as he looked, the Prince descried the shape of a slim white\nform which seemed to be hurrying onward amidst a forest. The poise of\nthe head was Fiorita's; hers, too, was the queenly gait. But thinking\nher to be safely sleeping, the Prince believed that his eyes were\ncheating him, and moodily resumed his walk. When morning came, however,\nhe hastened to the Crystal Tower. He found it in great commotion. Doors\nwere opened and shut in rapid succession, and scared attendants ran in\nand out like ants.\n\n'The Princess is not in her chamber!' her ladies told him, wringing\ntheir hands. 'Her bed has not been slept on, and her silken wrapper is\nstill in its broidered case.'\n\nAs the Prince stood bewildered, the King came up. The remembrance of his\nlack of love was heavy upon him, and he strove to stifle his remorse by\nloud threatenings of dire punishment to all if his daughter were not\nspeedily recovered.\n\nAs he stood quietly aside in the midst of the commotion, Prince Fiola\nremembered the vision of the lake, and bidding a groom go fetch him\na horse, he mounted and rode straightway to the forest. Two paths\nstretched out before him; his horse would have taken that on the right,\nbut the Prince urged it along the other, for he thought that he caught a\nglimpse of his love's white gown at the end of a woodland glade.\n\nIt was only the feather of a dove, however, and he pressed on, barely\nslackening his pace for hours. Darkness fell, but there was still no\nsign of Fiorita, and when he reached the borders of the forest, and yet\nhad found no trace of her, his heart was sick at the thought of her\nperil. He could not stop, so with only the stars to guide him, he\nessayed to cross the waste that lay beyond, and at dawn was still riding\nwearily on. By the following noon both horse and rider were exhausted.\nThe burning sun blazed down on their heads, smiting them as a sword, and\nthough the Prince had no pity on himself, he grieved that his horse\nshould suffer. Dismounting, he led it on until he came to a great rock,\ndown the side of which flowed a stream of water. When he and his dumb\ncompanion had quenched their thirst, he took off its bridle and set it\nfree, for he knew that the faithful creature could carry him no further.\n\n'Make your way home, good friend,' he said, as he patted its glossy\nmane. 'I cannot return without my Princess, though I fear me 'twill be\nmany a day before I find her.'\n\nAnd now began the most toilsome part of his journey. With the land\nBeyond always before him, he trudged on and on, turning aside for\nnothing; and so passed another day and night. Now the long road wound\nuphill; stones blocked his way, and thorns tore his hands and face;\nstill he pressed on, for his love was stronger than hunger and thirst,\nand pain had no terrors for him. Nevertheless, he had lost all hope,\nwhen a turn in the path disclosed a sight which made him for the moment\nforget his trouble.\n\nA bent old woman, crooked and frail, staggered beneath a load of sticks,\nand dancing along at either side of her, were two rough boys, who mocked\nat her lameness, calling her a Witch. The Prince overtook them with\nrapid strides, and knowing that the power of gentleness is more lasting\nthan that of anger, he suppressed his wrath as he spoke to them, though\nwithal he reproved them sternly.\n\n'Know you not,' he said, 'that only cowards persecute those who are\nweaker than themselves? 'Tis a woman whom you call 'mother,' and if only\nfor this, you should hold all women in reverence. Now go--and remember\nwhat I have said. Here is something to purchase a gift for your parents.\nSee that you are more worthy of their care.' And with other words to the\nsame effect, he gave each a silver coin.\n\nWon alike by his kindness and the justice of his rebuke, the boys asked\npardon for their rudeness, and scampered off with glowing faces, while\nthe old woman blessed the Prince for thus befriending her. Disclaiming\nher thanks, he lifted her load to his own shoulders, when it immediately\nbecame as light as air. The next moment it fell from him altogether; and\nhe turned in great astonishment to meet her serious gaze.\n\n'_Bel giavone!