{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_43127/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_43127","id":"gutenberg_43127","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43127","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Category: Short Stories","Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction","Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction","Fairy tales","Fantasy literature","Gardens -- Juvenile fiction","Magic -- Juvenile fiction","Nannies -- Juvenile fiction","Siblings -- Juvenile fiction","Storytelling -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"An Enchanted Garden\nFairy Stories\nBy Mrs Molesworth\nIllustrations by W.J. Hennessy\nPublished by T. Fisher Unwin.\n\nAn Enchanted Garden, by Mrs Molesworth.\n\n________________________________________________________________________\n\n________________________________________________________________________\nAN ENCHANTED GARDEN, BY MRS MOLESWORTH.\n\nCHAPTER ONE.\n\nMADAM WREN.\n\n\"No,\" said Alix, \"that's not a good plan at all.  It's perfectly stupid.\nIf you've no better ideas than that, Rafe, we needn't talk about it any\nmore.\"\n\nRafe looked and felt very snubbed indeed.\n\nHe was ten, she was nine.  But she generally took the lead; not always,\nas I daresay you will see when you hear more about them, but\n_generally_.  They were a nice little pair, and they were constantly\ntogether, at lessons, at play, at everything.  This was a convenient\narrangement, for they were a good deal younger than the other brothers\nand sisters of the family, and what Rafe would have been without Alix,\nor Alix without Rafe, it would be difficult to imagine.  But there is\nnot much use in thinking over about might-have-beens, or\nwould-have-beens, unless to make us more thankful for what _is_.  So it\nis enough to say that as things really were, they were very happy\nchildren.\n\nStill they had their troubles, and it was one of these they were\ndiscussing this lovely spring morning, when they were sitting under\ntheir favourite tree--a magnificent ilex in the garden, at one corner of\nthe great lawn which was one of the beauties of their home.\n\nIt was a lovely day, clear and bright and joyous, full of its own\ndelights, and yet almost fuller of the summer ones to come!  This is, I\nsuppose, the real secret of the charm of spring-time--the promise and\nhope it tells of.  Everything seemed bursting with good news, the birds\nmost of all perhaps, though the smiling faces of the early flowers, and\nthe tender whispers of the gentle wind through the branches, were not\nbehindhand.  But the children's faces were clouded.\n\nThis was their trouble.  They could not get any one to tell them any\nmore stories!  They had read all their books through, over and over\nagain, and besides, books aren't _quite_ as nice as \"told\" stories.  At\nleast not when they have to be shared by two.  Rafe and Alix had tried\nseveral plans--reading aloud did not answer _very_ well, and looking\nover the pages was worse.  They never managed to keep quite together,\nand then the one who got down to the last line first was sure to fidget\nor to try in some way to hurry up the other, which was apt to lead to\nunpleasant results.  And besides this, at present there was no question\nof story-books, for, as I said, the children had read all they possessed\nreally _too_ often.\n\nHitherto perhaps they had been a little spoilt about having stories told\nto them.  Papa, who was an old soldier, had a good many tales of\nadventure; mamma had some lovely ones about \"when she was a little\ngirl.\"  And the big brothers and sisters were very kind too, especially\nif Rafe or Alix, or both, as sometimes was the case, happened to be ill.\nBut their stories were mostly out of books; now and then indeed they\nwould unluckily turn out to be already known to the children, and though\nthey did not altogether object to them on this account--I have noticed\nthat children rather enjoy a book story retold by voice--it was not\nalways so pleasant for Ena or Jean, or Eric when he was at home from\ncollege.  For Rafe and Alix were so exceedingly particular.\n\n\"No,\" one of them would say, just when Eric had got to the most\nthrilling part of a robber story, \"the entrance to the inner cave was at\nthe _left_ side of the big one;\" or if Jean was describing her heroine's\ndress, \"It wasn't green--I'm sure it was blue--blue with tiny rosebuds\non,\" so that sometimes Jean would reply, \"Really, children, if you\ninterrupt so I can't go on,\" or Eric would go off with a grunt and tell\nthem to provide stories for themselves.\n\nThis had happened the evening before, and this it was which put the idea\ninto Rafe's mind which Alix snubbed so.\n\n\"Suppose,\" he said, \"that we make stories for each other--you for me,\nAlix, and I for you?\"\n\nIt sounded rather nice, but it did not find favour in her eyes at all.\n\n\"I know exactly what they'd be,\" she said; \"just mixings up of all our\nother ones.  It might do to amuse stranger children with, perhaps--but\nnot for us ourselves.  I know all that's in your head, and you know\nwhat's in mine, far too well.  So it would be perfectly stupid.\"\n\nAnd Rafe had no more to say.\n\nIt was Easter holidays--Easter was as late as it could be that year--and\nthe weather was so beautiful that it really felt like summer.  You would\nthink the children should have been content; but they weren't.  They had\nno lessons at all to do, and a whole fortnight of nothing you really\nmust do is, in my opinion, a mistake.  During the long summer holidays\nMiss Brander, their governess, always left them _something_ to do, just\nenough to give a nice fresh taste to the holidaying the rest of their\ntime, and to prevent their feeling the reins _quite_ loose on their\nnecks like runaway ponies.  And even without this, in the summer it was\ndifferent, for they generally went to the seaside or to some hilly place\nfor a month or so, to have a change of air, and away from home in a new\nplace time seldom hangs much on children's hands.\n\nThis Easter it was certainly doing so a good deal.  There were other\nreasons too why the little couple felt rather at a loose end, rather\ntired of themselves.  The big people were all unusually busy, for Ena\nwas going to be married in June; and she and their mother or she and\nJean were always going somewhere or other to order things, or to give\ntheir opinion about the doing up of the pretty old house, ten miles or\nso away, which was to be her new home.  And though Ena was very kind\nwhen she had time, and the new brother-to-be held out grand promises of\nthe visits they were to pay to their sister, and the fun they should\nhave, still, all that seemed a good way off, and in the meantime Rafe\nand Alix felt rather out of it all.  I am not sure but that they were\njust a little jealous of the new brother.  \"It's only a pretence sort of\nbrother,\" said Alix one day when her feelings had been ruffled.  I am\nafraid they felt as if he had some how put both their small noses out of\njoint.\n\nSo now you understand why Rafe and Alix were sitting rather\ndisconsolately under the ilex, though the sun was shining brightly\nenough to melt away all clouds and mists inside as well as outside, any\none would have thought.\n\nIn spite of Alix's snub, Rafe looked up again in a minute or two.\n\n\"Why don't you think of a better plan, then, if you don't like mine?\" he\nsaid.  \"It's always easy to say things won't do,\" (which is exceedingly\ntrue!), \"but why don't you find something that _will_ do?\"\n\nAlix turned round.  She was sitting on the end of the rustic bench,\nswinging her legs, which was not difficult, as they scarcely reached the\nground, and staring up at the thickly-growing branches overhead.  But\nnow she looked at Rafe--he felt a little nervous; was she going to take\noffence at his speech?\n\nNo--she had heard what he said, but she was not vexed.\n\n\"I know what I wish we _could_ find,\" she said.  \"Do you remember, Rafe,\nthe story of a white lady, up, up in a room at the very top of a castle\nsomewhere, who was always spinning stories?  They came out of the hum of\nher spinning-wheel somehow, and the children could hear them when they\nsat down on the floor beside her.  _Oh_, if we could find somebody like\nthat!\"\n\n\"It was fairies,\" said Rafe doubtfully.  \"At least the white lady was a\nfairy, and there aren't any really, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Everybody says so,\" Alix replied doubtfully, \"but I don't quite see why\nthere mightn't be.  If there have never been any, what began all the\nfairy stories?  And I know one thing--papa said so himself one day when\nhe was telling some--what's the word?--it means a sort of a fairy story\nthat's been told over and over since ever, _ever_ so long ago,\nledge--_what_ is it?\"\n\n\"Legends, you mean,\" said her brother.  \"Yes, I remember papa telling us\nsome very queer ones he had heard in India.\"\n\n\"And he said there were fairy stories in _every_ country,\" Alix went on.\n\"So what _I_ say is there must have been something to make them begin!\"\n\nThis sounded very convincing to Rafe--Alix certainly had clever ways of\nputting things.\n\n\"Oh!\" he said, with a deep sigh.  \"If we could but find some one old\nenough to remember the beginnings of them--something like the white\nlady, you know.\"\n\nBoth children sat silent for a moment or two, their eyes gazing before\nthem.  Suddenly on the short green turf appeared a tiny figure, a wren,\nso tame that she hopped fearlessly to within a very short distance of\nthe little brother and sister, and then, standing still, seemed to look\nup at them with her bright eyes, her small head cocked knowingly on one\nside.\n\n\"Rafe,\" exclaimed Alix eagerly, though in a low voice.\n\n\"Alix,\" said Rafe in his turn.\n\nThen they looked at each other, thinking the same thoughts.\n\n\"Rafe,\" whispered Alix, while the wren still stood there looking at\nthem, \"just look at her; she's not a bird, she's a fairy--or at least if\nshe's not a fairy she's got some message for us from one.\"\n\nThe wren hopped on a few steps, still looking back at them.  The\nchildren slipped off the seat and moved softly after her without\nspeaking.  On she went, hopping, then fluttering just a little way above\nthe ground, then hopping again, till in this way she had led them right\nacross the wide stretch of lawn to some shrubberies at the far side.\nHere a small footpath, scarcely visible till you were close to it, led\nthrough the bushes to a strip of half-wild garden ground, used as a sort\nof nursery for young trees, which skirted a lane known by the name of\nthe \"Ladywood Path.\"  And indeed it was little more than a path\nnowadays, for few passed that way, though the story went that in the old\ndays it had been a good road leading to a house that was no longer in\nexistence.\n\nOver the low wall clambered the children, to find to their delight that\nthe wren was in the lane before them, just a little way ahead.  But now\nshe took to flying higher and faster than she had yet done; to keep up\nwith her at all they had to run, and even with this they sometimes lost\nsight of her altogether for a minute or two.  But they kept up bravely--\nthey were too eager and excited to waste breath by speaking.  The race\nlasted for some minutes, till at last, just as Alix was about to give\nin, Rafe suddenly twitched her arm.\n\n\"Stop, Alix,\" he panted--truth to tell, the running was harder on him\nthan on his sister, for Rafe was of an easy-going disposition, and not\ngiven to violent exercise--\"stop, Alix, she's lighted on the old\ngateway.\"\n\nThey both stood still and looked.  Yes, there was Madam Wren on the\ntopmost bar of a dilapidated wooden gate, standing between two solid\nposts at what had once been the entrance to the beautiful garden of an\nancient house.\n\nHow beautiful neither the children nor any one now living knew, for even\nthe very oldest inhabitants of that part of the country could only dimly\nremember having been told by their grandparents, or great-grandparents\nperhaps, how once upon a time Ladywood Hall had been the pride of the\nneighbourhood.\n\nThe wren flapped her wings, then rose upwards and flew off.  This time,\nsomehow, the children felt that it was no use trying to follow her.\n\n\"She's gone for good,\" said Rafe dolefully; but Alix's eyes sparkled.\n\n\"You _are_ stupid,\" she said.  \"Don't you see what she's told us.  We're\nto look for--for something, or some one, I don't quite know what, in the\nLady's garden.\"  For so somehow the grounds of the vanished house had\ncome to be spoken of.  \"I think it was very dull of us not to have\nthought of it for ourselves, for it is a very fairy sort of place.\"\n\n\"If it is that way,\" said Rafe, \"_they_ must have heard us talking, and\nsent the wren to tell us.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said Alix, \"that's just what I mean.  Perhaps the wren is\none herself.\"\n\n\"Shall we go on now?\" said Rafe.  \"No\"--for just at that moment the\nclear sound of a bell ringing reached them from the direction of their\nown home--\"for there's our dinner.\"  And dinner was an important event\nin Rafe's eyes, even when rivalled by a fairy hunt.\n\n\"How provoking,\" said Alix.  \"_How_ quickly the morning has gone.  We\nmust go in now or they will come hunting us up and find out all about\nit; and you know, Rafe, if it has anything to do with fairies we must\nkeep it a secret.\"\n\nRafe nodded his head sagely.\n\n\"Of course,\" he replied.  \"When do you think we had best come?  This\nafternoon we are going a walk with nurse, and she'd never let us off.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Alix, with a sigh, for a walk with nurse was not a very\ninteresting affair.  \"But I'll tell you what, Rafe; if I can get hold of\nmamma to-night, just even for a minute, I'll ask her if we mayn't take\nsomething for dinner out with us to-morrow, and not come in till\ntea-time--the way we sometimes did last summer; for just now it's really\nas fine and warm as if it was June.  I think she'll let us.\"\n\n\"I do hope she will,\" said the boy.\n\nCHAPTER TWO.\n\nTAPPING.\n\nThe children were not very fortunate in their nurse.  Perhaps this\nhelped to make them feel lonely and dull sometimes, when there scarcely\nseemed real reason for their being so.  She was a good woman, and meant\nto be kind, and their mother trusted her completely.  But she was\ngetting old, and was rather tired of children.  She had had such a lot\nto bring up--the four big brothers and sisters of Rafe and Alix, and\nbefore them a large family of their cousins.  And I don't think she was\nreally very fond of children, though she was devoted to tiny babies.\nShe didn't in the least understand children's fancifulnesses or many of\ntheir little ways, and was far too fond of saying, \"Stuff and nonsense,\nMaster Rafe,\" or \"Miss Alix,\" as the case might be.\n\nThe walk this afternoon would not have been any livelier than usual, so\nfar as nurse was concerned, but the children were so brimful of their\nnew ideas that they felt quite bright and happy, and after a while even\nnurse was won over to enter into their talk, or at least to answer their\nquestions pretty cheerfully.\n\nFor though of course they had not the least idea of telling her their\nsecret, it was too much on their minds for them not to chatter round\nabout it, so to say.\n\n\"Have you ever seen a fairy, nurse?\" said Alix; and, rather to her\nsurprise, nurse answered quite seriously:\n\n\"No, my dear.  Time was, I suppose, as such things were to be seen, but\nthat's past and gone.  People have to work too hard nowadays to give any\nthought to fairies or fairyland.\"\n\nBut on the whole this reply was rather encouraging.\n\n\"You must have heard of fairies, though,\" said Rafe.  \"Can't you\nremember any stories about them?\"\n\nNurse had never been great at story-telling.\n\n\"Oh dear no, Master Rafe,\" she replied; \"I never knew any except the\nregular old ones, that you've got far prettier in your books than I\ncould tell them.  _Sayings_ I may have heard, just countryside talk,\nwhen I was a child.  My old granny, who lived and died in the village\nhere, would have it that, for those that cared to look for them, there\nwere odd sights and sounds in the grounds of the old house down the\nlane.  Beautiful singing _her_ mother had heard there when she was a\ngirl; and once when a cow strayed in there for a night, they said when\nshe came out again she was twice the cow she had been before, and that\nno milk was ever as good as hers.\"\n\nThe children looked at each other.\n\n\"I wonder they didn't turn all the cows in there,\" said Rafe\npractically.\n\n\"Why didn't they, nurse?\"\n\n\"Oh dear me, Master Rafe, that's more than I can tell.  It was but an\nold tale.  You can't expect much sense in such.\"\n\n\"Whom did the old house belong to?  Who lived there?\" said Alix.\n\n\"Nobody knows,\" said nurse.  \"It's too long ago to say.  But there's\nalways been good luck about the place, that's certain.  You've seen the\nflowers there in the summer time.  Some of them look as beautiful as if\nthey were in a proper garden; and it's certain sure there's no wood near\nhere like it for the nightingales.\"\n\nThis was very satisfactory so far as it went, but nurse would say no\nmore, doubtless because she had nothing more to say.\n\n\"I do believe, Rafe,\" said Alix, when they were sitting together after\ntea, \"that the old garden is a sort of entrance to fairyland, and that\nit's been waiting for us to find it out.\"\n\nHer eyes were shining with eagerness, and Rafe, too, felt very excited.\n\n\"I do hope mamma will let us have all to-morrow to ourselves,\" he said.\n\"You see, one has to be very careful with fairies, Alix--all the stories\nagree about that.  We must go to work very cautiously, so as not to\noffend them in any way.\"\n\n\"You're always cautious,\" said Alix, with a little contempt; \"rather too\ncautious for me.  Of course we shall be very _polite_, and take care not\nto spoil any of the plants, but we'll have to be a little venturesome\ntoo.  And,\" she went on, \"you may count that they've invited us.  The\nwren brought a regular message.  I only hope they're not offended with\nus for not going to-day.\"\n\n\"If they're good kind of fairies,\" said Rafe sagely--\"and I think\nthey're sure to be--they wouldn't have liked us to be disobedient; and\nyou know mamma's awfully particular about our coming in the moment we\nhear the bell ring.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Alix; \"that's true.\"\n\nMamma's heart was extra soft that evening, I think.  She had seen so\nlittle of the children lately that she was feeling rather sorry for\nthem, and all the more ready to agree to any wish of theirs.  So they\nhad no difficulty in getting her consent to their picnic plan for\nto-morrow.  And the weather was wonderfully settled, as it sometimes is\neven in England, though early in the year.\n\nSo the next morning saw them set off, carrying a little basket of\nprovisions and a large parasol, full of eagerness and excitement as to\nwhat might be before them.\n\nThey did not cross the lawn as they had done the day before, for they\nhad a sort of feeling that they did not wish anyone to see them start,\nor to know exactly which way they went.  It added to the pleasant\nmystery of the expedition.  So they went straight out by the front\ngates, and after following the high road for a quarter of a mile or so,\nentered a little wood which skirted the grass-grown lane along one side,\nand from which they made their way out with some scrambling and\nclambering at only a few yards' distance from the entrance to the\ndeserted garden where they had last seen the wren.\n\nThe sight of the gate-posts reminded Alix of the bird, and she stopped\nshort with some misgiving.\n\n\"Rafe,\" she said, \"do you think perhaps we should have waited for her at\nthe ilex tree?  I never thought of it before.\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" said Rafe; \"I'm sure it's all right.  We've come to the place\nshe led us to.  She didn't need to show us the way twice!  Fairies don't\nlike stupid people.\"\n\n\"You seem to know a great lot about fairies,\" said Alix, who had no idea\nof being snubbed herself, though she was fond of snubbing other people;\n\"so I think you'd better settle what we're to do.\"\n\n\"I expect we'll find the wren inside the gate,\" said Rafe; and they made\ntheir way on in silence.\n\nThere was no difficulty in getting into the grounds, for though the gate\non its rusty hinges would have been far too heavy for the children to\nmove, there was a space between it and the posts where the wood had\nrotted away, through which it was easy for them to creep.  First came\nRafe, then the basket, next Alix, and finally the big parasol.\n\nIt was a good while since they had been in the Ladywood garden, and when\nthey had got on to their feet again, they stood still for a minute or\ntwo looking round them.  It was a curious-looking place certainly; the\nvery beauty of it had something strange and dream-like about it.\n\nHere and there the old paths were clearly to be traced.  The main\napproach, or drive, as we should now call it, leading to where the house\nhad been, was still quite distinct, though the house itself was entirely\ngone--not even any remains of ruins were to be seen, for all the stone\nand wood of which it had been built had long since been carted away to\nbe used elsewhere.\n\nBut the children knew where the old hall had actually stood--a large,\nsquare, level plateau, bordered on three sides by a broad terrace, all\ngrass-grown, showing in two or three places where stone steps had once\nled down to the lower grounds, told its own tale.  Along the front of\nthis plateau, supporting it, as it were, there was still a very\nstrongly-built stone wall banked up into the soil.  The children walked\non slowly till they were near the foot of this wall, and then stood\nstill again.  It was about five feet high; they seemed attracted to it,\nthey scarcely knew why--perhaps because it was the only remaining thing\nactually to show that here had been once a home where people had lived.\n\n\"I daresay,\" said Alix, looking up, \"that the children used to run along\nthe terrace at the top of that wall, and their mammas and nurses would\ncall after them to take care they didn't fall over.  Doesn't it seem\nfunny, Rafe, to think there have _always_ been children in the world?\"\n\n\"I daresay the boys jumped down sometimes,\" said Rafe.  \"I'd like to\ntry, but I won't to-day, for I promised mamma to take care of you, and\nif I sprained my ankle it would be rather awkward.\"\n\nThey had forgotten their little quarrel, and for the moment they had\nforgotten about the wren.\n\nShe was nowhere to be seen.\n\nWhat was to be done?\n\n\"If we were only looking for a nice place for our picnic,\" said Rafe,\n\"nothing could be better than the shelter of this wall.  With it on one\nside, and the parasol tilted up on the other, it would be as good as a\ntent.\"\n\n\"But we're not only looking for a picnic place,\" said Alix impatiently.\n\"The only thing to do is to poke about till we find _something_, for I'm\nperfectly certain the wren didn't bring us here for nothing; and then,\nyou know, there's even what nurse told us about this garden.\"\n\nAlix's words roused Rafe's energy again; for he was a trifle lazy, and\nwouldn't have been altogether disinclined to sit down comfortably and\nthink about dinner.  But once he got a thing in his head, he was not\nwithout ideas.\n\n\"Let's follow right along the wall,\" he said, \"and examine it closely.\"\n\n\"I don't know what you expect to find,\" said Alix.  \"It's just a wall,\nas straight and plain as can be.\"\n\nAnd so indeed it seemed from where they stood.\n\n\"I'll look all along the ground, in case there might be a ring fixed in\na stone somewhere, like in the _Arabian Nights_.  That's a regular fairy\nsort of plan,\" said Alix.\n\n\"Very well,\" agreed Rafe; \"you can do that, and I'll keep tapping the\nwall to see if it sounds hollow anywhere.\"\n\nAnd so they proceeded, Alix carrying the basket now, and Rafe the\nparasol, as it came in handy for his tapping.\n\nFor some moments neither of them spoke.  Alix's eyes were fixed on the\nground.  Once or twice, where it looked rough and uneven, she stooped to\nexamine it more closely, but nothing came of it, except a little\ngrumbling from Rafe at her stopping the way.  To avoid this she ran on a\nfew paces in front of him, so that when, within a few yards of the end\nof the wall, her brother suddenly stopped short, she wasn't aware that\nhe had done so till she heard him calling her in a low but eager voice.\n\n\"What is it?\" she said breathlessly, hurrying back again.\n\n\"Alix,\" he said, \"there's some one tapping back at us from the other\nside.  Listen.\"\n\n\"A woodpecker,\" said Alix hastily; \"or the echo of your tappings.\"\n\nShe was in such a hurry that she didn't stop to reflect what silly\nthings she was saying.  To tell the truth, she didn't quite like the\nidea of Rafe having the honour and glory of the discovery, if such it\nwas.\n\n\"A woodpecker,\" repeated Rafe.  \"What nonsense!  Do woodpeckers tap\ninside a wall?  And an echo wouldn't wait till I had finished tapping to\nbegin.  It's just like answering me.  Listen again.\"\n\nHe tapped three times, slowly and distinctly, then stopped.  Yes, sure\nenough there came what seemed indeed like an answer.  Three clear, sharp\nlittle raps--clearer and sharper, indeed, than those he made with the\nparasol handle.  Alix was now quite convinced.\n\n\"It sounds like a little silver hammer,\" she said.  \"Oh, Rafe, _suppose_\nwe've really found something magic!\" and her bright eyes danced with\neagerness.\n\nRafe did not reply.  He seemed intent on listening.\n\n\"Alix,\" he said, \"the tapping is going on--a little farther off now, and\nthen it comes back again, as if it was to lead us on.  It must be on\npurpose.\"\n\nCHAPTER THREE.\n\nTHE CARETAKER.\n\n\"Let's follow it along,\" said Alix, after another moment or two's\nhesitation.\n\nThey were standing, as I said, not many yards from the end of the wall,\nand thither the sound seemed to lead them.  When they got quite to the\ncorner the tapping had stopped.  But the children were not discouraged.\n\n\"That's what fairies do,\" said Alix, as if all her life she had lived on\nintimate terms with the beings she spoke of.  \"They show you a bit, and\nthen they leave you to find out a bit for yourself.  We must poke about\nnow and see what we can find.\"\n\nRafe had already set to work in this way: he was feeling and prodding\nthe big, solid-looking stones which finished off the corner.\n\n\"Alix,\" he exclaimed, \"one of these stones shakes a little; let's push\nat it together.\"\n\nYes, there was no doubt that it yielded a little, especially at one\nside.  The children pushed with all their might and main, but for some\ntime an uncertain sort of wobbling was the only result.  Rafe stood back\na little to recover his breath, and to look at the stone more\ncritically.\n\n\"There may be some sort of spring or hinge about it,\" he said at last.\n\"Give me the parasol again, Alix.\"\n\nHe then pressed the point of it firmly along the side of the stone, down\nthe seam of mortar which appeared to join it to its neighbour in the\nwall.  He need not have pressed so hard, for when he got to the middle\nof the line the stone suddenly yielded, turning inwards so quickly and\nsharply that Rafe almost fell forward on the parasol, and a square dark\nhole was open before them.\n\nAlix darted forward and peeped in.\n\n\"Rafe,\" she cried, \"there's a sort of handle inside; shall I try to turn\nit?\"\n\nShe did so without waiting for his answer.  It moved quite easily, and\nthen they found that the two or three stones completing the row to the\nground, below the one that had already opened, were really only thin\nslabs joined together and forming a little door.  It was like the doors\nyou sometimes see in a library, which on the outside have the appearance\nof a row of books.\n\nThe opening was now clear before them, and they did not hesitate to pass\nthrough.  They had to stoop a little, but once within, it was easy to\nstand upright, and even side by side.  Alix caught hold of Rafe's hand.\n\n\"Let's keep fast hold of each other,\" she whispered.\n\nFor a few steps they advanced in almost total darkness, for the door\nbehind them had noiselessly closed.  But this was in the nature of\nthings, and quite according to Alix's programme.\n\n\"I only hope,\" she went on, \"that we haven't somehow or other got inside\nthe cave where the pied piper took the children.  It might have an\nopening into England somehow, even though I think Hamelin was in\nGermany; but, of course, there's nothing to be frightened at, is there,\nRafe?\" though her own heart was beating fast.\n\nRafe's only answer was a sort of grunt, which expressed doubt, though we\nwill not say fear.  Perhaps it was the safest answer he could make under\nthe very peculiar circumstances.  But no doubt it was a great relief to\nboth when, before they had time really to ask themselves whether they\nwere frightened or not, a faint light showed itself in front of them,\ngrowing stronger and brighter as they stepped on, till at last they\ncould clearly make out in what sort of a place they were.\n\nIt was a short, fairly wide passage, seemingly hollowed out of the\nground, and built up in the same way as the wall outside into the soil--\nin fact it was like a small tunnel.  The light was of a reddish hue, and\nsoon they saw the reason of this.  It came from an inner room, the door\nof which was half open, where a fire was brightly burning, and by the\nhearth sat a small figure.\n\nThe children looked at each other, then they bent forward to see more.\nNoiseless though they were, the little person seemed to know they were\ncoming.  She lifted her head, and though her face was partly hidden by\nthe hood of the scarlet cloak which covered her almost entirely, they\nsaw that it was that of a very old woman.\n\n\"Welcome, my dears,\" she said at once.  \"I have been looking for you\nthis long time.\"\n\nHer voice, though strange--in what way it was strange the children could\nnot have told, for it seemed to come from far away, and yet it seemed to\nthem that they had often heard it before--encouraged them to step\nforward.\n\n\"Good-morning,\" Alix began, but then she hesitated.  Was it morning, or\nevening, or night, or what?  It was difficult to believe that only a few\nminutes ago they had been standing outside in the warm sunshine, with\nthe soft spring breeze wafting among the fresh green leaves, and the\nbirds singing overhead.  _That_ all seemed a dream.  \"I beg your\npardon,\" the little girl began again; \"I don't quite know what I should\nsay, but thank you for speaking so kindly.  How did you know we were\ncoming?\"\n\n\"I heard you,\" replied the old woman.  \"I heard your little footsteps up\nto the gateway yesterday, and I knew you'd come again to-day.\"\n\nBy this time Rafe had found his tongue too.\n\n\"Did you send the wren?\" he said.\n\n\"Never mind about that just now,\" she answered.  \"I've many a messenger;\nand what's better still, I've quick eyes, and even quicker ears, for all\nthat I'm so very old.  I know what you want of me, and if you're good\nchildren you shall not be disappointed.  I've been getting ready for you\nin more ways than one.\"\n\n\"Do you mean you've got stories to tell us?\" exclaimed the children\neagerly.\n\n\"Of course,\" she replied, with a smile.\n\n\"I wouldn't be much good if I hadn't stories for you.\"\n\nAll this time, I must tell you, the old woman had been busily knitting.\nHer needles made a little silvery click, but there was nothing fidgeting\nabout this sound; now and then her words seemed to go in a sort of time\nwith it.  What she was knitting they could not see.\n\nAlix gave a deep sigh of satisfaction.\n\n\"How beautiful!\" she said; \"and may we come every day, and may we stay\nas long as we like, and will you sometimes invite us to tea, perhaps?\nand--\"\n\n\"Alix!\" said Rafe, in a tone of reproval.\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" said their hostess.  \"Let her chatter.  All in good time, my\nlove,\" she added to Alix, and the click of the needles seemed to repeat\nthe words, \"All in good time,\" like a little song.\n\nRafe's eyes, which were sometimes more observant than Alix's, as his\ntongue did not use up so much of his attention as hers, had meanwhile\nbeen wandering round the room.  It can, I think, be best described as a\nvery cosy kitchen, but, unlike many kitchens, it was fresh and not the\nleast too hot.  There was a strange, pleasant fragrance in the air that\nmade one think of pine woods.  Afterwards the children found out that\nthis came from the fire, for it was entirely of fir-cones, of which a\nlarge heap stood neatly stacked in one corner.\n\nAlong chain hung down the chimney, with a hook at the end, to which a\nbright red copper pan was fastened; a little kettle of the same metal\nstood on the hearthstone, which was snowy white.  The walls of the room\nwere of rough stone, redder in colour than the wall outside, or else the\nfirelight made them seem so.  Behind where the old woman sat hung a\ngrass-green curtain, closely drawn; there was no lamp or candle, but the\nfirelight was quite enough.  A wooden dresser ran along one side, and on\nits shelves were arranged cups and plates and jugs of the queerest\nshapes and colours you could imagine.  I must tell you more about these\nlater on.  There was a settle with a very curious patchwork cushion, but\nbesides this and the rocking-chair on which sat the old woman--I forgot\nto say that she was sitting on a rocking-chair--the only seats were two\nlittle three-legged stools.  The middle of the floor was covered by\nmatting of a kind the children had never seen; it was shaded brown, and\nmade you think of a path strewn over with fallen leaves in autumn.\n\nThe old woman's kindly tone encouraged Rafe to speak in his turn.\n\n\"May I ask you one or two things,\" he said, \"before you begin telling us\nthe stories?\"\n\n\"As many as you like, my boy,\" she replied cheerfully.  \"I don't say\nI'll answer them all--that's rather a different matter--but you can ask\nall the same.\"\n\n\"It's so puzzling,\" said Rafe, hesitating a little.  \"I don't think it\npuzzles Alix so much as me; she knows more about fairy things, I think.\nI do so want to know if you've lived here a very long time.  Have you\nalways lived here--even when the old house was standing and there were\npeople in it?\"\n\n\"Never mind about always,\" replied the old woman.  \"A very, very long\ntime?  Yes, longer than you could understand, even if I explained it!\nLong before the old house was pulled down?  Yes, indeed, long before the\nold house was ever thought of!  I'm the caretaker here nowadays, you\nsee.\"\n\n\"The caretaker!\"  Rafe repeated; \"but there's no house to take care of.\"\n\n\"There's a great deal to take care of nevertheless,\" she replied.\n\"Think of all the creatures up in the garden, the birds and the\nbutterflies, not to speak of the flowers and the blossom.  Ah, yes! we\ncaretakers have a busy time of it, I can tell you, little as you might\nthink it.  _And_ the stories--why, if I had nothing else to do, the\nlooking after them would keep me busy.  They take a deal of tidying.\nYou'd scarcely believe the state they come home in sometimes when\nthey've been out for a ramble--all torn and jagged and draggle-tailed,\nor else, what's worse, dressed up in such vulgar new clothes that their\nown mother, and I'm as good as their mother, would scarcely know them\nagain.  No, no,\" and she shook her head, \"I've no patience with such\nways.\"\n\nAlix looked delighted.  She quite understood the old woman.\n\n\"How nicely you say it,\" she exclaimed.  \"It's like something papa told\nus the other day about legends; don't you remember, Rafe?\"\n\nRafe's slower wits were still rather perplexed, but he took things\ncomfortably.  Somehow he no longer remembered any more questions to ask.\nThe old woman's bright eyes as she looked at him gave him a pleasant,\ncontented feeling.\n\n\"Have you got a story quite ready for us?\" asked Alix.\n\n\"One, two, three, four,\" said the old woman, counting her stitches.\n\"I'm setting it on, my dear; it'll be ready directly.  But what have you\ngot in your basket?  It's your dinner, isn't it?  You must be getting\nhungry.  Wouldn't you like to eat something while the story's getting\nready?\"\n\n\"Are you going to _knit_ the story?\" said Alix, looking very surprised.\n\n\"Oh dear no!\" said the old woman, smiling.  \"It's only a way I have.\nThe knitting keeps it straight, otherwise it might fly off once I've let\nit out.  Now open your basket and let's see what you've got for your\ndinner.  There, set it on the table, and you may reach down plates and\njugs for yourselves.\"\n\n\"It's nothing much,\" said Alix, \"just some sandwiches and two\nhard-boiled eggs and some slices of cake.\"\n\n\"Very good things in their way,\" said the old woman, as Alix unpacked\nthe little parcels and laid them on the plates which Rafe handed her\nfrom the dresser.  \"And if you look into my larder you'll find some\nfruit, maybe, which won't go badly for dessert.  What should you say to\nstrawberries and cream?\"\n\nShe nodded towards one corner of the kitchen where there was a little\ndoor which the children had not before noticed, so very neatly was it\nfitted into the wall.\n\nThe opening of it was another surprise; the \"larder\" was quite different\nfrom the room inside.  It was a little arbour, so covered over with\ngreenery that you could not see through the leaves to the outside,\nthough the sunshine managed to creep in here and there, and the\ntwittering of the birds was clearly heard.\n\nOn a stone slab stood a curiously-shaped basket filled with--oh! such\nlovely strawberries! and beside it a bowl of tempting yellow cream;\nthese were the only eatables to be seen in the larder.\n\n\"Strawberries!\" exclaimed Rafe; \"just fancy, Alix, and it's only April.\"\n\n\"But we're in Fairyland, you stupid boy,\" said Alix; \"or at least\nsomewhere very near it.\"\n\n\"Quick, children,\" came the old woman's voice from the kitchen.  \"You\nbring the strawberries, Alix, and Rafe the cream.  There'll be no time\nfor stories if you dawdle!\"\n\nThis made them hurry back, and soon they were seated at the table, with\nall the nice things neatly before them.  They were not greedy children\nfortunately, for, as everybody knows, fairy-folk hold few things in\ngreater horror than greediness; and they were orderly children too.\nThey packed up their basket neatly again when they had finished, and\nAlix asked if they should wash up the plates that had been lent to them,\nwhich seemed to please their old friend, for she smiled as she replied\nthat it wasn't necessary.\n\n\"My china is of a different kind from any you've ever seen,\" she said.\n\"_Whiff_, plates,\" she added; and then, to the children's amusement,\nthere was a slight rattle, and all the crockery was up in its place\nagain, shining as clean and bright as before it had been used.\n\nThere was now no doubt at all that they were really in Fairyland.\n\nCHAPTER FOUR.\n\nTHE STORY OF THE THREE WISHES.\n\n\"And now for a story,\" said Alix joyfully.  \"May we sit close beside\nyou, Mrs--oh dear!  Mayn't we call you something?\"\n\n\"Anything you like,\" replied the old woman, smiling.\n\n\"I know,\" cried Alix; \"Mrs Caretaker--will that do?  It's rather a nice\nname when you come to think of it.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" agreed their old friend; \"and it should be everybody's name, more\nor less, if everybody did their duty.  There's no one without something\nto take care of.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Rafe thoughtfully; \"I suppose not.\"\n\n\"Draw the two little stools close beside me--one at the right, one at\nthe left; and if you like, you may lean your heads on my knee, you'll\nhear none the worse.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's beautiful,\" said Alix; \"it's like the children and the white\nlady.  Do you know about the white lady?\" she went on, starting up\nsuddenly.\n\nMrs Caretaker nodded.  \"Oh yes,\" she said; \"she's a relation of mine.\nBut we mustn't chatter any more if you're to have a story.\"\n\nAnd the children sat quite silent.  Click, click, went the\nknitting-needles.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\nThe Story of the Three Wishes.\n\nThat was the name of the first of Mrs Caretaker's stories.\n\nOnce upon a time there lived two sisters in a cottage on the edge of a\nforest.  It was rather a lonely place in some ways, though there was an\nold town not more than a mile off, where there were plenty of friendly\npeople.  But it was lonely in this way, that but seldom any of the\ntownsfolk passed near the cottage, or cared to come to see the sisters,\neven though they were good and pretty girls, much esteemed by all who\nknew them.\n\nFor the forest had a bad name.  Nobody seemed to know exactly why, or\nwhat the bad name meant, but there it was.  Even in the bright long\nsummer days the children of the town would walk twice as far on the\nother side to gather posies of the pretty wood-flowers in a little\ncopse, not to be compared with the forest for beauty, rather than\nventure within its shade.  And the young men and maidens of a summer\nevening, though occasionally they might come to its outskirts in their\nstrolls, were never tempted to do more than stand for a moment or two\nglancing along its leafy glades.  Only the sisters, Arminel and Chloe,\nhad sometimes entered the forest, though but for a little way, and not\nwithout some fear and trembling.\n\nBut they had no misgiving as to living in its near neighbourhood.\nCustom does a great deal, and here in the cottage by the forest-side\nthey had spent all their lives.  And the grandmother, who had taken care\nof them since they had been left orphans in their babyhood, told them\nthere was no need for fear so long as they loved each other and did\ntheir duty.  All the same, she never denied that the great forest was an\nuncanny place.\n\nThis was the story of it, so far as any one knew.  Long, long ago, when\nmany things in the world were different from what they are now, a race\nof giants, powerful and strong, were the owners of the forest, and so\nlong as they were just and kindly to their weaker neighbours, all went\nwell.  But after a while they grew proud and tyrannical, and did some\nvery cruel things.  Then their power was taken from them, and they\nbecame, as a punishment, as weak and puny as they had been the opposite.\nNow and then, so it was said about the countryside, one or two of them\nhad been seen, miserable-looking little dwarfs.  And the seeing of them\nwas the great thing to be dreaded, for it was supposed to be a certain\nsign of bad luck.\n\nBut the grandmother had heard more than this, though where, or when, or\nhow, she could not remember.  The spell over the forest dwarfs was not\nto be for ever; something some day was to break it, though what she did\nnot know.\n\n\"And who can tell,\" she would say now and then, \"how better things may\ncome about for the poor creatures?  There's maybe a reason for your\nbeing here, children.  Keep love and pity in your hearts, and never let\nany fear prevent you doing a kind action if it comes in your way.\"\n\nBut till now, though they had gone on living in the old cottage since\ntheir grandmother's death in the same way, never forgetting what she had\nsaid, Arminel and Chloe had never caught sight of their strange\nneighbours.  True, once or twice they had seen a small figure scuttering\naway when they had ventured rather farther than usual along the forest\npaths, but then it might have been only some wild wood creature, of\nwhom, no doubt, there were many who had their dwellings in the lonely\ngloom.  Sometimes a strange curiosity really to see one of the dwarfs\nfor themselves would come over them; they often talked about it in the\nlong winter evenings when they had nothing to amuse them.\n\nBut it was only to each other that they talked in this way.  To their\nfriends in the town, for they had friends there whom they saw once a\nweek on the market-day, they never chattered about the forest or the\ndwarfs; and when they were asked why they went on living in this strange\nand lonely place, they smiled and said it was their home, and they were\nhappier there than anywhere else.\n\nAnd so they were.  They were very busy to begin with, for their butter\nand eggs and poultry were more prized than any to be had far or near.\nArminel was the dairy-woman, and Chloe the hen-wife, and at the end of\neach week they would count up their earnings, eager to see which had\nmade the more by their labours.  Fortunately for their happy feelings to\neach other, up till now their gains had been pretty nearly equal, for\nthere is no saying where jealousy will not creep in, even between the\ndearest of friends.\n\nBut quite lately, for the first time, things had not been going so well.\nIt was late in the autumn, and there had been unusually heavy rains,\nand when they ceased the winter seemed to begin all at once, and before\nits time, and the animals suffered for it.  The cow's milk fell off\nbefore Arminel had looked for its doing so, and some great plans which\nshe had been making for the future seemed likely to be disappointed.\nShe had hoped to save enough through the winter to buy another cow in\nthe spring, so that with the two she would have had a supply of butter\nfor her customers in the town all the year round.  And Chloe's hens were\nnot doing well either.  One or two of them had even died, and she\ncouldn't get her autumn chickens to fatten.  Worst of all, the eggs grew\nfewer day by day.\n\nThese misfortunes distressed the sisters very much.  Sadder still, they\ngrew irritable and short-tempered, each reproaching the other, and\nmaking out that she herself had managed better.\n\n\"It is all your want of foresight,\" said Arminel to Chloe one market-day\nwhen the egg-basket looked but poorly filled.\n\n\"Everybody knows that hens stop laying with the first cold.  You should\nhave potted some eggs a few weeks ago when they were so plentiful.\"\n\n\"My customers don't care for potted eggs,\" said Chloe.  \"Till now I have\nalways had a pretty fair supply of fresh ones, except for a week or two\nabout Christmas time.  How should I have known that this year would be\ndifferent from other years?  