_' she exclaimed, 'I pray you think me not intrusive, but\nI know by your voice that your heart is heavy as the load I carried\nawhile ago. Tell me your grief, that if the Fates so will, I may in my\nturn help you.'\n\n'In truth, good mother,' said the Prince, 'no mortal can aid me now\nexcept by telling me where I may find the White Princess, whom I seek\nday and night in anguish, since she is my dear love.'\n\n'Even that can I do!' cried the old woman, straightening her bent figure\nuntil she stood before him tall and queenly, her squalid rags changing\ninto flowing robes of purple velvet. 'I am the Witch Lucretia, and my\nspells are a match for those of the Sorcerer with the Seven Heads. You\nhave travelled far from your White Princess, for the Sorcerer lurks in\nthe forest through which you passed, and Fiorita is his prisoner. No man\nyet has entered his castle to leave it alive, but I will show you how\nthis may be done, if you are willing to change your shape and become one\nof Earth's humblest creatures.'\n\nThe Prince feared nothing so that he might once reach the side of\nFiorita, and gladly submitted himself to the enchantments of the Witch.\nLucretia lifted the silver wand that was hid in the fold of her gown,\nand at its touch the Prince became a cricket, just such another as the\none which you lately restored to liberty.\n\n'You will find no difficulty now,' she said, 'in entering the Sorcerer's\ncastle, for the pitfalls he has prepared for man are as nought to they\nwho traverse the air. And that you may be one of many, and so a match\nfor his spells, I will summon my Witches and Fairies to protect you.'\n\nHaving muttered an incantation, she blew thrice on an opalescent shell\nwhich dangled from her waist upon a ruby chain; and troops of Fays and\nWitches came hurrying down the road. Some were slender and stately, with\nfaces as fair as dreamland; some were twisted and bent, and some so\nsmall that a dozen could hide in the cup of a flower. With a second wave\nof her silver wand, Lucretia transformed them into a myriad crickets.\nHailing Fiola as their king, she placed him at their head, and reminding\nhim solemnly that persistence conquers where force must fail, bade him\nlead them back to the forest.\n\nIn an incredibly short time this aerial army arrived at the castle of\nthe Sorcerer with the Seven heads. It stood in the midst of a dense\nthicket, surrounded by a moat, the lurking place of demons with long\nforked tongues, and eyes that shot evil fires. Undaunted by their\nsnarls, the crickets flew over the draw-bridge, and finding a way into\nthe castle through the close-barred windows, swarmed round the\nSorcerer's head. A cauldron swung from the domed ceiling, over a\nquenchless fire, and in this the wretch was even then concocting a\npotion by which he should overcome Fiorita. Her purity had hitherto\nprotected her, and though he had bound her body with chains, he could\nnot fetter her spirit.\n\n[Illustration: He tickled the Monster's Nose.]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n'How dare you disturb me?' he roared, lunging at the crickets vainly\nwith a long and glittering knife.\n\nFiola would fain have slain him where he stood, but when, forgetting his\nimpotence, he hurled himself forward at the monster, he only tickled his\nnose.\n\n'Leave him to us!' cried his cricket friends; and then they began their\nwitch-song of '_Cree-cree-cree_.'\n\nNow the Sorcerer having seven heads--Greed, Envy, Spite, Malice,\nPassion, Jealousy, and Despair, each of which would have instantly\nsprung forth again had Fiola been able to chop it off--he had naturally\nfourteen ears, and these were so extraordinarily sensitive to noise that\nhe had destroyed all the woodpeckers in the forest that he might not\nhear their tap-tap on the trees as they searched the bark for insects.\nYou can judge, then, of his disgust when on his refusal to obey\nLucretia's command, and break the bonds which held Fiorita, this host of\ncrickets swarmed round his head, and filled the air with discord. Each\npitched his voice in a different key, and the din of battle was as\nnothing to that which now pervaded the castle.\n\nThese were the words of the witch-song:\n\n    '_Cree-cree-cree-cree_\n    Set Fiola's Princess free.