If you are so wonderfully wise, why did you\nnot bring Strawberry indoors a month sooner than usual?  It is evident\nthat she has caught cold.  You need not sneer at my eggs when you count\nyour pats of butter.  Why, there are not above half what you had two\nmonths ago.\"\n\n\"When you manage your own affairs properly, you may find fault with\nmine,\" said Arminel snappishly.\n\nAnd they felt so unamiable towards each other that all the way to market\nand back they walked on separate sides of the road without speaking a\nword.\n\nSuch a state of things had never been known before.\n\nIt was late when they got home that afternoon, and being a dull and\ncloudy day it was almost dark.  The poor girls felt tired and unhappy,\nfor each was sad with the double sadness of having to bear her troubles\nalone.  And besides this, there is nothing more tiring than ill-temper.\n\nArminel sat down weariedly on a chair.  The fire was out; the cottage\nfelt very chilly; the one little candle which Chloe had lighted gave but\na feeble ray.  Arminel sighed deeply.  Chloe, whose heart was very soft,\nfelt sorry for her, and setting down her basket began to see to the\nfire.\n\n\"Leave it alone,\" said her sister.  \"We may as well go to bed without\nany supper.  I'm too tired to eat; and it's just as well to get\naccustomed to scanty fare.  It is what is before us, I suppose.\"\n\n\"You need not be quite so downhearted,\" said Chloe, persevering in her\nefforts.  \"Things may mend again.  I sold my eggs for more than ever\nbefore.  It seems that everybody's hens are doing badly.  I'll have the\nfire burning in a minute, and some nice hot coffee ready, and then\nyou'll feel better.\"\n\nBut Arminel was not to be so easily consoled.\n\n\"If you've done well with your eggs it's more than I did with my\nbutter,\" she said.  \"Dame Margery, the housekeeper from the castle, says\nshe'll take no more from me if I can't promise as much as last year.\nShe doesn't like to go changing about for her butter, she says; and mine\nwas enough for the ladies.\"\n\n\"I'm sure you've enough for two ladies still,\" said Chloe.\n\n\"Yes; but if I don't keep a little for my other customers, they won't\ncome back to me when I have plenty again,\" answered her sister, who\nseemed determined to look on the black side of things.\n\nThen, unluckily, in spite of Chloe's care, the cold and the damp of the\nchimney made the fire smoke; great clouds puffed out, almost filling the\nkitchen.\n\n\"I wish you had let me go to bed,\" said Arminel hastily; and Chloe's\npatience being exhausted, she retorted by calling her sister unkind and\nungrateful.\n\nThe smoke was very disagreeable, no doubt.  Arminel opened the window\nwide to let it clear off.  The wind was blowing from the forest which\nlay on this side of the house.  All looked dark and gloomy, and Arminel\ngave a little shiver as she glanced out.  Suddenly she started.\n\n\"Chloe,\" she said, \"did you hear that?\"\n\n\"What?\" said Chloe.\n\n\"A cry--yes, there it is again, as if some one was in great trouble.\"\n\nChloe heard it too, but she was feeling rather sulky and contradictory.\n\n\"It's nothing,\" she said.  \"Only a hare or some wild creature; they\noften scream,\" and she turned back to the table where she was preparing\ncoffee.\n\nBut though the room was now pretty clear of smoke and the fire was\nbehaving better, Arminel did not close the window.  She still stood by\nit listening.  And again there came the strange shrill yet feeble cry,\ntelling unmistakably of anguish, or whether of beast or man no one could\nhave told.  And this time Chloe stood still with the kettle in her hand,\nmore startled than she had been before.\n\n\"Sister,\" said Arminel decidedly, \"that is not the squeal of a hare; it\nis something worse.  Perhaps some child from the town may have strayed\ninto the forest and got benighted.  It is possible at least.  And the\nforest is not like other places.  Who knows what might happen to one\nastray there?\"\n\n\"What could we do in such a case?\" said Chloe.  \"We're not\nall-powerful.\"  She spoke more out of a little remaining temper than\nfrom cowardice or indifference, for like her sister she was both brave\nand kind.\n\n\"Remember what our grandmother said,\" said Arminel, and she repeated the\ngrandmother's words: \"`Never hang back from doing a kind action; no harm\ncan come to you while you love each other and do your duty.'  I am going\nalone to the forest if you will not come,\" she went on, and she turned\ntowards the door as she spoke.\n\n\"Of course I will come with you,\" said Chloe, reaching down her mantle\nand hood which she had hung up on a nail.  \"Close the window, Arminel,\"\nshe said.  \"I'll leave the coffee on the hob.  The fire is burning\nnicely now, and we shall find it bright and warm when we come back.\"\n\nAs they stepped outside, closing the door behind them, the cry broke out\nagain.  Tired though they were with their long day at market, the\nsisters set off running.  Two or three fields lay between them and the\nedge of the wood, and part of the way the ground was very rough, but\nthey were nimble and sure-footed.  And ever as they ran came the cries,\nfeebler yet more distinct, and before long they could distinguish the\nwords, \"Help! comrades, help!\"\n\n\"It is not a hare, you see,\" said Arminel.\n\n\"No, indeed,\" answered Chloe, and both felt a thrill of fear, though\nthey only ran the faster.\n\nThe cries, though now they grew rarer, becoming indeed mingled with\ngroans, still served to guide them.  Soon they were in the midst of the\ntrees, making their way more by a sort of instinct, for it was almost\ndark.  Suddenly a ray of moonlight glimmered through the firs, and a few\npaces in front of them they saw lying on the ground a small dark object\nwrithing and groaning.\n\nJust here the trees were not so thick.  It was like a little clearing.\nThe girls stepped onwards cautiously, catching hold of each other.\n\n\"It is--\" whispered Arminel--\"Oh, Chloe, it is one of the dwarfs.\"\n\n\"Courage,\" murmured Chloe in return, though her own heart was beating\nvery fast.  \"He seems in no state to hurt us now, if only it be not a\ntrick.\"\n\nThe groans had ceased, and when they got close to the strange figure on\nthe ground it seemed quite motionless.  The moonlight had grown\nstronger.  They stooped down and examined the dwarf.  His eyes were\nclosed; his face was wrinkled and brown; he was brown all over.  He wore\na furry coat, much the same colour as his own skin.\n\nArminel lifted one of his queer clawlike hands; it fell down again by\nhis side.\n\n\"I believe he is dead,\" she said.  \"I didn't know the dwarfs ever could\ndie.  What shall we do, Chloe?  We cannot leave him here, in case he\nshould be still living.\"\n\n\"We must carry him home, I'm afraid,\" said Chloe.  \"Yes, I'm afraid we\nmust, for see, Arminel, he's opening his eyes,\" as two bright black\nbeads suddenly glanced up at them.\n\n\"Nimbo, Hugo,\" said a weak, hoarse little voice.  \"Are you there?  No,\"\nand the dwarf opened his eyes more widely, and tried to sit up.  \"No,\"\nhe went on, \"it is not my comrades!  Who are you?\" and he shuddered as\nif with fear.\n\nCHAPTER FIVE.\n\nTHE STORY OF THE THREE WISHES--CONTINUED.\n\nIt was indeed a turning of the tables for a dwarf to be afraid of them.\nIt gave the sisters courage to speak to him.  \"We heard your cries,\"\nsaid Arminel.  \"Ever so far off in our cottage across the fields we\nheard them.  What is the matter?  Have you hurt yourself?\"  The little\nman groaned.\n\n\"I have had a fall,\" he said, \"from a branch of the tree under which I\nam lying.  I climbed up to shake down some large fir-cones, and lost my\nfooting.  I have hurt myself sadly.  I feel bruised all over.  How I\nshall ever get back to my comrades I do not know,\" and again he groaned.\n\nHe was not a very courageous dwarf evidently; perhaps the courage of the\nrace had been lost with its stature!  But the sisters felt very sorry\nfor him.\n\n\"Have you broken any bones, do you think?\" said Chloe, who was very\npractical.\n\nThe dwarf turned and twisted himself about with many sighs and moans.\n\n\"No,\" said he, \"I think I am only bruised and terribly cold.  I have\nbeen lying here so long, so long.  I cannot go home; they are miles away\nin the centre of the forest.\"\n\nArminel and Chloe considered.  They did not much like the idea of the\nuncanny creature spending a night under their roof, even though they no\nlonger feared that he was playing them any trick.  If the mere sight of\na dwarf brought ill-luck, what might not they expect from the visit of\none of the spell-bound race?  But their grandmother's words returned to\ntheir mind.\n\n\"You must come home with us,\" they said, speaking together.  \"We can at\nleast give you shelter and warmth, and a night's rest may do you much\ngood.\"\n\n\"There is the salve for bruises which granny taught us to make,\" added\nChloe.\n\n\"We have some of it by us, I know.\"  The dwarf gave a sigh of relief.\n\n\"Maidens,\" he said, \"you shall never have cause to regret your kindness.\nI know your cottage.  We have often watched you when you little knew\nit.  I think I could make shift to walk there if you will each give me\nan arm.\"  They got him to his feet with some difficulty.  He was so\nsmall, hardly reaching up to their elbows, that it ended in their almost\ncarrying him between them.  And they seemed to get home much more\nquickly than they had come, even though they walked slowly.  The dwarf\nknew every step of the way, and his queer bead-like eyes pierced through\nthe darkness as if it had been noonday.\n\n\"A little to the right,\" he would say, or, \"a few paces to the left, the\nground is better.\"\n\nAnd almost before they knew where they were they found themselves before\ntheir own door.  The wind had gone down, all was peaceful and still, and\ninside the kitchen was a picture of comfort, the fire burning red and\ncheerily.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the little man, when they had settled him on a stool in front\nof the hearth, \"this is good!\" and he stretched out his small brown\nhands to the ruddy glow.  \"It is long since I have seen such a fire, and\nvery long since I have been in a room like this.\"  But then he grew\nquite silent, and the sisters did not like to ask him what he meant.\n\nChloe busied herself with the coffee which boiled up in no time; and in\nthe larder, to her surprise, when she went in to fetch a loaf of bread\nintended for the sisters' supper, she found a pat of butter and a jug of\ncream which she had not known were there.  She was very pleased, for\nboth she and Arminel had hospitable hearts, and she would have been\nsorry to have had nothing for their guest but dry bread and skim-milk\ncoffee.\n\n\"Arminel,\" she said, as she came back into the kitchen, \"you had\nforgotten this cream and butter, fortunately so, for now we can give our\nfriend a nice supper.\"\n\nArminel looked quite astonished.\n\n\"I took all the butter there was with me to market this morning, and I\nnever keep cream except for our Sunday treat.\"\n\nBut there was another surprise in store.\n\nArminel in her turn went into the larder.\n\n\"Chloe!\" she called out, \"see what _you_ have forgotten.  Eggs!\" and she\nheld up three large, beautiful brown eggs.\n\n\"I don't know where they have come from,\" said Chloe.  \"I'm certain they\nwere not there when I packed my basket.  Besides, none of my hens lay\neggs of that colour.\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" said the dwarf; \"here they are, and that is enough.  We\nshall now have an omelette for supper.  An omelette and hot coffee!\nThat is a supper for a king.\"\n\nHe seemed to be getting quite bright and cheerful, and complained no\nmore of his bruises as he sat there basking in the pleasant warmth of\nthe fire.  Supper was soon ready, and the three spent a pleasant\nevening; the little man asking the sisters many questions about their\nlife and occupations.  They told him all about their present troubles,\nand he told them to keep up heart, and never forget their good\ngrandmother's counsel.\n\n\"Did you know our grandmother?\" they asked in surprise.\n\n\"I have heard of her,\" was all he said; and though they were curious to\nknow more, they did not venture to question him further.\n\nAfter supper they made up a bed for him on the kitchen settle, where he\nsaid he was sure he would sleep most comfortably.\n\n\"And now farewell,\" he added; \"I shall be off in the morning before you\nare stirring.  Your kindness has so refreshed me that I feel sure I\nshall be able to make my way home without difficulty.\"\n\nHe gave a little sigh as he spoke.\n\n\"I would fain do what I can in return for your goodness,\" he continued.\n\"Some things are still in my power.  I can give you three wishes which,\nunder certain conditions, will be fulfilled.\"\n\nThe sisters' eyes sparkled with delight.\n\n\"Oh, thank you a thousand times,\" they said.  \"Pray tell us what we must\ndo, and we will follow your orders exactly.\"\n\n\"Three wishes between you are all I can give,\" he replied.  \"One each,\nand the fulfilment of these depends upon the third, to which a secret is\nattached, and this secret you must discover for yourselves.  The key of\nit is, I trust, in your own hearts.\"\n\n\"We will do our best to find it,\" said Arminel.  \"If it has to do with\nour love for each other you may trust us.  Chloe and I never quarrel.\"\n\nBut suddenly, as she said this, the remembrance of that day struck her,\nand she grew red, feeling the dwarfs eyes fixed upon her.\n\n\"At least,\" she added hurriedly, \"I should say we seldom quarrel, though\nI'm afraid our anxieties lately have not sweetened our tempers.\"\n\n\"Beware, then, for the future,\" said the dwarf.  \"All will depend on\nyourselves.\"\n\nThe sisters went to bed full of eagerness and hopefulness, longing for\nthe next day to come that they might decide how to use their strange\nfriend's gift.\n\n\"I shall not be able to sleep,\" said Arminel; \"my head is so full of the\nthree wishes.\"\n\n\"And so is mine,\" said her sister.\n\n\"You shall have the first, Arminel, and I the second.  The third will be\nthe one to ponder over.\"\n\n\"I shall have no difficulty in deciding,\" said Arminel.  \"And you,\nChloe, being the younger, must, of course, be guided partly by my\nadvice.\"\n\n\"I don't see that at all,\" said Chloe.  \"The dwarf said nothing about\nelder or younger, and--\"\n\nAt this moment a loud snore from the kitchen reminded them that their\nguest was still there.\n\n\"Dear, dear,\" said Chloe.  \"What would he think if he heard us beginning\nto quarrel already?  We must beware.\"\n\nBut Arminel was not so ready to give in, and there is no saying what\nmight not have befallen, had it not happened that the moment her head\ntouched the pillow she fell fast asleep.  And Chloe quickly followed her\nexample.\n\nThey awoke later than usual the next morning, feeling quite rested and\nrefreshed.\n\n\"I never slept so soundly in my life,\" said Arminel.  \"I suppose it was\nwith being so tired.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Chloe.  \"I have an idea that our friend had\nsomething to do with our falling asleep so quickly to prevent us\nquarrelling.  Now, Arminel, whatever we do, let us remember his\nwarning.\"\n\n\"Of course, I don't want to quarrel,\" her sister replied.  \"We didn't\nneed the dwarf to come here to tell us to be good friends.  But, after\nall, his promise of fulfilling our wishes may be nonsense.  I long to\ntest it.  I wonder if he is still there, by the bye.\"\n\nNo, he was gone; the little bed they had made up for him on the settle,\nof some extra blankets and pillows, was neatly folded away.  The fire\nwas already lighted and burning brightly, the kettle singing on the\nhearth--the room showed signs of having been carefully swept and dusted,\nand the window was slightly open to admit a breath of the fresh morning\nair.\n\n\"Good little dwarf!\" exclaimed Arminel.  \"I wish he would pay us a visit\noften if he helps us so nicely with our work.\"\n\nThey sat down to breakfast in the best of spirits; and when the meal was\nover, and they went out, they found that the dwarf's good offices had\nnot been confined to the house.  The cow was carefully foddered, and\nlooking most prosperous and comfortable--the poultry had been seen to,\nthe hen-house cleaned out, and already, early as it was, several lovely\ncream white eggs had been laid in the nests.\n\nAll this was very encouraging.  \"There can be no sort of doubt,\" said\nChloe, \"that our friend, dwarf though he be, has a kind heart and magic\npower.  I feel certain his promises are to be relied upon.  But\nremember, Arminel, the first two wishes will be no good unless we agree\nabout the third.  What shall we do?\"\n\n\"I propose,\" said Arminel, who had plenty of good sense, \"that we go\nabout our work as usual till this evening.  Then each of us will have\nhad time to decide as to her own wish, and each of us can propose\nsomething for the third.  As to the third, we can then consult\ntogether.\"\n\nTo this Chloe agreed.\n\nThey spoke little to each other during the day, but when the light began\nto fail their work was over.  They sat down together by the fire.\n\n\"Now for a good talk,\" said Chloe.  \"We have the whole evening before\nus.\"\n\n\"Five minutes would be enough for me,\" said Arminel.  \"I've got my wish\ncut and dry.  I have been longing to tell you all day, but I thought it\nbest to keep to our determination of this morning.\"\n\n\"How strange!\" said Chloe.  \"I am just in the same condition.  I decided\nupon my wish almost immediately.  Tell me what yours is, and I will tell\nyou mine.\"\n\n\"My wish,\" said Arminel, \"is to have a cow.  A dun-coloured cow I think\nI should prefer--I can picture her so sweet and pretty--who would give\nmilk all the year round without ever running short.\"\n\n\"Excellent,\" cried Chloe; \"my wish goes well with yours.  For what I\nwant is a dozen hens who would each lay an egg every morning in the year\nwithout fail.  I should thus have as many fresh eggs as I could possibly\nwant, and enough to spare for setting whenever I liked.  Some of my\npresent hens are very good mothers, and would hatch them beautifully.\"\n\n\"I think your wish a very good one,\" said Arminel.  \"But now as to the\nfulfilment.  We have now expressed our wishes distinctly, but there is\nno use as yet in going to look for the new cow in the shed or hens in\nthe hen-house, seeing that there remains, alas! the third one!  What can\nit be?\"\n\n\"Could it be for a hen-house?\" said Chloe; \"my poor hens are not very\nwell off in their present one, and it is right to make one's animals\ncomfortable; so this would be a kind-hearted wish.\"\n\n\"Not more than to wish for a warm shed for my cows,\" said Arminel.\n\"Cows require much more care than hens.  I daresay that is what we are\nmeant to wish for.\"\n\n\"I am certain it is not,\" said Chloe.  \"At least, if you wish for a\ncow-shed, _I_ wish for a hen-house.\"\n\n\"That, of course, is nonsense,\" said Arminel.  \"I feel sure the dwarf\nmeant we were to agree in what we wished for.  And if you were amiable\nand unselfish you would join with me, Chloe.\"\n\n\"I might say precisely the same thing to you,\" said Chloe coldly.\n\nAnd though they went on talking till bedtime they came to no conclusion.\nIndeed, I fear a good many sharp and unkind words passed between them,\nand they went to bed without saying good-night to each other.  So far it\ndid not seem as if the dwarf's gift was to bring them happiness.\n\nCHAPTER SIX.\n\nTHE STORY OF THE THREE WISHES--CONCLUDED.\n\nWhen they woke in the morning they were in a calmer state of mind, and\nbegan to see how foolish they had been.\n\n\"Chloe,\" said Arminel, as they sat at breakfast, \"we were very nearly\nquarrelling last night; and if we quarrel we shall certainly never find\nout the secret of the third wish; and all our hopes will be at an end.\nNow, let us think over quietly what the third wish is likely to be.  Let\nme see--what were the dwarf's exact words?\"\n\n\"He said we must seek for it in our own hearts,\" replied Chloe.  \"That\nmeans, of course, that it must be something kind.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he meant that it must be something to do us both good,\" said\nArminel.  \"What is there we are equally in want of?  Oh!  I know;\nsuppose we wish for a good stack of fuel for the winter.  That would\ncertainly benefit us both.\"\n\n\"It can do no harm to try,\" said Chloe; \"so I agree to the wish for a\nstack of fuel.\"\n\nArminel's eyes sparkled.\n\n\"I daresay we have guessed it,\" she exclaimed, jumping up.  \"Come out at\nonce to see, Chloe.\"\n\nBut, alas! the heap of brushwood for their winter's firing, in the\ncorner of the yard, had grown no bigger than the day before.  No fresh\nsounds of cheerful cackling reached them from the hen-house; and\nStrawberry stood alone in her stall.\n\nThe wishes were still unfulfilled.\n\nThe sisters returned to the house rather crestfallen.\n\n\"What can it be?\" said Arminel; and this time Chloe made a suggestion.\n\n\"Supposing we wish that the copper coins we have put aside for our\nChristmas charities should be turned into silver,\" she said.  \"That\nwould be a kind thought for the very poor folk we try to help a little.\"\n\n\"As you like,\" said her sister; \"but I doubt its being any use.  We are\nalways told that charity which costs us nothing is little worth.\"\n\nShe was right.  When they opened the little box which held the coins she\nspoke of, there they still were, copper as before, so this time it was\nno use to look outside for the new cow and hens.  And all through the\nday they went on thinking first of one thing, then of another, without\nany success, so that by the evening their work had suffered from their\nneglect, and they went tired and dispirited to bed.\n\nThe next day they were obliged to work doubly hard to make up, and one\nor two new ideas occurred to them which they put to the test, always,\nalas! with the same result.\n\n\"We are wasting our time and our temper for no use,\" said Arminel at\nlast.\n\n\"I am afraid the truth is that the dwarf was only playing us a\nmischievous trick.\"  And even Chloe was forced to allow that it seemed\nas if her sister was in the right.\n\n\"We will try to forget all about it,\" said Arminel.  \"It must be indeed\ntrue that having anything to do with the dwarfs only brings bad luck.\"\n\nBut though she spoke courageously, Chloe was wakened in the night by\nhearing her sister crying softly to herself.\n\n\"Poor dear Arminel,\" thought Chloe, though she took care to lie quite\nstill as if sleeping.  \"I do feel for her.  If I had but my hens I could\nsoon make up to her for her disappointment.\"\n\nBut of course as the dun cow did not come, neither did the fairy hens,\nand a time of really great anxiety began for the sisters.  Strawberry's\nmilk dwindled daily; so did the number of eggs, till at last something\nvery like real poverty lay before them.  They were almost ashamed to go\nto market, so little had they to offer to their customers.  Never had\nthey been so unhappy or distressed.\n\nBut out of trouble often comes good.  Their affection for each other\ngrew stronger, and all feelings of jealousy died away as each felt more\nand more sorry for her sister.\n\n\"If only we had never gone near the wood,\" said Arminel one evening when\nthings were looking very gloomy indeed, \"none of these worst troubles\nwould have come upon us, I feel sure.  I begin to believe everything\nthat has been said about those miserable dwarfs.  It is very good of\nyou, dear Chloe, not to blame me as the cause of all our misfortunes,\nfor it was I who heard the cries in the wood and made you come with me\nto see what was the matter.\"\n\n\"How could I blame you?\" said Chloe.  \"We did it together, and it was\nwhat grandmother would have wished.  If we had not gone we should always\nhave reproached ourselves for not doing a kind action, and even as\nthings are, even supposing we are suffering from the dwarfs\nspitefulness, it is better to suffer with a clear conscience than to\nprosper with a bad one.\"\n\nHer words comforted her sister a little.  They kissed each other\naffectionately and went to bed, sad at heart certainly, but not\naltogether despondent.\n\nIn the night Arminel awoke.  There was bright moonlight in the room, and\nas she glanced at her sleeping sister, she saw traces of tears on\nChloe's pale face.\n\n\"My poor sister!\" she said to herself.  \"She has been crying, and would\nnot let me know it.  I do not care for myself, if only dear Chloe could\nhave her hens.  I could bear the disappointment about my cow.  How I\nwish it might be so.\"\n\nAs the thought passed through her mind, a sweet feeling of peace and\nsatisfaction stole over her.  She closed her eyes and almost immediately\nfell asleep, and slept soundly.\n\nVery soon after this in her turn Chloe awoke.  She, too, sat up and\nlooked at her sister.  There was a smile on Arminel's sleeping face\nwhich touched Chloe almost more than the traces of tears on her own had\ntouched her sister.\n\n\"Poor dear Arminel,\" she thought.  \"She is dreaming, perhaps, of her dun\ncow.  How little I should mind my own disappointment if I could see her\nhappy.  Oh!  I do wish she could have her cow!\"\n\nAnd having thought this, she, too, as her sister had done, fell asleep\nwith a feeling of peace and hopefulness such as she had not had for\nlong.\n\nThe winter sun was already some little way up on his journey when the\nsisters awoke the next morning, for they had slept much later than\nusual.  Arminel was the first to start up with a feeling that something\npleasant had happened.\n\n\"Chloe!\" she exclaimed.  \"We have overslept ourselves.  And on such a\nbright morning, too!  How can it have happened?\"\n\nChloe opened her eyes and looked about her with a smile.\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" she replied.  \"One could imagine it was summer time, and\nI have had such a good night, and such pleasant dreams.\"\n\n\"So have I,\" answered her sister.  \"And I am so hungry!\"\n\nThat was scarcely to be wondered at, for they had gone almost supperless\nto bed, and there was little if anything in the larder for their\nbreakfast.\n\n\"I am hungry too,\" said Chloe.  \"But I am afraid there isn't much for\nour breakfast.  However, I feel in much better spirits, though I don't\nknow why.\"\n\nChloe was ready a little before her sister, and hastened into the\nkitchen, to light the fire and prepare such food as there was.  But just\nas Arminel was turning to follow her, she was startled by a cry from\nChloe.\n\n\"Sister!\" she called.  \"Come quick!  See what I have found!\"\n\nShe was in the larder, which served them also as a dairy.  Arminel\nhurried in.  There stood Chloe, her face rosy with pleasure and\nsurprise, a basket in her hands full of beautiful large eggs of the same\nrich browny colour as those which had come so mysteriously the evening\nof the dwarfs visit.\n\n\"After all,\" said Chloe, \"I believe the little man meant well by us.  It\nmust be he who has sent these eggs.  Oh, Arminel! do let us try again to\ndiscover the secret of the third wish!\"\n\nBut Arminel didn't seem to hear what her sister was saying.  Her eyes\nwere fixed in amazement on the stone slab behind where Chloe was\nstanding.  There were two large bowls filled to the brim with new milk;\nit was many weeks since such a sight had been seen in the cottage.\n\n\"Chloe,\" was all she could say as she pointed it out to her sister.\n\nChloe did not speak; she darted outside closely followed by Arminel.\nThe same idea had come to them both, and they were not mistaken in it.\nThere in the cow-house, in the hitherto unused stall beside\nStrawberry's, stood the dearest little cow you could picture to\nyourself, dun-coloured, sleek, and silky, as if indeed she had just come\nfrom fairyland.  She turned her large soft brown eyes on Arminel as the\nhappy girl ran up to her, and gave a low soft \"moo,\" as if to\nsay--\"You're my dear mistress.  I know you will be kind to me, and in\nreturn I promise you that you shall find me the best of cows.\"\n\nBut Arminel only waited to give her one loving pat, and then hurried off\nto the poultry yard.\n\nThere too a welcome sight awaited them.  Twelve beautiful white hens\nwere pecking about, and as Chloe drew near them she was greeted with\nclucks of welcome as the pretty creatures ran towards her.\n\n\"They know they belong to you, Chloe, you see,\" said Arminel.  \"They are\nasking for their breakfast!  See, what is that sack in the corner? it\nlooks like corn for them.\"\n\nSo it was, and in another moment Chloe had thrown them out a good\nhandful, in which her old hens were allowed to share.  Poor things, they\nhad not had too much to eat just lately, and evidently the new-comers\nwere of most amiable dispositions.  All promised peace and prosperity.\n\nThe sisters made their way back to their little kitchen, but though they\nhad now eggs in plenty and new milk for their coffee they felt too\nexcited to eat.\n\n\"How can it have come about?\" said Arminel.  \"Chloe, have you wished for\nanything without telling me?\"\n\n\"Have you?\" said Chloe, in her turn.  \"One of us wishing alone would not\nhave been enough.  All I know is, that in the night I felt so sorry for\nyou that I said to myself if only _your_ wish could be fulfilled I would\ngive up my own.\"\n\n\"How strange!\" exclaimed Arminel; \"the very same thing happened to me.\nI woke up and saw traces of tears on your face, and the thought went\nthrough me that if _your_ wish could come to pass, I should be content.\"\n\n\"Then we have found the secret,\" said Chloe.  \"Each of us was to forget\nherself for the sake of the other; and the dwarf has indeed been a good\nfriend.\"\n\nIt would be difficult to describe the happiness that now reigned in the\ncottage, or the pride with which the sisters set off to market the next\ntime with their well-filled baskets.  And all through the winter it was\nthe same.  Never did the little cow's milk fail, nor the number of eggs\nfall off, so that the sisters became quite famous in the neighbourhood\nfor always having a supply of butter, poultry, and eggs of the best\nquality.\n\nOne evening, when the spring-time had come round again, the sisters were\nstrolling in the outskirts of the forest, everything was looking calm\nand peaceful--the ground covered with the early wood-flowers, the little\nbirds twittering softly before they settled to roost for the night.\n\n\"How sweet it is here,\" said Arminel.  \"I never feel now as if I could\nbe the least afraid of the forest, nor of a whole army of dwarfs if we\nmet them.\"\n\n\"I wish we could meet our dwarf,\" said Chloe.  \"I would love to thank\nhim for all the happiness he has given us.\"\n\nThis was a wish they had often expressed before.\n\n\"Somehow,\" said Arminel, \"I have an idea that the dwarfs no longer\ninhabit the forest.  Everything seems so much brighter and less gloomy\nthan it used to do here.  Besides, if our friend were still anywhere\nnear, I cannot help thinking we should have seen him.\"\n\nAs she said the words, they heard a rustling beside them.  Where they\nstood there was a good deal of undergrowth, and for a moment or two they\nsaw nothing, though the sound continued.  Then suddenly a little figure\nemerged from among the trees and stood before them.  It was their friend\nthe dwarf.\n\nAt first sight he looked much the same as when they had last seen him;\nbut the moment he began to speak they felt there was a difference.  His\nvoice was soft and mellow, instead of harsh and croaking; his brown eyes\nhad lost the hunted, suspicious look which had helped to give him such a\nmiserable expression.\n\n\"I am pleased that you have wished to see me again,\" he said, kindly.\n\n\"Oh yes, indeed!\" the sisters exclaimed; \"we can never thank you enough\nfor the happiness you have given us.\"\n\n\"You have yourselves to thank for it as much as me, my children,\" said\nthe little man; \"and in discovering the secret which has brought you\nprosperity, you have done for others also what you had no idea of.  The\nspell under which I and my comrades have suffered so long is broken, now\nthat one of us has been able to be of real and lasting benefit to some\nbeings of the race who, ages ago, were the victims of our cruelty.  We\nare now leaving the forest for ever.  No longer need the young men and\nmaidens shrink from strolling under these ancient trees, or the little\nchildren start away in terror from every rustle among the leaves for\nfear of seeing one of us.\"\n\n\"Are you going to be giants again?\" said Arminel, curiously.\n\nThe dwarf smiled.\n\n\"That I cannot tell you,\" he said, as he shook his head; \"and what does\nit matter?  In some far-off land we shall again be happy, for we shall\nhave learnt our lesson.\"\n\nAnd before the sisters had time to speak, he had disappeared; only the\nsame little rustle among the bushes was to be heard for a moment or two.\nThen all was silent, till a faint \"tu-whit--\" from an owl waking up in\nthe distance, and the first glimmer of the moonlight among the branches,\nwarned Arminel and Chloe that it was time for them to be turning\nhomewards.\n\nCHAPTER SEVEN.\n\nTHE SUMMER PRINCESS.\n\nAll was silent too in the little kitchen as the old woman's voice died\naway and the click of her knitting-needles ceased.\n\nAlix was the first to speak.\n\n\"That was a lovely story,\" she said approvingly.  \"It will give Rafe and\nme a lot to talk about.  It is so interesting to think what we would\nwish for if we had the chance.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid you mustn't stay with me any longer to talk about it\nto-day,\" said the old woman.  \"It is quite--time--for you--to go home;\"\nand somehow her voice seemed to grow into a sort of singing, and the\nneedles began to click again, though very faintly, as if heard from some\nway off.\n\nWhat was the matter?\n\nAlix felt as if she were going to sleep.  She rubbed her eyes, but\nRafe's voice speaking to her quite clearly and distinctly woke her up\nagain.\n\n\"Alix,\" he was saying, \"don't you see where we are?\" and glancing up,\nshe found that she and her brother were sitting on a moss-grown stone in\nthe old garden, not very far from the gate by which the wren had invited\nthem to enter.\n\nIt was growing towards evening.  Already the \"going to bed\" feeling\nseemed about in the air.  The birds' voices came softly; a little chill\nevening breeze made the children shiver slightly, though it only meant\nto wish them \"good-night.\"\n\n\"It feels like the end of the story,\" said Alix.  \"Let's go home, Rafe.\"\n\nThis was how the next story came to be told.\n\nThe days had passed happily for Rafe and Alix; the weather had been very\nfine and mild, and they had played a great deal in the old garden, which\ngrew lovelier every day.\n\n\"I hardly feel as if we had anything to wish for just now,\" said Alix,\none afternoon, when, tired with playing, she and her brother were\nresting for a little while on the remains of a rustic bench which they\nhad found in a corner under the trees.  \"We've been so happy lately,\nRafe; haven't we?  Ever since that day!\"\n\nSomehow they had not talked very much to each other of their visit to\nthe old caretaker; but now and then they had amused themselves by\nplanning what they would have wished for had they come across a dwarf\nwith magic power.\n\nRafe did not answer for a moment.  He was looking up, high up among the\nbranches.\n\n\"Hush,\" he said, in a half whisper.  \"Do you hear that bird, Alix?  I\nnever heard a note like it before.\"\n\n\"Two notes,\" said Alix, in the same low voice.  \"It's two birds talking\nto each other, I feel certain.\"\n\n\"It does sound like it,\" said Rafe.  \"Oh, I say, Alix, wouldn't you like\nto understand what they're saying?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said his sister.  \"I do wish we could.  There must be some sense\nin it.  It sounds so real and--Look, Rafe,\" she went on, \"they're coming\nnearer us;\" and so they were.  Still chirping, the birds flew downwards\ntill they lighted on a branch not very far above the children's heads.\n\nSuddenly Alix caught hold of Rafe's arm.\n\n\"Be quite, quite still,\" she whispered.  \"I have an idea that if we\nlisten very carefully we can make sense of what they're saying.\"\n\nShe almost held her breath, so eager was she; and Rafe, too, sat\nperfectly motionless.  And Alix was not mistaken.  After a while the\nbirds' chirps took shape to the children's ears.  Bit by bit the \"tweet,\ntweet\" varied and changed, like a voice heard in the distance, which, as\nit draws nearer, grows from a murmur into syllables and words.\n\nOne bird was answering the other; in fact, there was a lively discussion\ngoing on between them.\n\n\"No, no,\" said the first.  \"I tell you it is my turn to begin, brother.\nI have my story quite ready, just as I heard it down there in the sunny\nlands from one of my companions, and I must tell it at once before I\nforget it.\"\n\n\"Mine is ready too,\" replied the other bird.  \"At least almost.  I have\njust to--think over a few little points, and I am just as anxious as you\nto amuse the dear children.  However, it would be setting them a bad\nexample if we began to quarrel about it, so I will give in.  I will fly\nto a higher branch to meditate a little undisturbed, while you can hop\nlower still and attract their attention.\"\n\nAlix and Rafe looked at each other with a smile as the little fellow\nfluttered downwards and alighted on a branch still nearer them.  There\nhe flapped his wings and cleared his throat.\n\n\"Cheep, cheep,\" he began.  At least that is what it would have sounded\nto any one else, but the children knew it meant \"good-afternoon.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" they said.  That was not exactly a reply to\n\"good-afternoon,\" certainly; but they meant to thank him for his kind\nintentions.\n\n\"Oh, so you know all about it, I see,\" said the bird.  \"If you do not\nmind, I should prefer your making no further observations.  It\ninterrupts the thread of my narration.\"\n\nThe children were perfectly silent.  One has to be very careful, you\nsee, when a bird is telling a story; you can't catch hold of him and\npush him back into the arm-chair, as if he was a big person to be coaxed\ninto entertaining you.\n\n\"The title of my story,\" began the bird, \"is `The Summer Princess,'\" and\nagain he cleared his throat.\n\nOnce upon a time, in a country far to the north of the world, lived a\nKing and a Queen, who had everything they could wish for except an heir\nto their throne.  When I say they had everything they could wish for,\nthat does not mean they had no troubles at all.  The Queen thought she\nhad a good many; and the King had one which was more real than any of\nher fancied ones.  He had a wife who was a terrible grumbler.  She was a\ngrumbler by nature, and besides this she had been a spoilt child.\n\nAs she was very beautiful and could be very sweet and charming when in a\ncontented mood, the King had fallen deeply in love with her when he was\non his travels round the world, and had persuaded her to leave her own\nhome in the sunny south to accompany him to his northern kingdom.  There\nshe had much to make her happy.  Her husband was devoted to her, and\nwhile the first bright summer lasted, she almost forgot to grumble, but\nwhen the winter came, fierce and boisterous as it always is in those\nlands, she grew very miserable.  She shivered with the cold and instead\nof bracing herself to bear it, she wrapped herself in her furs and sat\nfrom morning till night cowering over a huge fire.  In vain the King\nendeavoured to persuade her to go out with him in his beautiful sledge\ndrawn by the fleetest reindeer, or to make one in the merry skating\nparties which were the great amusement of his court.\n\n\"No, no,\" she cried fretfully.  \"It would kill me to do anything of the\nkind.\"  And though she brightened up as each summer came round, with the\nreturn of each winter it was again the same sad story.\n\nAs the years passed on another and more real trouble came upon the\ndiscontented young Queen.  She had no children.  She longed so\ngrievously to have a little baby that sometimes she almost forgot her\nother causes for complaint and left off looking out for the signs of the\nwinter's approach in the melancholy way she was wont to do.  So that one\nday late in the autumn she actually forgot her terror of the cold so far\nas to remain out walking in the grounds of the palace, though the snow\nclouds were gathering thick and heavy overhead.\n\nShe was alone.  For sometimes in her saddest moods she could bear no\none, not even the most faithful of her ladies, near her.\n\n\"If only I had a little baby, a dear little baby of my own, I would\nnever complain of anything again.\"\n\nNo doubt she quite meant what she said.  And I must say if her only\ncomplaints had been of the cold northern winter, I could indeed find it\nin my heart to pity her--not that I have any experience of them myself\n(and the bird gave a little shiver), but I can imagine how terrible they\nmust be.  Indeed the friend from whom I have this story has often\ndescribed his sufferings to me, one year when he was belated in the\nnorth, owing to an injured wing.  That is how he came to know the story.\n\nAs the Queen uttered her wish, she raised her eyes upwards, and was\nstartled to see some snowflakes already falling; she turned to hasten\nindoors, exclaiming as she went:\n\n\"To think that winter is upon us already; I shall no longer have even\nthe small pleasure of a stroll in the garden.  But if I had a little\nbaby to play with and care for, even the dreary winter would not seem\nlong.  Everything would be bright and sunshiny to me.\"\n\n\"Are you sure of that?\" said a voice beside her, and glancing up the\nQueen saw a lovely figure.  It was that of a beautiful woman, with\ngolden hair wreathed with flowers.  But her face was somewhat pale and\nshe drew round her a mantle of russet brown as if to protect her from\nthe cold.\n\n\"I am the Spirit of the Summer,\" she said.  \"I knew you well in your\nchildhood in the south, and here too I have watched you, though you did\nnot know it.  Your wish shall be fulfilled.  When I return to my\nnorthern home, I will bring you the child you are longing for.  But\nremember, the gift will lead to no lasting happiness unless you overcome\nyour habit of discontent.  For I can only do my part.  My brother, the\npowerful Spirit of the Winter, though good and true and faithful, is\nstern and severe.  He has heard your murmurings already, and if, when\nyour great wish is granted, you still continue them, I tremble for the\nfate of your child.\"\n\nThe Queen could hardly speak, so overcome was she with delight.\n\n\"Thank you, oh, thank you, sweet spirit,\" she said.  \"I will indeed take\nheed for the future and never murmur again.\"\n\n\"I trust so,\" replied the fairy, \"for listen what will happen if you\nforget your resolution.  The slightest touch of snow would, in that\ncase, put the baby into my stern brother's power, and you would find\nyourself terribly punished.  Beware, therefore!  Now I must hasten away.\nI have lingered too long this year, and though my brother and I work\ntogether and trust each other, he brooks no interference.\"  And as she\nsaid this, the gracious figure seemed to disappear in a rosy haze, and\nalmost at the same moment a cold blast, driving the snowflakes before\nit, came with a rush from behind where the young Queen stood, almost\nlifting her from her feet.\n\n\"That must surely be the Spirit of the Winter himself,\" she thought as\nshe hurried indoors.\n\nBut her cheeks were rosy and her eyes bright.  It was whispered in the\npalace that evening that for the first time the young Queen had the\nbrave and fearless air of a true daughter of the north.  And that winter\nwas far the happiest that the King and his wife had yet spent.  Scarce a\nmurmur was heard to escape from the Queen's lips, and in her anxiety to\nwin the good-will of the Winter Spirit, she often went out sleighing and\njoined in the other amusements which hitherto she had refused to take\nany part in during the cold season.  More than once, even, she was heard\nto express admiration of the snow-covered mountains, or of the wonderful\nnorthern sunsets and clear star-bespangled skies.\n\nNevertheless, the return of the warm and sunny days was watched for by\nher most eagerly.  And the Summer Spirit was true to her promise.  On\nthe loveliest morning of all that year was born a baby Princess, the\nprettiest baby that ever was seen, with dark-blue eyes and little golden\ncurls all over her head.\n\n\"A true child of the summer,\" said the happy Queen.\n\n\"And strong to brave and enjoy the winter too, I trust,\" added the King.\n\"She must be a true Princess of the north, as her mother is fast\nbecoming, I hope,\" he went on with a smile.\n\nBut his words did not please the Queen, though they were so kindly\nmeant.  With the possession of the baby, though she was so overjoyed to\nhave her, the young Queen's wayward and dissatisfied spirit began to\nreturn.  She seemed to think the Princess was to be only hers, that the\nnation and even the King, who naturally felt they had a share in her,\nmust give way, in everything that concerned the child, to its mother's\nwill.  She was even displeased one day when she overheard some of her\nladies admiring the beautiful colour of the baby's hair and saying that\nit showed her a true daughter of the north.\n\n\"No such thing,\" said the Queen.\n\n\"It shows her a child of the sunshine and the summer.  My sweet Rose!\"\nfor so, to please the Queen, the baby had been named.\n\nOn the whole, however, while the summer lasted the Queen was too happy\nwith her baby to give way to any real murmuring, and once or twice when\nshe might perhaps have done so, there was wafted to her by the breeze\nthe sound of a gentle \"Beware!\" and she knew that the summer fairy was\nnear.\n\nSo for the first winter of the baby's life she was on her guard, and\nnothing went wrong, except now and then when the King reproached his\nwife with overcare of the child when the weather was at all severe.\n\n\"Do you wish to kill her?\" the Queen would reply, angrily.\n\n\"I wish to make her brave and hardy, like all the daughters of our\nrace,\" replied the King.\n\nBut not wishing to distress his wife, he said no more, reflecting that\nit would be time enough when the little girl could walk and run to\naccustom her to the keen and bracing air of the northern winter.