\n    Sorcerer thou, but Witches we--\n    Cricket-Witches, from grass and ditches.\n        _Cree-cree-cree-cree!_\n    Peace thine ears no more shall know\n    Till thou bidst the lady go.\n        _Cree-cree-cree-cree!_\n        Sorcerer, set the lady free!'[3]\n\n         [Footnote 3: Crane's Italian Fairy Tales]\n\nOver and over again they chanted this lay, and every cricket, far and\nnear, joined in the maddening chorus. They sang until the Sorcerer with\nthe Seven Heads felt that his senses were leaving him; pallid with rage,\nhe severed the White Princess's chains. By the power of Lucretia, who\nhad clearly foreseen his discomforture, the moment that the chains fell\nfrom her Fiorita immediately became a cricket also, and gladly did she\nfly to the side of the Prince, who greeted her with rapture.\n\nAll would now have been well had they straightway left the castle, for\nLucretia waited outside to restore to them their human form. As Fiorita\npassed the great cauldron which still swung over the lamp, she could not\nresist the temptation to lean over and peep inside, and the fumes from\nthe potion being very strong, she straightway fainted, falling into the\nmidst of the blood-red liquid. Before it could wholly cover her, the\nCricket King seized her wings in his mouth; he carried her thus into the\nopen air, where she speedily revived. Great was Lucretia's concern,\nhowever, when she heard from Fiola what had happened.\n\n'Alas,' she sighed, 'not even I, who am mistress of spells and\nenchantments, can avert from Fiorita the consequences of her delay.\nSince the Sorcerer's potion touched her, for six months each year she\nmust be a cricket, even as now; for the rest, she will be the White\nPrincess, to dwell with you where you will.'\n\nThen Fiorita was sad indeed, for she had lost her longing to see the\nland Beyond, and desired nothing better than to wed the Prince. But now\nthat he knew she loved him, no spell could dampen Fiola's joy.\n\n'While you are a cricket,' he said, 'I will be one too, for so long as\nyou are beside me--what matters else?' And the Fays and Witches, who\nreverence all true love, elected to share their banishment.\n\nAnd so it was, and is to this present time. For half the year Fiola is\nthe Cricket King, and Fiorita, more than content, his Queen. But as\nAscension day comes round, the spell is broken, and they take their\naccustomed places at the Court. It is hard to say when they are the\nhappier; for love is as much at home in the humblest corner of Mother\nEarth as it is in a lordly Palace.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nChapter XII\n\nThe Favourite of the Fates.\n\n\nOne night there was not a breath of air, and I could not sleep. I\ntossed this way and that for hours, and directly the birds began to\ntwitter, I put on my things and slipped back the bolt of the grand hall\ndoor. Once outside, it was beautifully fresh and cool, and the clouds in\nthe sky were like wreaths of pink flowers on a turquoise sea, arched\nover with gleaming gold. They changed every moment, and while I watched\nthem I forgot to look where I was going. When I stopped at last I found\nmyself in the middle of the market place, where I had been with Father\nthe day before.\n\nIt was empty now, for no one was yet awake but me.\n\nAmong the quaint old wooden houses I noticed one that I had not seen\nbefore; at first it seemed to be indistinct, but the longer I stared at\nit, the clearer it grew. Over the door of the tiny shop was the figure\nof a hen cut into the stone, and while I was wondering who had carved\nit, the wings fluttered gently toward me. The bird moved its head, and\nits wings were lifted; it flew to the ground, and a lovely white hen was\nat my feet. It looked at me wistfully, and flew away; when I turned to\nthe little house once again, it was not there. But beside me stood the\nFairy Godmother.\n\n\"Come and sit in the shade,\" she said, when I asked her what had become\nof the hen, \"and I will tell you all about her. She is seeking\nFuricchia, whom she served so well, not knowing that she is a shadow\ntoo.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Enchanted Hen.