\n\nBut in some strange, mysterious way, the princess, baby though she was,\nseemed to understand what her father felt about her.  It was noticed\nthat before she could speak at all, she would dance in her nurse's arms\nand stretch out her little hands with glee at the sight of the\nsnowflakes falling steadily.  And once or twice when a draught of the\nfrosty air blew upon her she laughed with delight, instead of shrinking\nor shivering.\n\nBut so well were the Queen's feelings understood that no one ventured to\ntell her of these clear signs that little Rose felt herself at home in\nthe land of the snow.\n\nCHAPTER EIGHT.\n\nTHE SUMMER PRINCESS--CONTINUED.\n\nThe winter passed and the summer came again--the second summer of the\nbaby's life.  She had grown like the flowers, and was as happy as the\nbutterflies.  Never was a sweeter or a merrier child.  The Queen\nidolised her, and the King loved her quite as dearly, though in a wiser\nway.  And that summer passed very happily.\n\nUnfortunately, however, the warm fine days came to an end unusually\nearly that year.  Many of the birds took flight for the south sooner\nthan their wont, and the flowers drooped and withered as if afraid of\nwhat was coming.\n\nThe Queen noticed these signs with a sinking heart.  Standing one chilly\nmorning at the palace windows, she watched the grey autumn sky and\nsighed deeply.\n\n\"Alas, alas!\" she said.  \"All the beauty and brightness are going\nagain.\"\n\nShe did not know that the King had entered the room, and was standing\nbehind her.\n\n\"Nay,\" he said, cheerfully.  \"You have no reason to feel so sad.  If you\nhave no other flower you have our little Rose, blooming as brightly in\nthe winter as in the warmth.\"\n\nHe meant it well, but it would have been wiser if he had said nothing.\nThe Queen turned towards him impatiently.\n\n\"It is not so,\" she said angrily.\n\n\"Rose is like me.  She loves the summer and the sunshine!  I do not\nbelieve she would live through your wretched northern winters but for my\nincessant care and constant watchfulness.  And the anxiety is too much\nfor me; it will wear me to death before she is grown up.  Indeed there\nare times when I almost regret that she ever was born.  The life in this\ncountry is but half a life.  Would that I had known it before I ever\ncame hither.\"\n\nIt was rarely, discontented and complaining though she was, that the\nQueen had so yielded to her temper.  The King was deeply hurt and\ndisappointed, and he left the room without speaking.  He was generally\nso kind and patient that this startled her, and brought her to her\nsenses.\n\n\"How wrong of me to grieve him so by my wild words,\" she thought,\npenitently.  \"And--\" A sudden horror came over her.  What had she been\nsaying?  What had she done?  And the fairy's warning returned to her\nmemory: \"If you forget your resolution, the slightest touch of snow will\nput the baby into my stern brother's power, and you will find yourself\nterribly punished.\"\n\nThe poor Queen shivered.  Already to her excited fancy, as she glanced\nat the sky, it seemed that the lurid grey which betokened snow was\ncoming over it.\n\n\"Oh, sweet Summer Spirit!\" she cried; \"forgive me and plead for me.\"\nBut a melancholy wail from the cold wind blowing through the trees in\nthe grounds of the palace was the only reply; the summer fairy was far\naway.\n\nThe sky cleared again later that day, and for some short time the cold\ndid not increase.  But it would be difficult to describe what the Queen\nwent through.  It was useless to hope that the winter would pass without\nsnow; for, so far north, such a thing had never been known.  Still, no\ndoubt, its coming appeared to be delayed, and the weather prophets felt\nsomewhat at fault.  The Queen began to breathe rather more freely again,\nin the hope that possibly her appeal to the Summer Spirit had, after\nall, been heard.  Every one had noticed her pale and anxious looks;\nevery one had noticed also how very gentle and uncomplaining she had\nbecome.  She was so eager to make all the amends she could, that one\nday, when the King remarked that he thought it very wrong for the\nPrincess to be so guarded from the open air as she had been lately, the\nQueen, though with fear and trembling, gave orders that the baby should\nbe taken out.\n\n\"I will accompany her myself,\" she said to the attendants; so the little\nPrincess was wrapped up in her costly furs and placed in her tiny\nchariot drawn by goats, the Queen walking beside her.\n\nThe little girl laughed with delight, and chattered in her baby way\nabout everything she saw.  She seemed like a little prisoner suddenly\nset at liberty; for the last few weeks had been spent by the poor little\nthing in rooms specially prepared, where no breath of the outer air\ncould find its way in.\n\n\"For who knows,\" thought the Queen, \"how some tiny flake of snow might\nbe wafted down the chimney, or through the slightest chink of the\nwindow.\"\n\nTo-day, in spite of her anxiety, the baby's happy face made her mother's\nheart feel lighter.\n\n\"Surely,\" she said to herself, \"it must be a sign that I am forgiven,\nand that all will yet be well.\"\n\nAnd to please her little daughter she took her farther than she had\nintended, even entering a little way into a pine wood skirting the\npalace grounds at one side, a favourite resort of hers in the summer.\n\nThe Princess's nurse picked up some fir-cones and gave them to the\nlittle girl, who threw them about in glee and called out for more.  They\nwere all so busy playing with her that they did not notice how, above\nthe heads of the tall fir-trees, the sky was growing dark and overcast,\ntill suddenly a strange, chill blast made the Queen gather her mantle\nround her and gaze up in alarm.\n\n\"We must hasten home,\" she said; \"it is growing so cold.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" said one of the ladies; \"it almost looks like--\" But the\nQueen interrupted her; she could not bear even the mention of the fatal\nword.\n\n\"Wrap up the Princess!\" she exclaimed.  \"Cover her over, face and all!\nNever mind if she cries!  My darling, we shall be home directly.  The\ncold wind would hurt you,\" added she to the little girl.\n\nThen they hurried back to the palace as quickly as the goats could be\npersuaded to go, even the Queen herself running fast to keep up with the\nlittle carriage.\n\nThey were within a short distance of the palace before any snow fell,\nthough it was clear to be seen that it was not far off; and the Queen\nwas beginning to breathe again more freely, when suddenly Princess Rose,\nwho had behaved beautifully till now, with a cry of baby mischief,\npushed away the shawl that was over her face, shouting with glee.  At\nthat very moment the first fluttering snowflakes began to fall.  The\nlittle Princess opened wide her eyes as she caught sight of them, and\nsmiled as if in greeting; and alas! before the terrified Queen had time\nto replace the covering the child had thrown off, one solitary flake\nalighted on her cheek, melting there into a tiny drop which looked like\na tear, though still the little Princess smiled.\n\nThe Queen seized the child in her arms, and, though her heart had almost\nceased beating with terror, rushed up the long flights of steps, all\nthrough the great halls and corridors like a mad creature, nor stopped\neven to draw breath till she had reached the Princess's apartments, and\nhad her safe in the rooms specially prepared for her during the winter.\n\nBut was she safe?  Was it not already too late?  With trembling dread\nthe Queen drew away the furs and shawls wrapped round the baby, almost\nexpecting to find her changed in some strange way, perhaps even dead;\nand it was with thankfulness that she saw that little Rose was still\nherself--sweet and smiling in her sleep.  For she was fast asleep.\n\n\"The darling, the precious angel,\" thought the poor mother as she laid\nher in her little cot, just as the ladies, and nurses, and all the\nattendants came trooping into the room.  \"She is only asleep,\" said the\nQueen, in a whisper.\n\n\"Nothing has happened to her--she is sleeping sweetly.\"\n\nThe ladies stared--the Queen's behaviour had been so strange they could\nnot understand her.\n\n\"It is a pity to be so anxious about the child,\" they said to each\nother.  \"It will bring no blessing,\" for they thought it all came from\nthe Queen's foolish terror lest the little Princess should catch cold,\nand they shook their heads.\n\nBut the Queen seemed full of thankfulness, very gentle, and subdued.\nMany times that afternoon she came back to see if little Rose was well--\nthe baby looked a picture of health, but--she was still sleeping.\n\n\"The fresh keen air has made her drowsy, I suppose,\" said the head\nnurse, late in the evening when the Queen returned again.\n\n\"And she has had nothing to eat since the middle of the day,\" said the\nmother, anxiously.  \"I almost think if she does not wake of herself in\nan hour or so, you will have to rouse her.\"\n\nTo this the nurse agreed.  But two hours later, on the Queen's next\nvisit to the nursery, there was a strange report to give her.  The nurse\nhad tried to wake the baby, but it was all in vain.  Little Rose just\nsmiled sweetly and rolled over on her other side, without attempting in\nthe least to open her eyes.  It seemed cruel to disturb her.  She was so\nvery sleepy.\n\n\"I think we must let the Princess have her sleep out--children are like\nthat sometimes,\" said the nurse.\n\nAnd the Queen was forced to agree to it, though she had a strange\nsinking at the heart, and even the King when he came to look at his\nlittle daughter felt uneasy, though he tried to speak cheerfully.\n\n\"No doubt she will awake in the morning quite bright and merry,\" he\nsaid,--\"all the brighter and merrier for sleeping a good round and a\nhalf of the clock.\"\n\nThe morning dawned--the slow-coming winter daylight of the north found\nits way into the Princess's nursery through the one thickly glazed\nwindow--a tiny gleam of ruddy sunshine even managed to creep in to kiss\nher dimpled cheek, but still the baby slept--as soundly as if the night\nwas only beginning.  And matters grew serious.\n\nIt was no use trying to wake her.  They all did their best--King, Queen,\nladies, nurses; and after them the great court physicians and learned\nmen of every kind.  All were summoned and all consulted, and as the days\nwent on, a hundred different things were tried.  They held the strongest\nsmelling salts to her poor little nostrils; the baby only drew up her\nsmall nose the least bit in the world and turned over again with a tiny\nsnore.  They rang the bells, they had the loudest German bands to be\nfound far or near to play all at once in her room; they fetched all the\npet dogs in the neighbourhood and set them snarling and snapping at each\nother close beside her; as a last resource they lifted her out of bed\nand plunged her into a cold bath--she did not even shiver!\n\nAnd with tears rolling down their faces, the Queen and the ladies and\nthe nurses wrapped her up again and put her back cosily to bed, where\nshe seemed as contented as ever, while they all sat down together to\nhave a good cry, which, sad to say, was of no use at all.\n\n\"She is bewitched,\" said the cleverest of all the doctors, and as time\nwent on, everybody began to agree with him.  Even the King himself was\nobliged to think something of the kind must be at the bottom of it, and\nat last one day the Queen, unable to endure her remorse any longer, told\nhim the whole story, entreating him to forgive her for having by her\ndiscontent and murmuring brought upon him so great a sorrow.\n\nThe King was very kind but very grave.\n\n\"I understand it now,\" he said.  \"The summer fairy told you true.  Our\nnorthern Winter Spirit is indeed stern and implacable; we must submit--\nif we are patient and resigned it is possible that in the future even\nhis cold heart may be melted by the sight of our suffering.\"\n\n\"It is only I who deserve it,\" wept the poor Queen.  \"The worst part of\nit all is to know that I have brought this sorrow upon you, my dear\nhusband.\"\n\nAnd so repentant was she that she almost forgot to think of herself--\nnever had she been so sweet and loving a wife.  She did everything she\npossibly could to please and cheer the King, concealing from him the\nmany bitter tears she shed as she sat for hours together beside the\nsleeping child.\n\nThe winter was terribly severe--never had the snow lain more thickly,\nnever had the wind-blasts raged and howled more furiously.  Often did\nthe Queen think to herself that the storm spirits must be infuriated at\nher very presence in their special domain.\n\n\"They might pity me now,\" she thought, \"now that I am so punished;\" but\nshe bore all the winter cold and terrors uncomplainingly, nay, even\ncheerfully, nerving herself to go out alone in the bitterest weather\nwith a sort of hope of pleasing the winter fairy; possibly if she could\nbut see him, of making an appeal to him.  But for many months he held\nhis icy sway--often indeed it seemed as if gentler times were never to\nreturn.\n\nThen suddenly one night the frost went; a mild soft breeze replaced the\nfierce blast; spring had come.  And wonderful to relate, the very next\nmorning the Queen was roused by loud knockings and voices at her door;\ntrembling, she knew not why, she opened it; and the head nurse fell at\nher feet laughing and crying at once.  The Princess had awakened!\n\nYes; there she was, chattering in her baby way, smiling and rosy, as if\nnothing had been the matter.  She held out her arms to her mother,\ncalling \"Mamma,\" in the most delightful way; she knew her father again\nquite well; she was very hungry for her breakfast.  Oh! the joy of her\nparents, and the jubilation all through the palace!  I could not\ndescribe it.\n\nAnd all through the summer little Rose was wide awake, in the day-time\nthat is to say, just like other children.  She was as well and strong\nand happy as a baby could be.  But--the summer will not last for ever;\nagain returned the autumn bringing with it the signs of the approaching\nwinter, and one morning when her nurse went to awaken the Princess, she\nfound it was no use--Rose was sleeping again, with a smile on her face,\ncalm and content, but alas! not to be awakened!  And then it was\nremembered that the first snow had fallen during the night.\n\nMore to satisfy the Queen than with the hope of its doing any good, all\nthe efforts of the year before were repeated, but with no success.  And\ngradually the child's distressed parents resigned themselves to the sad\ntruth: their daughter was to be theirs only for half her life; for full\nsix months out of every twelve, she was to be in a sense as far away\nfrom them as if the winter monarch had carried her off to his palace of\nice altogether.\n\nBut no; it was not quite so bad as that would have been.  And the Queen,\nwho was fast learning to count her blessings instead of her troubles,\nsmiled through her tears as she said to the King what a mercy it was\nthat they were still able to watch beside their precious child--to kiss\nher soft warm cheek every morning and every night.\n\nAnd so it went on.  In the spring the Princess woke up again, bright and\nwell and lively, and in every way six months older than when she had\nfallen asleep; so that, to see her in the summer time, no one could have\nguessed the strange spell that was over her.  She became the sweetest\nand most charming girl in the world; only one thing ever saddened her,\nand that was any mention of the winter, especially of snow.\n\n\"What does it mean?\" she would ask sometimes.  \"What are they talking\nof?  Show me this wonderful thing!  Where does it grow?  I want to see\nit.\"\n\nBut no one could make her understand; and at these times a very strange\nlook would come into her blue eyes.\n\n\"I must see it,\" she said.  \"Some day I shall go away and travel far,\nfar, till I find it.\"\n\nThese words used to distress her mother more, than she could say; and\nshe would shower presents and treasures on her daughter, of flowers and\nsinging-birds, and lovely embroidered dresses--all to make her think of\nthe sunshine and the summer.  And for the time they would please the\ngirl, till again she shook her head and murmured--\"I want the snow.\"\n\nSo the years followed each other, till Rose was sixteen.  Every winter\nthe Queen had a faint hope, which, however, grew ever fainter and\nfainter, that the spell was perhaps to be broken.  But it was not so.\nAnd strange stories got about concerning the Princess--some saying she\nwas a witch in disguise; others that she had no heart or understanding;\nothers that she turned into a bird or some animal during half her life--\nso that the neighbouring Princes, in spite of her beauty and sweetness,\nwere afraid to ask her in marriage.  And this brought new sorrow to her\nparents.  For she was their only child.\n\n\"What will become of her after we are dead and gone?\" they said.  \"Who\nwill care for and protect our darling?  Who will help her to rule over\nour nation?  No people will remain faithful to a sovereign who is only\nawake half the year.  There will be revolts and rebellion, and our angel\nRose may perhaps be put to death, or driven away.\"\n\nAnd they fretted so over this, that the hair of both King and Queen grew\nwhite long before its time.  But Rose only loved them the more on this\naccount, for she had heard some one say that white hair was like snow;\nthough she kept the fancy to herself, for she knew it troubled the Queen\nif ever she mentioned the strange, mysterious word.\n\nShe was so lovely that painters came from many countries just to see her\nface, and, if possible, be allowed to make a picture of her.  And one of\nthese portraits found its way to the court of a King who was a distant\ncousin of her father, and who had heard the strange things said of the\nPrincess.  He was very angry about it, for he had two sons, and he was\nafraid of their falling in love with the beautiful face.  So he ordered\nthe picture to be destroyed before the elder Prince, who was away on a\nvisit, came home.\n\nBut the servant who was to burn the picture thought it such a pity to do\nso, that he only hid it away in a lumber-room; and thither, as fate\nwould have it, came the younger Prince one day in search of a pet kitten\nof his sister's which had strayed away; for he was a Prince of a most\nkind and amiable nature.\n\nThe moment he saw the picture he fell in love with it.  He made inquiry,\nand heard all there was to tell.  Then he arrayed himself for a journey,\nand came to bid his father farewell.\n\n\"I go,\" he said, \"to woo the Princess Rose for my bride.\"  And in spite\nof all the king could say he kept firm.\n\n\"If she is a witch,\" he said, \"I would rather perish by her hands than\nlive with any other.\"\n\nAnd amidst tears and lamentations he set out.\n\nHe was received with great delight at the court of Princess Rose's\nparents, though he came without any pomp or display; for he lost no time\nin telling the King and Queen the reason of his visit.  Knowing him to\nbe a Prince of most estimable character, they were overjoyed to hear of\nhis resolve.\n\n\"I only trust,\" said the Queen, \"that all may go well.  But, as you have\ndoubtless heard, our darling child, despite her beauty and goodness, is\nunder a strange spell.\"\n\nShe then proceeded to tell him the whole matter, of which he had already\nheard garbled accounts.\n\nHe was relieved to find that the enchantment was of no worse a nature,\nand declared that it made no difference in his intentions, but rather\nincreased his love for the Princess.  And when he first set eyes on her\n(more beautiful by far than even the beautiful portrait), he felt that\nhis whole life would not be too much to devote to her, even considering\nher strange affliction.\n\n\"And who knows,\" he said to himself, \"but that such love as mine may\nfind out a way to release her from the spell?\"\n\nThe Princess quickly learned to like him.  She had never before had a\ncompanion so near her own age, and the last days of the summer passed\nmost happily, till the time came when the Prince thought he might\nventure to ask her to be his wife.\n\nThey were walking on the terrace in front of the castle when he did so.\nIt had been a lovely day, but the afternoon had grown chilly; and as the\nPrincess listened to his words, a cold breath of wind passed near them.\n\nThe Princess started; and, aware of the Queen's anxiety about her, the\nPrince hastily proposed that they should return to the house; but Rose\nlooked at him with a light in her eyes which he had never before seen,\nand a strange smile broke over her face.\n\n\"It is new life to me,\" she said.\n\n\"Can you not understand, you who are yourself a child of the north?\nYes, Prince, I will marry you on one condition, that you will show me\nthe snow--but on no other.\"\n\nThen she turned, and, without another word, walked slowly back to the\npalace.\n\nPrince Orso, for so he was called, felt terribly distressed.\n\n\"The spell is upon her,\" he thought to himself.  \"She asks me to do what\nwould probably kill her, or separate her for ever from all who love\nher.\"  And the King and Queen, when they heard his story, were nearly as\ndisappointed as he.\n\nBut that very night the Prince had a strange dream.  He thought he was\nwalking in the wood near the castle, when again a chill blast, but still\nmore icy, swept past him, and he heard a voice speaking to him.  It\nsounded hoarse and stern.\n\n\"Orso,\" it said, \"you're as foolish as the rest.  Have you no trust?\nSee what came of rebellion against me, who, after all, love my many\nchildren as dearly as does my sister of the summer.  Leave the Princess\nto the leadings of her own heart, and dare not to interfere.\"\n\nThen with a crash as of thunder the spirit went on his way.  And the\nPrince awoke to find that the window of his room had been dashed in by\nthe force of a sudden gale which had arisen.\n\nBut the next morning all was again calm.  It almost seemed as if the\nmilder weather was returning again; and the Queen looked brighter; but\nit was not so with the Princess, who was silent and almost sad.  And so\nthings continued for some days.\n\nAt last the Prince could bear it no longer.  One afternoon when he found\nhimself alone with the Princess, he turned to her suddenly.\n\n\"Princess,\" he said, \"can you not give me another answer?  You must know\nthat I would fain promise anything you wish; but I dare not bind myself\nto what might perhaps do you some injury.\"\n\nRose turned towards him impatiently.\n\n\"That is just it,\" she said.  \"I am always met by excuses when I ask for\nthe one thing I really desire.  What is there about me different from\nothers?  Why should I so often hear of what others seem to understand,\nand not have it explained to me?  I am no longer a child; in my dreams I\nsee things I cannot put in words; and beautiful as the world is, I feel\nthat I only half know it.  I long for what they call the winter, and\nwhat they call the snow, and they never come.  Only the cold wind, which\nI have felt once or twice, brings new life to me, and fills me with\nstrange joy.\"\n\nThe Prince hesitated.  He understood her perfectly, for he was himself\nof the same brave and hardy race.  Yet the Queen's forebodings made him\ntremble.  The Princess's words reminded him of his own dream; and again\nhe felt as if he heard the voice of the stern Winter Spirit.  And as if\nin answer to his uncertainty, at that moment the howl of the cold blast\nsounded near them among the trees, and lurid clouds began to gather\noverhead.\n\nThe Princess's face lighted up.\n\n\"Ah,\" she exclaimed, \"it is coming again!\"\n\n\"I fear so indeed,\" said Orso; and in his terror for her he caught her\nhand and would have hurried her back to the palace.\n\nBut at that moment a shrill little cry was heard overhead not far from\nwhere they stood, and glancing up they saw a bird of prey clutching a\nsmaller one in his claws.  With a terrible effort the captive managed to\nfree himself, but he was sadly wounded; and as Rose gazed upwards in\ngreat concern, she saw him fall fluttering feebly to the ground.  All\nelse was forgotten in the sight.\n\n\"Poor bird,\" she cried.  \"Let me go, Prince; I must find him where he\nhas fallen, or a cruel death of slow suffering will be his.\"\n\nThe Prince loosed her hand; he dared not hold her back, though he could\nhave done so.\n\n\"Leave her to the guidings of her own heart,\" resounded in his ears.\n\nAlmost at once she was lost to his sight among the trees which grew very\nclosely; almost at the same moment, to his horror, something cold and\nsoft touched his face, and lifting his eyes, he saw that the snowflakes\nwere falling thickly.  If harm was to betide, it was too late to save\nher; but he pressed forward in unspeakable anxiety.\n\nIt was some little time before he found her; and no reply came to his\ncalls; but at last he caught sight of something blue on the ground.  It\nwas the Princess's robe; and there, indeed, she lay motionless--her eyes\nclosed, a sweet smile on her face, the little wounded bird tenderly\nclasped in her hands.\n\nAnd now I may tell you that this wounded bird was the friend from whom I\nhad the story; for, as you will hear, he had plenty of opportunity of\nlearning it all.\n\nOrso threw himself on the ground beside the Princess.\n\n\"Ah,\" he exclaimed, \"my carelessness has killed her.  How can I ever\ndare to face the King and Queen?  Oh!  Winter Spirit, you have indeed\ndeceived me.\"\n\nBut as he said the words the Princess opened her eyes.\n\n\"No, Prince,\" she said.  \"I am not dead.  I am not even asleep.  It was\nthe strange gladness that seemed to take away my breath for a moment,\nand I must have sunk down without knowing.  But now I feel stronger and\nhappier than ever in my life before, now that I have seen and felt the\nbeautiful snow of my own country, now that I have breathed the winter\nair I have been longing for always,\" and she sprang to her feet, her\nblue eyes sparkling with delight, looking lovelier than he had ever seen\nher.\n\n\"Orso,\" she went on, half shyly, \"you have done what I asked you;\nthrough you I have seen the snow,\" and she held out her hand, which,\nwhite though it was, looked pink in comparison with the little flakes\nwhich were fluttering down on it.\n\nThe Prince was overjoyed, but he hesitated.\n\n\"I fear,\" he said, \"that in reality you should rather thank the poor\nlittle bird, or most of all your own kind heart.\"\n\n\"Poor little bird,\" she replied, looking at it as it lay in her other\nhand.  \"It is not dead.  I will do all I can for it!  Let us hasten\nhome, Prince, so that I may bind up its poor wing.  My father and mother\ntoo will be anxious about me.\"\n\nAnd together they returned to the palace.  One glance at the Princess as\nshe came in sprinkled over with snow showed the Queen that the spell was\nat last broken.  And her joy was past all words.\n\nMy friend recovered slowly.  He spent all the winter in the palace,\ntenderly cared for by the Princess Rose, only flying away when the warm\nsunny days returned.  He pays them a visit still every summer to show\nhis gratitude, and tells me that in all his travels he seldom sees a\nhappier family than his friends in the old palace away up in the far,\nfar northern land.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the children, \"Thank you, oh so much!\"  But whether\nthe bird heard them or not they could not tell--he had already flown\naway.\n\nCHAPTER NINE.\n\nTHE CHRISTMAS SURPRISE.\n\nFor some days the story of the bewitched Princess gave Rafe and Alix\nenough to talk about, and to play at too, for they invented a game in\nwhich Alix was supposed to fall into an enchanted sleep if Rafe\nsucceeded in touching her with a branch of leaves, which represented\nsnowflakes; and as she was a very quick runner it was not so easy as it\nsounds.\n\nBesides, by this time the Easter holidays were over and lessons had\nbegun again.  The children had not _too_ many lessons, however, and\nalways a good part of the afternoon to themselves, and they remained\nfaithful to the old garden as their favourite playground.  So some hours\nof every day--of every fine day at least--were spent there, and though\nthey had not seen the old caretaker a second time, nor ever managed to\nfind the concealed door in the rough stone wall again, hunt for it as\nthey would, still they had sometimes a queer, mysterious, pleasant\nfeeling that she knew about them--knew they were there, and was perhaps\neven peeping out at them through some hidden hole.\n\nIt would have been a great sorrow to them if they had had to give up\ntheir visits to the garden.  But fortunately their nurse rather approved\nof their playing there.  There was something that brought good luck with\nit about the Lady wood grounds.  No ill-chance ever happened to them\nthere, no tumbles or sprained ankles, or torn clothes, or such not\nuncommon misfortunes when children are by themselves.  Best of all, they\nalmost never quarrelled when in the old garden, and perhaps _that_ had a\ngood deal to do with the keeping clear of other troubles.\n\nThey were growing \"quite to be trusted,\" nurse told their mother, and it\nscarcely seemed needful for them to go regular walks now, which nurse\nwas very glad of, as it left her free to get on nicely with all the\nneedlework, in which--next to a baby, and there had been no new baby\nsince Alix--her heart delighted.\n\nSo the discovery of the pleasures of the deserted manor suited\neverybody.\n\nBut after a while, the children began to think it was time to have\nanother story, and to wonder if their old friend had forgotten them, or\npossibly gone away.  There was no use hunting any more for the hidden\ndoor; they had hurt their fingers and tired themselves to no purpose in\ndoing so already.  And at last they came to the conclusion that if Mrs\nCaretaker didn't want them to find it, it was no use trying, and that if\nshe _did_, she would soon find ways and means of fetching them.\n\n\"Unless, of course,\" said Alix, \"she has gone.  Perhaps she's like the\nbirds, you know--only turned the other way.  I mean perhaps she goes off\nin the summer, once she's started everything, and all the plants and\nthings _are_ growing beautifully now, in their wild way.  You see she's\nnot like a regular trim gardener--she doesn't want them to grow all\nproperly like you can see anywhere.\"\n\n\"Still she must take great care of them somehow,\" said Rafe\nthoughtfully, \"for you know people often notice how few weeds there are\nabout Ladywood, and in full summer the wild flowers are quite wonderful.\nAnd the birds--it's always here the nightingales are heard the best.\"\n\nAlix looked up.  They were sitting in their favourite place, at the foot\nof some very tall trees.\n\n\"If we'd had any sense,\" she said, \"we might almost have seen for\nourselves long ago that there was something fairy about the place, even\nbefore the wren led us here.\"\n\nThe mention of the wren made her remember something she had noticed.\n\n\"Rafe,\" she went on, \"do you know I've seen a little robin hopping about\nus the last day or two, and chirping in a _talking_ sort of way.  I\nforgot to tell you.  I wonder if he has anything to say to us, for you\nknow there were _two_ birds that wanted to tell us stories.\"\n\n\"Per--\" began Rafe in his slow fashion.\n\nBut before he had time to get to \"haps\" his sister caught hold of his\narm.\n\n\"Hush!\" she whispered, \"there he is.\"\n\nYes, there he was, and \"he\" _was_ a robin.\n\nHe hopped about in front of them for a minute or two, now and then\ncocking his head on one side and looking at them over his shoulder, as\nit were, as if to see whether he had caught their attention.  Then he\nflew up a little way, and settled himself on a branch not far from them,\nwith a peculiar little chirp.\n\n\"I believe,\" said Alix, still in a whisper, \"I believe he wants us to\nspeak to him.\"\n\n\"Try,\" replied Rafe.\n\n\"Robin,\" said Alix, clearly though softly, \"robin, have you come to see\nus?  Have you got a message for us from Mrs Caretaker, perhaps?\"\n\nThe bird looked at her reproachfully.  I don't know that she could see\nit was _reproachfully_, but from the way he held his head it was plain\nto any one that he was not altogether pleased.\n\nThen came a succession of chirps, and gradually, just as had happened\nbefore, by dint of listening very attentively and keeping quite, quite\nquiet, bits of words and then words themselves began to grow out of the\nchirping.  To tell the truth, if any one had passed that way, he or she\nwould have imagined Rafe and Alix were asleep.  For there they sat, like\na picture of the babes in the wood--Alix's head resting on her brother's\nshoulder, and his arm thrown round her--_quite_ motionless.  But they\nweren't asleep, of course, for their two pairs of eyes were fixed on the\nlittle red-breasted fellow up above them.\n\n\"So you had forgotten all about me,\" in a melancholy tone, quite unlike\na cheery little robin.  \"I gave up to that other fellow and let him tell\nhis story first.  I suppose you don't care to hear mine.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear robin, of course we do,\" said Alix.  \"But you see we didn't\nunderstand.\"\n\n\"I've been following you about all these days.  I'm sure you might have\nseen me, and I've been asking you over and over again if you didn't want\nto listen.\"\n\n\"But you see, dear robin, we couldn't understand what you said.  It\ntakes a good while to get used to--to your way of speaking, you know,\"\nsaid Alix.  She was desperately afraid of hurting his feelings still\nmore.\n\n\"I am afraid that is not the real reason.  You think a robin's story is\nsure to be stupid.  You see I am not one of those fine travelled\nfellows--the swallows and the martins, and all the rest of them--who\nspend the winter in the south and know such a lot of the world.  I'm\nonly a home bird.  Here I was hatched and here I have lived, and mean to\nlive till I die.  It's quite true that my story is a very stupid one.\nI've made no fine acquaintances such as kings and queens and princesses,\nand I've never visited at court, north or south either, so you know what\nyou have to expect.\"\n\nHe seemed rather depressed, but less offended than he had been.\n\n\"Please begin,\" said Rafe.  \"I'm sure we shall like your story.  We\ndon't want always to hear the same kind.\"  The robin cleared his throat.\n\n\"Such as it is,\" he began, \"I can vouch for the truth of it, as it\nhappened to be my own self.  I didn't `have it' from any one else.  And\nin my own mind I have given it the name of `The Christmas Surprise.'\"\n\nAnd after he had cleared his throat again for the last time, he went\nstraight on.\n\n\"I have often noticed,\" he began, \"that whatever we have not got,\nwhatever is not ours or with us at the present moment, is the thing we\nprize the most.  This applies both to birds and human beings, and it is\noften the case about the seasons of the year.  There is a great charm\nabout absence.  In the winter we are always looking forward to the\nspring and the summer; in the hot summer we think of the cool shady days\nof autumn, of the cheerful fires and merry doings that come with\nChristmas.  I am speaking especially of men and women and children just\nnow, but there is a good deal of the same kind of thing among us birds,\nthough you mightn't think it.  And of all birds, I think we robins have\nthe most sympathy with human folk.  We really love Christmas time; it is\ngratifying to know how much we are thought of at that season--how our\nportraits are sent about by one friend to another, how our figures are\nplaced on your Christmas trees, and how every one thinks of us with\nkindness.  And except by _very_ thoughtless people we are generally\ncared for well.  During a hard winter it is seldom that our wants are\nforgotten.  I myself,\" and here he plumed himself importantly, \"I myself\nhave been most fortunate in this respect.  There are at least a dozen\nhouses within easy flight of Ladywood where I am always sure of a good\nbreakfast of crumbs.\"\n\n\"But,\" began Alix, rather timidly, \"please don't mind my interrupting\nyou, but doesn't Mrs Caretaker look after you?  I thought that was what\nshe was here for, to take care of all the living creatures in this\ngarden.\"\n\n\"Exactly so, exactly so,\" said the robin, hastily, \"far be it from me to\nmake any complaint.  I would not change my home for the garden of a\npalace.  But, as I have said, I think we robins have much sympathy with\nyour race.  Human beings interest me extremely.  I like to study their\ncharacters.  So I go about in my own part of the country a good deal,\nand thus I know the ways of many of my wingless neighbours pretty\nintimately.  Thus comes it that I have stories to tell, all from my own\nobservation, you see.  Well, as I was remarking, we often love to dwell\nin fancy on what is not ours at present, so as it is really like a\nsummer day, quite hot for the time of year, I daresay it will amuse you\nto transport your thoughts to Christmas time.  Most of my human stories\nbelong to that season, for it is then we have so much to do with you.\nThe Christmas of which I am going to tell you was what is called an\n`old-fashioned one,'--though it strikes me that snowy, frosty, very cold\nChristmases are fast becoming new-fashioned again--ah, it _was_ cold!  I\nwas a young bird then; it was my first experience of frost and snow, and\nin spite of my feathers I did shiver, I can tell you.  Still I enjoyed\nit; I was strong and hearty, and I began to make acquaintance with the\nhouses in the neighbourhood, at several of which one was pretty sure of\na breakfast in front of some window.\n\n\"There was a very large house which had been shut up for some time, as\nthe owners were abroad.  It had a charming terrace in front, and my\nfriends and I often regretted that it was not inhabited.  For the\nterrace faced south and all the sunshine going was sure to be found\nthere, and it would have been a pleasant resort for us.  And one morning\nour wishes were fulfilled.  I met a cousin of mine flying off in great\nexcitement.\n\n\"`The Manor House is open again,' he told me.  `Come quickly.  Through\nthe windows on to the terrace, fires are to be seen in all the rooms,\nand they are evidently preparing for a merry Christmas.  No doubt they\nwill not forget us, but it is as well to remind them that we should be\nglad of some crumbs.'\n\n\"I flew off with him, and found it just as he had said.  The house had\nquite a different appearance; it looked bright and cheery, and in one\nroom a large party was assembled at breakfast.  We--for several of us\nwere there--hopped up and down the terrace for some little time, but no\nnotice was taken of us.  So one by one my companions flew away,\nremarking that it was no use wasting their time; they would look in\nagain some other day when perhaps the new-comers would have thought of\nthem.  But I remained behind; I was not very busy, being a young bird,\nand I felt a wish to see something of the family who had been so long\nabsent, for I am of what some people call a `curious' disposition; I\nmyself should rather describe it as observant and thoughtful.\n\n\"I perched close beside the dining-room window and peeped in.  There\nwere several grown-up people, but only two children; two little girls,\nvery prettily dressed, but thin and pale, and with a somewhat\ndiscontented expression of face.  After a while, when the meal was over\nand all had risen from the table, the children came to the window with a\nyoung lady and stood looking out.\n\n\"Oh, how cold it is,\" said one of them shivering, \"I wish papa and mamma\nhad not come back to England.  I liked India much better.\"\n\n\"So did I,\" said the other little girl.  \"I don't want to go a walk when\nit's so cold.  Need we go, Miss Meadows?  And yet I don't know what to\ndo in the house.  I'm tired of all our toys.  We shall have new ones\nnext week when Christmas Day comes; that's a good thing.\"\n\nThe young lady they called Miss Meadows looked rather troubled.  In her\nheart she thought the children had far too many toys already, and she\nfelt sure they would get tired of the new ones before they had had them\nlong.\n\n\"I don't care much for Christmas except for the toys,\" said the first\nlittle girl.  \"Do you, Miss Meadows?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed I do, Norna dear,\" she said.  \"And I think in your heart\nyou really care for it too--and Ivy also.  You both know _why_ it should\nbe so cared for.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; in that sort of a way, I know it would be naughty not to care\nfor it,\" said Norna, looking a little ashamed.  \"But it's different when\nyou've lived in England, I suppose.  Mamma has told us stories of\nChristmas when she was little, that sounded very nice--all about carols,\nand lots of cousins playing together, and presents, and school feasts.\nBut we haven't any cousins to play with.  Had you, Miss Meadows, at your\nown home?\"\n\nMiss Meadows' eyes looked rather odd for a moment.  She turned away for\nhalf an instant and then she seemed all right again.\n\n\"I had lots of brothers and sisters,\" she said, \"and that's even better\nthan cousins.\"\n\nIt was her first Christmas away from home, and she had only been a few\ndays with Norna and Ivy.\n\n\"I wish we had!\" sighed Norna, who always wanted what she had not got.\n\n\"But surely there are some things you can have that would cheer you up,\"\nsaid Miss Meadows.  \"Perhaps it is too soon to settle about school\nfeasts just yet, but have you no presents to get ready for any one?\"\n\n\"No,\" sighed Ivy.  \"Mamma has everything she wants; and so have we.\nIt's rubbish giving each other presents just to say they're presents.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Miss Meadows.  \"I think it is.  But--\"\n\nShe said no more, for just then Ivy touched her, and whispered softly,--\n\n\"I do believe there's a real little robin redbreast.  Don't let's\nfrighten him away.\"\n\nThe child's eyes sparkled with pleasure; she looked quite different.\n\n\"It's the first _real_ one we've ever seen,\" said she and Norna\ntogether.\n\n\"Poor little man!\" said their governess; \"he must be hungry to be so\ntame.  Let us throw crumbs every morning, children.  I am sure your\nmamma won't mind.  This terrace is a splendid place.\"\n\nThe idea pleased them mightily.  I hid myself in the ivy for a few\nmoments, and when I came out again, there was a delightful spread all\nready.  So I flew down and began to profit by it, expressing my thanks,\nof course, in a well-bred manner.  The window was still open, and I\nheard some words that Miss Meadows murmured to herself:\n\n\"I wish I could find out some little service for others that they could\ndo, even this first Christmas,\" she said.\n\n\"They would be so much happier, poor little things!  Dear robin, I am\neven grateful to you for making me think of throwing out crumbs.\"\n\nShe looked so sweet that my heart warmed to her, and I wished I could\nhelp her.  And at that moment an idea struck me.  You will soon hear\nwhat it was.\n\nI had another visit to pay that morning; indeed I had been on my way to\ndo so when the exciting news about the Manor House attracted me thither.\nBut now I flew off, to the little home where I was always welcome.  It\nwas a very small cottage at the outskirts of the same village of which\nthe home of the newly-returned family was the great house.  In this\ncottage lived a couple and their two children--a boy and a girl.  They\nhad always been poor, but striving and thrifty, so that the little place\nlooked bright and comfortable though so bare, and the children tidy and\nrosy.  But now, alas! things had changed for the worse.  A bad accident\nto the father, who was a woodcutter, had entirely crippled him; and\nthough some help was given them, it was all the poor mother could do to\nkeep out of the workhouse.  I made a point of visiting the cottage every\nday; it cheered them up, and there were generally some crumbs for me.\nBut this morning--not that it mattered to me after my good breakfast at\nthe Manor House--there were none; and as I alighted on the sill of the\nlittle kitchen and looked in, everything was dull and cheerless.  No\nfire was lighted; the two children, Jem and Joyce, sat crouched together\non the settle by the empty grate as if to gain a little warmth from each\nother.  They looked blue and pinched, and scarcely awake; but when they\nsaw me at the window they brightened up a little.\n\n\"There's robin,\" said Joyce.  \"Poor robin! we've nothing for you this\nmorning.\"\n\nA small pane was broken in the window and pasted over with paper, but a\ncorner was torn, and so I could hear what they said.\n\n\"No indeed,\" said Jem; \"we've had nothing ourselves--not since yesterday\nat dinner time.  And it is so cold.\"\n\nI stood still on one leg, and chirped that I was very sorry.  I think\nthey understood me.\n\n\"Mother's gone to Farmer Bantry's,\" said Joyce, as if she was glad to\nhave some one--\"even a bird,\" some folk who know precious little about\nus would say--to tell her troubles to.  \"They're cleanin' up for\nChristmas, and she'll get a shilling and maybe some broken victuals, she\nsaid.  So we're tryin' to go to sleep again to make the time pass.\"\n\n\"There was two sixpences yesterday,\" said Jem, mournfully; \"and one\nwould 'a got some coal, and t'other some bread and tea.  But the doctor\nsaid as father must have somefin'--\" (Jem was only five and Joyce\neight)--\"queer stuff--I forget the name--to wunst.  So mother she went\nto the shop, and father's got the stuff, and he's asleep; but we've not\nhad nuffin'.\"\n\n\"And Christmas is coming next week, mother says,\" Joyce added.  \"Last\nChristmas we had new shoes, and meat for dinner.\"\n\nI was sadly grieved for them.  Joyce spoke in a dull, broken sort of\ntone that did not sound like a child.  But I hoped to serve them better\nthan by standing there repeating my regret; so, after a few more chirps\nof sympathy, I flew off.\n\n\"Robin doesn't care to stay,\" said Jem, dolefully.\n\nLater in the day I met the children's mother trudging home.  She looked\ntired; but she had a basket on her arm, so I hoped the farmer's wife had\ngiven them some scraps which would help them for the time.\n\nNow I had a plan in my head.  Late that afternoon, after flying all\nround the Manor House and peeping in at a great many windows, I perched\nin the ivy--there was ivy over a great part of the walls--just outside\none on the first floor.  It was the children's bedroom.  