\n\n\"Furicchia,\" said the Fairy Godmother, \"was a very poor woman who owned\na hen which an innkeeper greatly coveted. The shape of the bird was\nperfect; it had a most melodious voice, and its feathers were glossy and\nwhite as snow.\n\n'Come now, good dame,' the man cried, persuasively, 'I will give you\ndouble the market value of your little hen, for I wish to make a present\nof her to the widow Ursula, whom I intend to espouse.'\n\n'But the widow might kill and eat her!' said Furicchia, looking lovingly\nat the little hen, which she had brought up by hand from a tiny chick.\nIt had slept beneath her best silk 'kerchief, and taken its food from\nher lips.\n\n'That is as may be,' he replied. 'Come, Furicchia, I make you a handsome\noffer. Give me the hen, and you shall fare well next feast day.'\n\nBut Furicchia would not listen, in spite of the sad fact that her\ncupboard was as empty as her netted purse. The little hen was dear to\nher, though as yet it had lain no eggs, and she would not sacrifice her\nto her needs.\n\nEre evening came, Coccode was clucking gaily under the kitchen table,\nand Furicchia found, not one egg, but three, all a rich coffee brown,\nand polished like porcelain. Having joyfully exchanged one with a\nneighbour for a dish of broth, she broke the second into it, and\nprudently saving the third for next day, thankfully made a good meal.\nWhen morning came, she found eggs to the number of a round dozen strewn\nabout her tiny room, and from being almost on the verge of starvation,\nshe had plenty now and to spare. For Coccode, the grateful creature,\nlaid eggs by the score, and not only were they of exquisite flavour and\nvery large, but it was noticed that if sick folk ate them, they\nstraightway returned to health.\n\nFuricchia was now a famous egg-wife, and the more eggs she sold, the\nmore eggs Coccode laid. The little hen was both willing and industrious,\nand loved her kind mistress so dearly that she was never so happy as\nwhen helping to make her fortune. Her pride in Furicchia's first silk\ngown was comical to witness; she rustled her wings against its handsome\nfolds, and clucked so loudly that the neighbours heard, and came to see\nwhat was the matter.\n\nThis silken gown it was that roused the anger of the Signora, a wealthy\nwoman who had much, and knew no better than to want more. Hearing of the\nprodigious number of eggs which Furicchia supplied, though no one had\never seen her with other than a single hen, she set afoot much scandal\nconcerning her, ending by declaring her to be an evil Witch. At this,\nFuricchia's neighbours began to look askance at her; but the eggs were\nso good, and so moderate in price, that on second thoughts they decided\nto treat the Signora's hints with the contempt which they deserved.\n\nThis made the lady still more angry; she resolved to find out\nFuricchia's secret, and ruin her if she could, so that she might obtain\nher customers for her own eggs. Coccode was quite aware of what was\ngoing on, and before her mistress went out one morning she bade her\nfetch certain herbs that grew on a corner of barren land, and put these\non the fire in a pot of wine.\n\n'And now, dear mistress,' she continued, when all had been done as she\nsaid, 'do you go out and trust your luck to Coccode.'\n\nFuricchia had not long been gone, when the Signora's crafty face peeped\nslyly round the door. Finding the room apparently empty, she hurried in,\ndelighted at such an opportunity for prying. First she peered here, and\nthen she peered there, ransacking Furicchia's chests, and even turning\nover the leaves of her holy books, that she might see if an incantation\nto Witches had been written therein. Finally, she raised the latch of\nthe inner chamber, where she had heard Coccode clucking.\n\n'I have found out Furicchia's secret now,' she thought with glee. 'Her\nlittle white hen is under a spell, and she and it shall be burnt as\nWitches.'\n\nCoccode was sitting on a pile of eggs that reached almost up to the\nceiling, and even as she clucked she was laying more. The Signora drew\nclose to her, and listened with all her ears, for she had distinguished\nwords amidst her cluckings, and immediately jumped to the conclusion\nthat Coccode believed herself to be addressing her mistress. This is\nwhat she heard:\n\n    'Coccode! now there are nine!