I waited\nanxiously, afraid that I might have no chance of getting in; but\nfortunately for me the fire smoked a little when it was lighted in the\nevening for the young ladies to be dressed by, and the nurse opened the\nwindow a tiny bit, so in I flew, very careful not to be seen, you may be\nsure.  I found a very cosy corner on the edge of a picture in a dark\npart of the room, and there I had time for a nap before Norna and Ivy\ncame to bed.  Then when all was silent for the night, I flew down and\ntook up my quarters on the rail at the head of Norna's bed; and when I\nhad spent an hour or so beside her, I gently fluttered across to her\nsister; and though I was chirping nearly all the time, my voice was so\nlow that no one entering the room would have noticed it; or if they had\ndone so, they would probably have thought it a drowsy cricket, half\naroused by the pleasant warmth of the fire.\n\nBut my chirping did more than soothe my little friends' slumbers (and\nhere the robin cocked his head afresh and looked very solemn).  Children\n(he said), human beings know very little about themselves.  You don't\nknow, for instance, anything at all about yourselves when you're asleep,\nor what dreams really are.  You speak of being \"sleepy,\" or half-asleep,\nas if it meant something very stupid; whereas, sometimes when you are\nwhole asleep, you are much wiser than when you are awake.  Now it is not\nmy business to teach you things you're perhaps not meant to understand\nat present, but this I can tell you--if I perched on your pillows at\nnight when you're asleep, and chirped in my own way to you, you'd have\nno difficulty in understanding me.  And this was what happened to the\ntwo little maidens a few nights before their first Christmas in England.\nThey thought they had had a wonderful dream--each of them separately,\nand they never knew that the robin who flew out of the window early in\nthe morning before any one noticed him, had had anything to do with it.\n\nI (for it was I myself, of course) perched again in the ivy beside the\ndining-room window, _partly_, I allow, with a view to breakfast; partly\nand principally to see what would happen.\n\nThey did not forget me--us, perhaps I should say, for several other\nbirds collected on the terrace, thanks to the news I had scattered\nabout--and as soon as those within had risen from table, Miss Meadows\nand her two little companions came to the window, which they opened, and\nthrew out a splendid plateful of crumbs.  It was not so cold this\nmorning.  I hopped close to them, for I wanted to hear what they were\nsaying as they stood by the open window-door, all the grown-up people\nhaving left the room.\n\nThe pale little faces looked bright and eager, and very full of\nsomething their owners were relating.\n\n\"Yes, Miss Meadows; it was quite wonderful.  Ivy dreamed it, and I\ndreamed it.  I believe it was a fairy dream.\"\n\n\"And please do let us try to find out if there are any poor children\nlike that near here,\" said Ivy.  \"I don't think there _could_ be; do\nyou, Miss Meadows?\"\n\nMiss Meadows shook her head.\n\n\"I'm afraid, dear, it is not uncommon in either town or country to find\nchildren quite as poor as those you dreamt of.  But when we go out a\nwalk to-day, we'll try and inquire a little.  It would be nice if you\ncould do something for other people even this first Christmas in\nEngland.\"\n\nShe looked quite bright and eager herself; and as the three started off\ndown the drive about an hour later, on their way to the village, I\nnoticed that they were all talking eagerly, and that Norna and Ivy were\ngiving little springs as they walked along one on each side of their\nkind governess; and I must confess I felt pleased to think I had had\nsome hand in this improvement.\n\nMiss Meadows had lived most of her life in the country, and she was\naccustomed to country ways.  So she meant to go to the village, and\nthere try to pick up a little information about any of the families who\nmight be very poor this Christmas time.  But I had no intention of\nletting them go so far--no indeed--I knew what I was about.\n\nThe cottage of my little friends, Joyce and Jem, was about half-way\nbetween the Manor House and the village, and the village was a good mile\nfrom the great house.  A lane led from the high road to the cottage.\nJust as the three reached the corner of the lane, Ivy gave a little cry.\n\n\"Miss Meadows, Norna,\" she said, \"there is the robin.  I'm sure it's our\nrobin.  Don't you think it is, Miss Meadows?\"\n\nThe governess smiled.\n\n\"There are a great many robins, Ivy dear.  It's not very likely it's the\nsame one.  We human beings are too stupid to tell the difference between\nbirds of the same kind, you see.\"\n\nBut, as _you_ know, Ivy was right.\n\n\"Do let's follow him a little way down the lane,\" she said.  \"He keeps\nhopping on and then looking back at us.  I wonder if his home is down\nhere.\"\n\nNo, it was not _my_ home, but it was my little friends' home; and soon I\nmanaged to bring the little party to a standstill before the cottage\ngate, where I had perched.\n\n\"What a nice cottage,\" said Norna; and so it looked at the first glance.\nBut in a moment or two she added: \"Oh, do look at that little girl; how\nvery thin and pale she is!\"\n\nIt was Joyce.  Miss Meadows called to her; and in her kind way soon got\nthe little girl to tell her something of their troubles.  Things were\neven worse with them to-day; for Jem's feet were so bad with chilblains\nthat he could not get about at all.  The governess satisfied herself\nthat there was no illness in the cottage that could hurt Norna and Ivy,\nand then they all went in to see poor Jem; and Miss Meadows went\nupstairs to speak to the bedridden father.  When she came down again her\nface looked very sad, but bright too.\n\n\"Children,\" she said, as soon as they were out on the road again, \"I\ndon't think we need go on to the village.  We have found what we were\nlooking for.\"\n\nThen she went on to tell them that she had left a message with the\nwoodcutter, asking his wife to come up to speak to her that evening at\nthe Manor House.\n\n\"I know your mamma won't mind,\" she said.  \"I will tell her all about it\nas soon as we get home.  She will like you to try to do something for\nthese poor children,\"--which was quite true.  The lady of the Manor was\nkind and gentle; only, you see, many years in India had got her out of\nEnglish ways.\n\nSo that evening, when the woodcutter's wife came up to the great house,\nthere was a grand consultation.  And for some days to come, for\nChristmas was very near, Ivy and Norna were so busy that they had no\ntime to grumble at the cold or to wish they were back in India, though\nthey did find time to skip and dance along the passages, and to sing\nverses of the carols Miss Meadows was teaching them.\n\nThings improved at the cottage from that day.  But it is about Christmas\nmorning I want to tell you.\n\nJoyce and Jem woke early--long before it was light--but they lay still\nand spoke in a whisper, not to wake their poor father or their tired\nmother.  There was no one to hear except a little robin, who had managed\nto creep in the night before.\n\n\"It's Christmas, Jem,\" said Joyce; \"and we shall have a nice fire.\nThey've sent mother some coals from the great house; and I _believe_\nwe're going to have meat for dinner.\"\n\nJem sighed with pleasure.  He could scarcely believe it.\n\n\"Shall we go to church like last Christmas, Joyce?\" he asked.  \"My boots\nis so drefful bad, I don't know as I could walk in them.\"\n\n\"So's mine,\" said Joyce.  \"But p'r'aps if the roads is very dry, we\nmight manage.\"\n\nAnd so they chattered, till at last the first rays of winter daylight\nbegan to find their way into the little room.  The children looked about\nthem--somehow they had a feeling that things could not look _quite_ the\nsame on Christmas morning!  But what they did see was something very\nwonderful.  On the floor near the window were two _very_ big brown paper\nparcels; and Joyce jumping out of bed to see what they were, saw that to\neach was pinned a card; and on one card was written, \"Joyce,\" on the\nother, \"Jem.\"\n\n\"_Jem_,\" she cried, \"it must be fairies,\" and with trembling fingers\nthey undid the packages.\n\nIt is difficult to tell you their delight!\n\nThere was a new frock of warm linsey for Joyce, and a suit of corduroy\nfor Jem, boots for both--stockings and socks--two splendid red\ncomforters, one knitted by Ivy and one by Norna; a picture book for\neach, a bag of oranges, and a beautiful home-made cake.\n\nNever were children so wild with joy; never had there been such a\nChristmas surprise.\n\nI was so pleased that I could not remain hidden any longer.  Out I came,\nand perching on the window-sill, warbled a Christmas carol in my own\nway.  And I must say children are very quick.\n\n\"Dear robin,\" said Joyce; \"do you know, Jem, I do believe he's a fairy!\nI shouldn't wonder if he'd somehow told the kind little young ladies to\ncome and see us.\"\n\nThere was a pause.  Rafe and Alix waited a moment to make sure that the\nrobin had quite finished; then they looked up.  He was not in such a\nhurry to fly off as the other bird had been.\n\n\"Thank you _very_ much, dear robin,\" they said.  \"It is a very pretty\nstory indeed; and then it's so nice to know it's quite true.\"\n\nThe robin looked pleased.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"there's that to be said for it.  It's a very simple,\nhomely story; but it's my own experience.  But now I think I must bid\nyou good-bye for the present, though there's no saying but what we may\nmeet again.\"  He flew off.\n\n\"Rafe,\" said Alix, \"besides all the things mamma does and lets us help\nin sometimes for the poor people, wouldn't it be nice if we found some\nchildren we could do things for, more our own selves, you know?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Rafe agreed, \"I think it would be.\"\n\nCHAPTER TEN.\n\nTHE MAGIC ROSE.\n\nThe days and weeks and months went on, till it was full summer time\nagain; more than full summer indeed.  For it was August, and in a day or\ntwo Rafe and Alix were to go to the seaside for several weeks.  They\nwere very pleased of course, but still there is always a _little_ sad\nfeeling at \"going away,\" especially from one's own home, even though it\nis only for a short time.  They went all round the garden saying\ngood-bye, as well as to the stables and the poultry yard and all the\nfamiliar places.\n\nThen a sudden thought struck Alix.\n\n\"Rafe,\" she said--it was the very evening before they left--\"do let's\nsay good-bye to the old garden too.  And perhaps if we stood close to\nthe corner of the wall and called through very loud, _perhaps_ Mrs\nCaretaker would hear us.  It seems so funny that we've never seen her\nagain.  I think she _must_ be away.\"\n\n\"I don't know, I'm sure,\" Rafe replied.\n\n\"I've sometimes had a feeling like you, Alix, that she was there all the\ntime.\"\n\n\"And of course it was she who made the birds tell us their stories,\"\nsaid Alix, \"so we really should be very much obliged to her.  Just think\nwhat nice games we've made out of them; and what nice things we've begun\nto get ready for the poor children next Christmas.  I do think, Rafe,\nwe've _never_ felt dull since we've played so much in the Lady wood\ngarden.\"\n\nRafe quite agreed with her, and they made their way down the lane and\nthrough the well-known old gateway.  It was the first time they had been\nin the deserted grounds so late of an evening.  For they had had tea\nlong ago, and it was not so _very_ far off bedtime: already the bushes\nand shrubs began to look shadowy and mysterious in the twilight, and the\nmoon's profile--for it was about half-way to full--to gleam pearl-like\nup among the branches.\n\n\"We mustn't stay very long,\" said Rafe.\n\n\"Nurse won't mind our being a little later than usual, as she's busy\npacking,\" said Alix.  \"And it's still so hot, indoors at least.  Last\nnight I _couldn't_ get to sleep, though I pushed off everything except\none sheet.  I was just boiling.  And when I told mamma she said it was\nno use going to bed only to toss about, and that we might as well sit up\na little later.\"\n\n\"I hope it will be cooler at the seaside,\" said Rafe.\n\n\"It's pretty sure to be,\" Alix replied.  \"If it was just about as cool\nas it is here just now.  Isn't it lovely?  And that breeze is so\nrefreshing.\"\n\nThey were standing near the walled-up mound as she spoke, and the wind\ncame with a long sighing sound through the trees.  It seemed at first\nlike a sigh, but by degrees it changed into a soft kind of laughter,\nwhich did not fade away, but grew, as they listened, more and more\ndistinct.  And then it sounded as if coming not from up among the trees\noverhead, but from somewhere underground.  And it was not the wind after\nall, for by this time everything was perfectly, strangely still.  The\nchildren looked at each other; they were used to odd things happening in\nthe garden.  They just stood still and waited to see what was going to\ntake place.\n\nThe laughing ceased, and there came a voice instead, and the voice grew\nclearer as the hidden door in the wall which they had sought for so\noften, swung round, and out from the dark passage came the small figure,\nred cloak, hood, and all, of Mrs Caretaker.  She was still laughing\njust a little, and her laugh was so bright and rippling that it made the\nchildren laugh too, though they did not know why.\n\n\"And so you are going away, my dears,\" said their old friend.  How she\ngot up so quickly to where they stood they did not see, but there she\nwas, as alert as possible.  And again she laughed.\n\n\"If you please, if it's not rude, we'd like to know what you're laughing\nat,\" said Alix, not quite sure if she was pleased or not.\n\n\"Only a little joke, my dear; only a little joke I was having all to\nmyself.  I hear so many funny stories, you see.  They all have to tell\nme them: the wind and the rain often chatter to me, as well as the birds\nand the bees and all the others that _you_ call living creatures.  And\nthe sea, ah! the sea has grand stories to tell sometimes.\"\n\n\"We're going to the seaside,\" said Rafe.\n\nMrs Caretaker nodded.\n\n\"I know,\" she said, \"I know most things about my friends.  I thought you\nwould come to say good-bye before you left.  I've been waiting for you.\nAnd if there is anything you would like me to take care of for you while\nyou're away, you have only to tell me.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the children.  But Alix did not feel quite pleased\nyet.\n\n\"Mrs Caretaker,\" she said, \"you shouldn't speak as if this was the only\ntime we've come to see you.  We've been and been _ever_ so often, but we\nnever could find the door.  And we've always kept saying how kind you'd\nbeen; making the birds tell us stories too.\"\n\n\"It's all right, my dear,\" said the old woman.  \"Yes, I heard you on the\nother side of the wall.  But I'm very busy sometimes; too busy for\nvisitors.  I'm not busy to-night though, and it's getting chilly out\nhere.  Come inside with me for a while, and tell me about where you're\ngoing to.\"\n\n\"We mustn't stay long,\" said the children.  \"It's later than usual for\nus to be out, but it's been so hot all day; we got leave to stay a\nlittle longer.\"\n\n\"I will see you home.  Don't be uneasy,\" said Mrs Caretaker.  She led\nthe way to the wall--almost without her seeming to touch it, the door\nopened, and they followed her along the little passage into the kitchen.\n\nThe fire was pleasantly low; the curtains were drawn back, and through\nthe open window the moonlight, much clearer and fuller than in the\ngarden outside, fell on a little lake of water, where two or three\nsnow-white swans were floating dreamily.  Rafe and Alix almost screamed\nwith surprise, but Mrs Caretaker only smiled.\n\n\"You didn't know what a view I had out of my window,\" she said, as she\nseated herself in her rocking-chair, and drew forward two stools--one on\neach side for the children.  \"Yes, it is beautiful with the moon on it;\nand to-morrow night you will be looking at a still more beautiful\nsight--the great sea itself.\"\n\n\"Do you love the sea?\" they asked.\n\n\"Sometimes,\" Mrs Caretaker replied.  \"You said it told you stories,\"\nsaid Alix.  \"Will you tell us one of them?  Just for a treat, you know,\nas we are going away, and we can think of it when we are walking along\nthe shore watching the waves coming in.\"\n\nMrs Caretaker did not speak for a moment.\n\nThen she said--and her voice sounded rather sad--\"I can't tell you one\nof the stories the sea tells me.  They're not of the laughing kind, and\nit's best for you to hear them for yourselves when you are older.  But I\nwill tell you a little story, if you like, of some of the folk that live\nin the sea.  Did you ever hear tell of mermaids?\"\n\n\"Oh yes!\" cried the children, eagerly; \"often.  There are lovely stories\nabout them in some of our fairy books; and when we are at the seaside we\ndo _so_ wish we could see them.\"\n\nMrs Caretaker smiled.\n\n\"I can't promise you that you ever will,\" she said; \"but you shall have\nmy story.  Yes; sit closer, both of you, and rest your heads on my\nknees.\"\n\n\"You're not knitting to-night,\" said Alix.  \"The last time the needles\nmade us hear the story better somehow; it was like as if you took us a\nlong way off, and the story came so clear and distinct.\"\n\n\"It will be all right, never fear,\" said the old woman.  And as she\nspoke, she gently stroked the children's heads.  Then the same strange\nfeeling came over them; they felt as if they were far away; they forgot\nall about its being nearly bedtime and about going away to-morrow; they\njust lived in the story which Mrs Caretaker's clear voice began to\ntell.\n\n\"It is called `The Magic Rose,'\" said she; \"but it is a story of those\nthat live in the sea.  Down, deep down below the waves, all is calm and\nstill, and there is the country of the mermen.  Strange things have\nhappened before now down there among the sea-folk.  Some who have been\nthought drowned have been cared for there, and lived their lives long\nafter those who had known them up above were past and gone.  For the\nmer-folk are long-lived; what men count age is to them but youth; their\ndays follow each other in a calm that human beings could scarce imagine.\nThey live now in these stirring times as their forbears lived when men\nand women had their homes in the forests, long before there were houses\nor towns, or roads, or any of the things which you now think the\ncommonest necessities.\n\n\"But the sea-folk have their troubles too, sometimes; and my story has\nto do with trouble.  The Queen--the beautiful Queen of the sea-country--\nwas ill, and the King was in despair.  Now I must tell you that the\nQueen was not quite one of the sea race--so at least it was believed.\nHer grandmother--or her great-grandmother, maybe--was a maiden of the\nland, who had fallen into the sea as a little baby, and had been brought\nback to life and cared for by the mer-folk; and when she grew up, a\ngreat lord among them loved her for her beauty and made her his bride.\nShe had no memory of her native land, of course; but still there were\nstrange things about her and her children, and their children again,\nwhich told whence they had come.\n\n\"And now that the young Queen was so ill, one of these old feelings had\nawakened.\"\n\n\"I shall die,\" she said.  \"I shall surely die unless I can smell the\nscent of a rose--a deep-red rose, such as the land maidens love.  It has\ncome to me in my dreams.  Though I have never seen one, I know what it\nmust be like, and I feel that life would return--life and strength that\nare fast fading away--if I could breathe its exquisite fragrance and\nbury my face among its soft petals.\"\n\nThey were amazed to hear her speak thus.  The great court physicians at\nfirst said she was wandering in her mind, and no attention should be\npaid to her.  But she kept on ever the same entreaty; and the King, who\nloved her devotedly, at last could bear it no longer.\n\n\"It all comes of her ancestor having been so foolish as to wed a human\nbride,\" said one of the doctors, feeling in a very bad temper, as they\nall were.\n\nThe sea-doctors are not very wise, I fear, because they have so very\nlittle experience.  It happens so rarely that any of the mer-folk fall\nill.  And so, as they had nothing to propose, the most sensible thing to\ndo was to get angry.  But the King was not to be so put off.\n\n\"Whatever it comes from,\" he said, \"I am determined that the Queen's\nwish shall be complied with if it is in any way possible.  What is this\nthing she is longing for?--what is a rose?\"\n\nThe doctors did not know; but seeing that the King was so much in\nearnest they agreed that they would try to find out.  And after a great\ndeal of consultation together, and looking up in their learned books,\nthey did find out something.  The Queen, meanwhile, soothed by her\nhusband's promise that all was being done to carry out her entreaty,\ngrew a shade better; at least for some days she did not get any worse,\nwhich was always something.  And on the fourth day the wise men asked\nfor an audience of the King in order to tell him what they had\ndiscovered.\n\nThe King awaited them eagerly.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"have you found out what the Queen means by a rose?\nAnd if so, how is one to be procured?\"\n\nYes; they were able to describe pretty well what a rose was; for of\ncourse, down below, they are not without gardens and flowers, though of\nvery different kinds from ours.  But a great difficulty remained.  Even\nif any one was daring enough to swim up to the surface and venture on\nland in search of the flower, and even if it was procured, how could it\nbe brought, alive and fragrant, to the Queen?\n\n\"Why not?\" asked the King.  For he had never been up to the surface of\nthe sea.  It is one of the sea-people's laws that their royal folk must\nstay down below, so he knew nothing of the land or the things that grow\nthere.\n\nThe learned men explained to him that, without air, and exposed to the\nsalt water of the ocean, a flower of the earth must quickly fade and\ndie; and as the King listened, his face grew sadder and sadder.  But\nafter a few moments' silence, one of the doctors spoke again.  They were\nnever in a hurry, you see, and they felt that it added dignity to their\nwords to dole them out sparingly.\n\n\"It has occurred to us,\" he said, \"that it might be well to consult the\nwise woman of the sea--the ancient mermaid who lives in the Anemone\nCave.  Not that as a rule, the advice of a member of her sex is of much\nuse, but the ancient mermaid has lived long and--\"\n\n\"Of course! of course!\" exclaimed the King, impatiently; \"she is the\nvery person.  Why did I not think of her before?  Why--the story goes\nthat she nursed the Queen's human ancestress when, as a baby, she came\namong us.\"\n\n\"I wish she had stayed away,\" muttered the wisest of the wise men,\nthough he spoke too low for the King to hear.\n\nThen the King ordered his chariot and his swiftest steeds--they were\ndolphins--to be got ready at once, and off he set.\n\nIt was rather a long swim to the Anemone Cave.  