\n    Bring me quickly the warm red wine.\n    Coccode! take them away\n    Many more for thee will I lay.\n    And thou shalt be a lady grand,\n    As fine as any in the land,\n    And should it happen that any one\n    Drinks of the wine as I have done,\n    Eggs like me she shall surely lay;\n    This is the secret, this is the way,\n        Coccode! Coccode!'[4]\n\n        [Footnote 4: Leyland's 'Legends of Florence']\n\n'Aha!' said the Signora joyfully, 'now I have it!' And running back to\nthe outer room, she lifted the wine off the fire and drank it, every\ndrop, though it scalded her throat and made her choke. As it coursed\nthrough her veins she felt a most extraordinary sensation, and hurried\nhome as quickly as she could. A meal was laid on the table, but she\nfound great difficulty in taking her usual place, and could eat nothing\nbut some brown bread, which she pecked at in a most curious manner. As\nthe charm began to work, her legs grew thinner and thinner, and her feet\nso large that she had to cut off her boots. Next, her brown silk dress\nbecame a bundle of draggled feathers, while her nose turned into a\nbeak, and her voice into a discordant cluck; in short, she was just a\nscraggy brown hen, and her friends held up their hands in horror. Eggs\nshe laid by the score, but before she could sit on them they turned to\nmice and ran away. So she had nothing for all her trouble; and though\nshe possessed a handsome house, she could only perch in a barn.\n\nThis is what comes of greed and envy, and of meddling with other\npeople's business.\"\n\nJust at this moment a girl darted out of a doorway opposite, followed by\nan elderly woman who loudly reproved her for refusing to do her share in\nsome household task. Shrugging her shoulders, she came to a sudden end,\nas if she knew that her breath was wasted, and the girl disappeared with\na peal of laughter.\n\n\"She is off to gossip instead of work,\" said the Fairy Godmother\ndisapprovingly. \"She will pay for it later, will pretty Ursula, for the\nFates are not likely to interfere on her behalf as they did for Pepita.\"\n\nI had to coax her to tell me this story, for she said she had much to\ndo, and could not stay. But when she heard that the very next day\nFather and I were leaving Italy, she refused no more. We sat down on the\nstep of a splendid church, and no one seemed to notice us.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Favourite of the Fates.\n\n\"Troubles rolled off Pepita as water from a duck's back. So lighthearted\nand full of good humour was she that nought ever seemed to vex her, and\nno one living had ever heard an unkind word fall from her rosy lips.\nEven the three grim Fates, who rule over mortal destinies, relaxed their\nstern brows as they looked down on her, and smiled indulgently.\n\nPepita was slender as a swallow, with a warm red flush on her olive\ncheeks, and dainty hands that looked far too delicate and small for even\nthe lighter household tasks. These, indeed, Pepita seldom attempted,\nsinging instead from morn to eve, and charming her mother with soft\ncaresses when she hardened her heart and tried to scold her.\n\nBut Pepita could spin. Ah yes, she could spin, and as no other maiden\nhad ever been known to do since Arachne was changed into a spider.\nThe snowy flax flew from under her fingers as though her distaff were\nenchanted; which, indeed, was the case, for the wayward Fates had\nbestowed upon her a magic gift, and having given her this, not even they\ncould take it away from her.\n\nPepita's mother was often wroth with her, for the dame had much work on\nher hands, and sighed that her only daughter should give her so little\nhelp. Were the maiden sent to wash clothes in the stream, ten chances to\none they would go floating down the current while she twisted flowers in\nher hair. Were she set to make sweet little chestnut cakes, she would\nforget to put a cool green leaf at the bottom of each round baking dish,\nand when they were taken out of the ashes, behold, they would be all\nburnt!\n\n'You are a good-for-nothing!' her mother would cry angrily; but this was\nnot true, for Pepita could spin.\n\nOne feast day, while her mother went to the fair, she was told to watch\nthe _pentola_, and to stir it carefully if it boiled too fast. It was\nmade of rice and good fresh meat, with vegetables from the little\ngarden; and it smelt so delicious that Pepita's small nostrils quivered\nlike the petals of a rose on a windy day.\n\n'I will taste it to see that all is well,' she murmured, and drawing\nback the iron pot, she helped herself to a liberal portion.\n\nThe _pentola_ was good; Pepita tasted it yet again, for she had been up\nearly to go to Mass, and had sung herself hungry on the way home. Soon\nthere was no meat left.\n\n'Ah, what shall I do?' she sighed, 'My mother will scold me terribly,\nand will tell the Padre that I am greedy.'\n\nShe was sighing still when her eyes fell on an old leather shoe which\nhad been cast away behind the door. Her face all dimpled with mischief,\nPepita soused this under a tap, and threw it into the soup.\n\n'They will but think that the meat is tough!' she cried with a burst of\nlaughter; but as the shoe fell into the boiling liquid her mother\ncrossed the threshold.\n\n'What have you done?' demanded she, peering into the pot. '_Madonnamia!_\nWas ever an honest woman cursed with such a daughter?' And breathing out\nangry hopes that an Ogre would come and take her, she drove Pepita out\nof the house.\n\nAt that moment a rich young merchant was strolling by, and Pepita\nunwittingly rushed into his arms. A thing such as this had never\nhappened to him before, and since he scarce knew what to do, he clasped\nher tightly while he considered. By the time he released her, Pepita's\nface was pink as apple blossom, and the tears that sparkled on it were\nfor all the world like dewdrops on the petals of a flower. Something\nstirred in his breast, and he blushed even more than she; for when a man\nfalls suddenly in love he knows not where he stands. Looking from one to\nthe other, the wrath of Pepita's mother suddenly cooled.\n\n[Illustration: Pepita rushed into his Arms.]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n'Take her to wife,' she said, 'and you'll not get a bad bargain. True,\nshe is nought in the house, but she can spin. And with all her faults\nshe is not a scold.'\n\n'One wants more in a wife than that!' said the merchant shrewdly, though\nthe last of her statements went far with him, since his mother had a\ntongue. Looking into Pepita's eyes, which were heavenly blue, and sweet\nas an angel's, he lost his last qualm of doubt, and lifted her hand to\nhis lips. Then he turned once more to the elder woman. 'I have vowed to\nmy mother I will not wed without her free consent, but if your daughter\nmeets with her approval, I will gladly do as you say.'\n\nGuido's mother was in her seventieth year, and though she had never\nbeheld a face more winning than merry Pepita's, it did not please her,\nand she gave her mind to finding a task which would prove beyond her\npowers.\n\n'The garden paths are green with weeds,' she quavered; 'they have been\nsadly neglected since Pietro fell ill. Take the hoe, and root them up;\nleave not a single one.'\n\n'Nay, mother! I seek not a gardener for my wife!' her son protested\nhotly, for Pepita's small hands could barely lift the hoe, and he had\nset his heart on her.\n\n'Unless the paths be clear of weeds ere the sun sets, I will not give\nthee my consent,' said the old woman obstinately; and there was nothing\nleft for Pepita to do but to hoe up the weeds as best she could.\n\nNo sooner had Guido's mother ceased watching her from the window, than\nPepita whistled gently, and swift at her call came the birds she had\nfed with crumbs when the fields were bare. Pointing to the weeds, she\nmade signs to them to destroy them, and by the time the old mother awoke\nfrom her nap, not one was left behind. This vexed her instead of giving\nher pleasure, for she did not wish her son to marry, and telling her\nmaids they might have a holiday, she commanded Pepita to prepare the\nevening meal.\n\nThe maiden was now in much perplexity, for she knew not how to cook, and\nher experience that morning with the _pentola_ had taught her little.\nBut the Brownies who dwelt behind the hearth, and love to see a fair\nyoung face bending over the pots and pans, bade her be not discouraged,\nfor they would stand her friends.\n\nThen the nimble little men flew hither and thither, fetching garlic and\noil and meat and rice in just the proportions that Guido loved, and\nadding certain secret flavours of their own until the smell of the broth\nmade the old woman's mouth water, and she could not but praise Pepita's\ncooking. When it came to the time to test her skill at spinning, she was\ncompletely reconciled to her son's choice, and put no obstacles in the\nway of the wedding.\n\nAnd now Pepita sang more blithely than ever, for though he was less well\nfavoured, and slower of speech than many a young man who had wooed her,\nshe adored her husband. She was as happy as the day was long until,\nwishing to have the biggest bank account as well as the prettiest wife\nin the neighbourhood, he took it into his head to turn her talent for\nspinning to account, and kept her beside her distaff from morn till eve.\n\n'I shall soon, at this rate, be richer even than the notary,' he\nthought, as he looked delighted at his stores of flax; and Pepita\nbesought him in vain to give her a little rest, for he could be as\nobstinate as his mother.\n\nIt was now that the Fates interfered on her behalf, though many more\nworthy than she are left to shift for themselves.\n\n'She has lost her bloom!' sighed one grim sister.\n\n'Her cheeks are hollow!' observed the second.\n\n'Her songs are sad ones!' said the third with a dreadful frown. And then\nthey put their heads together, and formed a plan whereby Guido might be\noutwitted.\n\nAs he sat in the doorway that evening while Pepita span, denying himself\nthe sight of her in order that her work might not be disturbed, there\ncame up the garden path a hideous old hag, who besought him to give her\nalms.\n\n'Look at me, Signor!' she groaned, lifting her head so that he saw the\nwrinkled folds that lapped her chin. 'Once I was fair as your Pepita,\nbut I sat so long at my spinning wheel, that all my comeliness left me.'\n\nGuido hastily gave her a coin, and urged her to begone; for he did not\nwant Pepita to see her, or to hear what she had to say.\n\nNext eve came a second old woman, uglier, if possible, than the last,\nand bent like some brutish beast. She had the same story to tell him of\nbygone loveliness, and Guido sped her down the hill with even more haste\nthan before.\n\nThe next night a third old woman appeared, so dread of aspect that he\nwas obliged to avert his gaze. Against his wish, he felt himself\nconstrained to enquire the cause of her terrible affliction.\n\n'I sat at my wheel, good master,' was the reply, 'until beauty and sight\nboth left me, and my skin became even as you see.'\n\nNow thoroughly alarmed, he dismissed her quickly with a handful of\ncoins, and calling Pepita to him, gazed at her long and searchingly.\nWhen the flush that his now unaccustomed touch had brought to her sweet\nface faded, he saw she was pale and thin. Her mouth drooped sadly, and\npurple shadows brooded round her eyes. With a cry of remorse he drew her\nto his breast, and kissed her tenderly.\n\n'You shall spin no longer, my Pepita,' he said, 'for I would rather have\nyou as you are than be rich as Satan himself!'\"\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd this was the very last story I heard. We started for home next\nmorning, and I went to school at the half term--a ripping school where\nthere was any amount of cricket, and so many other games that I had no\ntime to think of Fairies.\n\nBut some day I'm going to find the Peri, and those other wonderful\nSprites and Goblins of which Titania told me when I met her in the wood\nthat Christmas day.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nPrinted by W. W. Curtis, Ltd., Cheylesmore Press, Coventry.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note: A few obvious printer's errors were corrected.\nInconsistent spelling and hyphenation were preserved.","title":"The Fairies and the Christmas Child","tradition":"folklore-oral-tradition","translated_text":null,"word_count":37797}