I wish I could give you\nany idea of the wonderful things the King passed by on his way--the\ngroves of coral and forests of great branching seaweeds of all shapes\nand colour, the strangely formed creatures whom he scarcely glanced at.\nFor of course it was not wonderful to him, and to-day his mind was so\nfull of his trouble that he would have found it difficult to notice or\nadmire anything.\n\nThe wise woman of the sea was at home.  The King's heart beat faster\nthan usual as he was ushered into her presence, not from cowardice, but\nbecause he was feeling so very anxious about his dearly-loved wife.  And\nKing though he was, he made as low an obeisance before the ancient\nmermaid as if he had been one of the humblest of his own subjects.\n\nShe was very strange to behold.  Mermaids, as your stories tell you, are\noften very beautiful, and possibly this aged lady may have been so in\nher day, but now she was so very old that she looked like the mummy of a\nmermaid; her hair was like a thin frosting of hoar on a winter morning;\nher eyes were so deep down in her head that you could scarcely see them;\nthe scales on her tail had lost all their glitter.  Still there was\nsomething dignified about her, and she received the King as if quite\nprepared for his visit.  She was not the least surprised.  Very wise\npeople, whether on land or in the sea, never are, and she listened to\nthe King's story as if she knew all about it.\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied, in a thin croaking voice like a frog's, \"you have\ndone well to come to me.  When the human baby, the great-grandmother of\nthe Queen, was confided to my charge, I studied her fate and that of her\ndescendants.  The sea-serpent was an admirer of mine in those days, and\nhe was very obliging.  He noted the position of the stars when he went\nup above, and reported them to me.  Between us we found out some of the\nfuture.  I read that a descendant of the stranger should be seized with\nmortal illness while still young, and that her life should only be saved\nby the breath of an earth-flower that they call the rose, but that great\ndifficulties would attend the procuring it for her, and that some\nconditions attach to the matter which I was unable to understand fully.\nAll I know is this, the flower must be sought for by a beautiful and\nyouthful mermaid, but the first efforts will not succeed.  Now you know\nall I have to tell you.  Farewell, you have no time to lose.\"\n\nAnd not another word would the wise mermaid say.\n\nThe King had to take leave.  His dolphins conducted him home again still\nmore quickly than they had brought him, for the words rang in his ears,\n\"You have no time to lose.\"  Yet he knew not what to do.  The conditions\nhe had already been told were difficult enough, for it was not a very\neasy task to swim to the surface, as, calm though the ocean always is\ndown below in the sea-folks' country, there is no telling how stormy and\nfurious it may be up above.  And for a young and beautiful mermaid to\nundertake such an adventure would call for great courage.  It was quite\nagainst the usual customs of the sea-people.\n\nFor the old stories and legends we hear about troops of lovely creatures\nseen floating on the water, combing their hair and singing strange\nmelodies, were only true in the very-long-ago days.  Now that mankind\nhas spread and increased so that there are but few solitary places in\nthe world, few shores where only the sea-gull and the wild mew dwell,\nthe daughters of the ocean stay in their own domain, whence it comes\nthat in these modern times many people do not believe in their existence\nat all.\n\nThe King went straight to the Queen's bower, where she lay surrounded by\nher ladies.  She was sleeping, and though so pale and thin, her face was\nvery sweet and lovely, her golden hair sparkling on the soft cushions of\nsea moss on which she lay.  Even as she was, she was more beautiful than\nany of the mermaids about her.\n\nYet some of them were very beautiful.  The King's glance fell especially\non two who were noted as the most charming among the Queen's attendants.\nTheir names were Ila and Orona.  A sudden idea struck the King.\n\n\"I will cause it to be announced that a great reward shall be given to\nany young and beautiful mermaid who will undertake the quest of the red\nrose on which depends the Queen's recovery,\" he thought, and the idea\nraised his hopes.  And as he stooped over the sleeping Queen, she smiled\nand whispered something as if she were dreaming.\n\n\"The gift of love,\" were the only words he could distinguish.  But he\ntook the smile as a good omen.\n\nThe next morning there was great excitement amongst the fair young\nmermaids.  For it was announced that whoever of them should succeed in\nbringing, blooming and fragrant, a red rose to the suffering Queen,\nshould be rewarded by the gift of a pearl necklace, which was considered\none of the most precious of the crown jewels, and that furthermore the\nfortunate mermaid should take the highest rank of all the sea-ladies\nnext to the Queen herself.\n\nIla and Orona were both beautiful and courageous, and before the day was\nmany hours older they had offered themselves for the task.  The King was\ndelighted, and as Ila was the elder of the two it was decided that she\nmust be the first to try.  She received many compliments on her daring,\nand the King thanked her most warmly.  She accepted all that was said to\nher, but to Orona, who was her chosen confidante, she owned that she\nwould never have dreamt of making the attempt but for her intense wish\nto possess the necklace, which she had often admired on the young\nQueen's fair skin.\n\n\"I would do anything to win it,\" she said.  \"There is nothing in the\nworld I admire so much as pearls, but if I gain it, Orona, I promise to\nlend it to you sometimes.\"\n\n\"Many thanks,\" Orona replied, \"but I do not care for jewels as you do.\nIf _I_ have the chance of seeking the rose--that is to say if you fail--\nmy motive will not be to gain the necklace, but to win the position of\nthe highest rank next to the Queen.  _That_ I should care far more for.\"\n\nBoth mermaids, however, kept their ambitions secret from every one else,\nand calmly accepted the praises showered upon them.\n\nAnd the very next day Ila started on her upward journey.\n\nCHAPTER ELEVEN.\n\nTHE MAGIC ROSE--CONTINUED.\n\nIla found it trying and toilsome, for she was not accustomed to swimming\nupwards so long together, and she did not like to lose time by resting\non the way.  But when at last she reached the surface, her surprise at\nall she saw there took away her fatigue.  It was a lovely summer day,\nthe sunshine was deliciously warm, and as the mermaid lay on some smooth\nrocks a little way from the shore she could see the green fields, and\ntrees, and houses, and gardens bordering the coast, quite plainly.  She\ncould even perceive some people walking along, and she thought their way\nof moving most extremely awkward and ungraceful.\n\n\"Thank goodness I am a mermaid and not a woman,\" she thought.  \"I cannot\nbelieve that anything to be found on land is as beautiful as our\nsea-treasures.  How splendid the great pearls in the centre of the\nnecklace would look in this brilliant light!  When they are mine I must\ncarry them up here some day for the sake of seeing them glisten on my\nneck in the sunshine.\"\n\nAnd her thoughts were so full of the jewels that she almost forgot what\nshe had come for.  Suddenly the sight of some red blossoms on a tree\ngrowing close to the water's edge reminded her of what she was there to\ndo, and she looked about her wondering how best to set to work.  The\nwise men had described roses to her; they had even found a picture of\none in a book about the plants of the land, so she knew very fairly well\nwhat it should be like and that it must have a delicious scent.  But\nthat was all, and though she saw fields and gardens not far off, she\nknew not how to get to them.  Suddenly glancing in another direction she\ncaught sight of a barge, its white sails gleaming like the wings of a\ngreat bird, at anchor some little way from the shore.  To and from this\nbarge little boats were coming and going, laden with baskets and cases.\nIla swam quietly towards it, taking care to keep almost entirely under\nwater, so that she should not be seen.\n\nWhen she got quite close to the barge she saw that one of the little\nboats was approaching it, and this boat was filled with flowers and\nrowed by but one boy.  The little vessel was in fact preparing for a\npleasure trip, and the boats were employed in bringing all that could be\nwanted of decorations and provisions.  The boy rowed quite close to the\nbarge, and then throwing a rope on deck from his boat, he himself sprang\non board to call some one to help him to unload his flowers.\n\nNow was the mermaid's chance--she swam up to the boat and stretching out\nher hand drew from a basket, filled with roses of all shades, the most\nbeautiful red one she could see.  She had no doubt of its being a rose,\nfor the perfume had reached her even some little way off.  The boy\nturned round at that moment and gave a cry of terror as he caught sight\nof a shining white arm and hand taking a flower from the basket of\nroses, and for long after, a story went about that the spirit of some\none shipwrecked off that coast haunted that part of the bay.\n\nBut Ila only laughed at the boy's fright, and swam off as fast as she\ncould, delighted to have succeeded.  She hid the rose carefully in the\nfolds of the gauzy robe she wore, and after one breath of its fragrance\nprepared to hasten home as fast as she could go.\n\n\"The pearls are mine,\" she thought with exultation, giving no thought to\nthe poor Queen.  \"I can fancy already that I feel their smooth touch\nagainst my skin--so adorned I shall certainly be the most beautiful\nmermaid that has ever been seen.\"\n\nBut alas for vain Ila's hopes!\n\nNo sooner had she reached the bottom of the sea than she hastened to the\npalace, and sought at once for an audience of the King.  Eager past\nwords for her return, he hurried out to the hall where she stood.\n\n\"I have got it,\" she exclaimed, and she slid her hand into the folds of\nher dress and drew out--a little crumpled rag--a few miserable leaves,\nsodden and colourless, with no scent or fragrance--the poor wretched\nghost of what had once been a magnificent rose!\n\nThe King's face fell.  Ila gave a cry of despair.\n\n\"I brought it so carefully,\" she said.\n\n\"Your care was in vain,\" replied the King.  \"It is evident that some\ncondition has not been complied with.  How did you get the rose?\"\n\nShe told him all, and Orona, who had followed her, listened eagerly.\n\n\"It may be,\" said the King, \"that you took it without paying for it.  I\nwish I had thought of that.\"\n\nBut his hopes revived when he remembered that the \"first effort was not\nto succeed.\"  And too anxious to give much thought to Ila's\ndisappointment, he turned to Orona.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, \"it is for you to try.  But you must take with you\npayment.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Orona calmly, \"I have thought of that.  I will select two or\nthree of our most valuable shells, for I have been told that rare shells\nare greatly esteemed by the land-folk.  I am not surprised that Ila has\nbeen punished for taking what was not hers without paying for it.\"\n\nShe looked so calm and confident that the King felt as if she must\nsucceed.  It was too late to set off that day; but the next morning\nOrona started.  She was far more business-like than Ila; when she\nreached the surface, instead of wasting time in dreaming about the pearl\nnecklace, she swam round the bay as near the shore as she dared venture,\npeering about in all directions.  And at last she came to a little\ncreek, which worked its way into the land till it became a small stream,\nwhose banks were bordered by trees.  This the mermaid followed for some\ndistance; till, tasting the water, she found it had almost lost its\nbriny flavour altogether.  This startled her, for no sea-folk could live\nmany hours in fresh water, and she began to think she must turn back.\nBut just then she saw that a few yards farther on the stream turned\nsuddenly; and swimming still a little way, she discovered that here it\nentered a beautiful park, through which it wound its way till lost to\nview.\n\nAnd close to where Orona now was, stood a pretty cottage, whose garden\nat the back sloped down to the water, and here were growing in profusion\nflowers of many kinds; among them roses, red, white, and all shades\nbetween.  For this was the cottage of the gardener of the great house,\nand he liked to have choice specimens of the flowers he tended near his\nown home.\n\nIt was easy for the mermaid to choose and gather a beautiful rose, for\nno one was about, it being still what human beings call very early in\nthe morning.  Orona did so, selecting carefully a rose not too fully\nblown, and wrapping it in some large cool green leaves which she found\ngrowing on the bank.  And there, just where she had plucked the flower,\nshe laid down two magnificent shells, which she had brought, as payment.\n\nIn her calm way, quite as triumphant as her sister mermaid had been,\nOrona swam back with all possible swiftness.  She reached her own\ncountry without misadventure, and, smiling confidently, entered the\ngreat hall of the palace, where the King was awaiting her with intense\neagerness.\n\n\"Success!\" she exclaimed, as she drew out her leafy parcel.  The outside\nlooked green and fresh enough, but, alas! inside there was only the same\nmiserable little bundle of colourless rags as Ila had brought back the\nday before--nay, of the two, to-day's withered flower looked even less\nlike a rose than the former one!\n\nOrona clenched her hands in rage; the King's face sank into utter\ndespair, for the Queen's state was considered worse this morning.\n\n\"Alas, alas!\" he cried, as he turned away, \"it is hopeless.\"\n\nBut among those who overheard his words was one who was not satisfied\nwith feeling very sorry for the poor King.\n\nThis was a little mermaid named Chryssa.  She was younger than Ila and\nOrona, and she was of far less exalted position; in fact, she was\nscarcely more than a little servant in the Queen's household.  And\nprobably no one would have spoken of her as beautiful if asked to\ndescribe her.  But she _was_ beautiful, nevertheless, and wonderfully\nsweet and loving; and the living being she loved the most in the world\nwas the Queen.  Of course, like every one else, Chryssa had heard all\nabout the quest of the rose which was to cure the Queen; and now the\nthought struck her, could _she_, unknown to any one, try in her turn to\nbring the earth-flower fresh and fragrant which alone would have magic\npower to save her royal mistress's life?  There seemed something lucky\nin being the _third_ to try, \"and, at least,\" thought Chryssa, \"it would\nbe, so far as I am concerned, `the gift of love,' as the poor Queen\nkeeps murmuring.\"\n\nShe determined to make the endeavour; and late that night, just for fear\nof being seen--though she was so insignificant a person that there was\nnot much chance of her being missed--she set off.  She was not by nature\nso strong or courageous as Ila and Orona; she knew very little, indeed,\nof anything but her own sea home, as she had been treated like a child,\nand had never heard the stories and descriptions of the world above,\nwhich were often related to entertain the Queen and her ladies.  No\nwonder her poor little heart almost failed her through the long dark\njourney up to land.  And at first when she reached the surface all was\nstill as dark there as below.  But as she lay there panting, almost\ndoubting if she had done well to come, up above, over the land, there\nshone out a marvellous light, which at once filled her with hope and\njoy.  It was the moon--slowly the silvery lamp glided out from behind\nthe clouds, and the little mermaid almost cried aloud for joy.\n\n\"Oh, beautiful light,\" she said, \"thank you for coming.  Show me what to\ndo; I will follow your guidance,\" and a gleaming streak across the water\nshone out as if inviting her to follow it.\n\nSwiftly the mermaid swam in the direction of the land, full in the glow\nof the light; and a girl--an earth-maiden--standing at her window in the\nsummer night thought that she saw a vision, and scarce knew if she were\nawake or dreaming.\n\n\"It is late,\" she thought.  \"I must get to sleep or I shall be growing\ntoo fanciful.\"\n\nBut before she lay down on her little bed she carefully unfastened a\nbeautiful red rose which was pinned to her bodice and placed it in a\nglass of water, kissing it as she did so, for it was the first gift of\nher betrothed.\n\nPoor Chryssa reached the shore; but though the moonlight still shone\npale and pure and clear, it gave her no help.  For the radiance was now\nspread all over the land; and before her there stretched a steep and\nrocky coast, beyond which--far off it looked to the mermaid--she could\ndimly see trees and bushes and some darker, harder form among them.\n\n\"It may be a house, such as the earth-folk live in,\" she thought.  \"And\nthere perhaps these flowers they call roses are growing.  But how am I\nto get there? and how should I find the flower if I were there?\"\n\nStill she must try.  Slowly and painfully she drew herself some little\nway up the shore, catching hold of the stones with her hands; then she\nstopped to rest, and set off again.  It was really not very distant, but\nto poor Chryssa it seemed terrible: she could only go a few yards at a\ntime without resting.  The night was far gone, the dawn at hand, when\nthe little mermaid, gasping and exhausted, her tender hands bruised and\nbleeding, sank for the last time, unable to drag herself any farther, on\na grass plot just below the window whence the young girl had seen her in\nthe moonlight like a vision, floating towards the shore.\n\nHebe, for so the maiden was called, woke early, and after glancing at\nher rose, threw open the window and leant out to watch the sunrise.\n\n\"How lovely it is,\" she thought, \"and how happy I am!\" for her betrothal\nhad only taken place the day before.\n\n\"Dear rose, I will keep you always--even when withered--always, till--\"\n\nBut a low sob or wail, just below the window, startled her.  What could\nit be?  Leaning farther out, she saw at first nothing but a long tangle\nof shining hair covering some unseen object, for Chryssa's hair was like\na golden cloak.\n\n\"What is it?  Who is lying there?\"\n\nA faint voice answered--\n\n\"Oh, lady, I think I am dying!  I have lain here all night, torn and\nbleeding, and none of my race can live many hours on land.\"\n\nHalf-terrified at the strange words, but still more pitiful, Hebe\nhastened out.  The window opened on to a little balcony, and steps led\ndown to the garden.  She would almost have been too frightened to\napproach Chryssa--for though there were old legends of mer-folk about\nthat coast, generations had passed since any had actually been seen--but\nfor the sweet expression in the little mermaid's face and eyes, dying\nthough she seemed.  This gave Hebe courage to go near her, and with the\nointment and linen she quickly fetched, to bind up her cuts and bruises.\nThen Chryssa told her story in gasping words.\n\n\"If I could but live to take a rose to the Queen,\" she said, \"I would\nnot mind dying; though, for one of my race, life should last for full\nfive hundred years, and life is very beautiful.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said the earth-maiden, \"there are no roses in our garden, the\nsoil does not suit them; and before I could procure one for you, you\nwould die, I fear.  But,\"--and she made a great effort--\"I will do for\nyou what I had thought I could never do but a few minutes ago.  I will\ngive you my own rose--the first gift of my best beloved.\"  And with the\nwords, she ran back to her chamber and returned, the red rose fresh and\nblooming in her hand.\n\nShe kissed it as she gave it to Chryssa.\n\n\"Carry healing in your fragrance,\" she murmured.  And, strange to say,\nas a breath of its perfume reached the mermaid, she herself in some\nmagical way began to revive.  Her eyes sparkled as she blessed Hebe for\nher generous sacrifice.\n\n\"I feel,\" she said, \"that the conditions are all fulfilled.  My Queen\nwill be saved.\"\n\nBut Hebe's eyes looked over the fields to where the waves were lapping\nthe shore.\n\n\"The tide is coming in,\" she said, \"you will not now have so far to go.\nBut I must help you.  Clasp me firmly round the neck, and I will carry\nyou to the nearest creek, where already you will find the ocean water,\nwhich is to you what this fresh, balmy air is to us.\"\n\nAnd little Chryssa did as she was told, and Hebe, lifting the light\nburden in her strong young arms, carried the daughter of the strange\nunknown race of the sea as tenderly as if she had been a fragile sister\nof her own.  For, after all, there was the greatest of all bonds between\nthem--love and self-sacrifice in their hearts.\n\nAll went well.  Chryssa reached the sea-king's palace feeling stronger\nand better than when she set out, and the rose, too, seemed to have\ngained fresh beauty and fragrance by its contact with the waves.  No\nsooner did the almost dying Queen breathe its perfume than her strength\nbegan to return, and in a few hours she was cured.\n\nNo reward would have been too great for the King and Queen to bestow\nupon the little mermaid; but she asked for none save to be her\nmistress's constant attendant.\n\nThey say--so, at least, the waves, who told me the story, whispered--\nthat down in the ocean depths, somewhere in a wonderful palace, there\nblooms still a flower of earth--a red rose--endowed with a magic gift of\nhealth and healing.\n\nMrs Caretaker's voice stopped.  For a moment or two the children did\nnot move.  Then she laid her hand gently on their heads, and they lifted\nthem.\n\n\"It is a lovely story,\" said Alix, with a sigh of content.  \"Do you\nthink, dear Mrs Caretaker, that _perhaps_ we may see Chryssa some day\nwhen we are bathing?\"\n\nMrs Caretaker shook her head.\n\n\"At least we may _look_ for her; perhaps she comes up to the shore\nsometimes--we _might_ catch a peep of her face among the surf.  You\nmight send her a message by one of the fishes you know, Mrs Caretaker.\"\nThe old woman smiled.\n\nBut suddenly Rafe started.\n\n\"I was forgetting,\" he said.  \"Haven't we been here a great while?  What\n_will_ nurse say?\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" said their friend.  \"Remember, I promised to see you\nhome,\" and again she stroked their heads.\n\nAnd that was all that happened, till--\n\n\"You must be getting up, my dear; to-day you are going to the sea,\nremember,\" sounded first by one little bedside and then by the other.\n\n\"Were we very late of coming in last night?\" asked the children at\nbreakfast.\n\n\"Not so very, I don't think,\" nurse replied.  \"But you see I can't tell\nexactly, as I found you both undressed and in bed fast asleep when I\ncame up from my supper.  You did give me a surprise.\"\n\nRafe and Alix looked at each other and smiled.  Nurse thought it was\nonly that they were pleased at the trick they had played her.\n\nThe seaside visit was delightful.  But before it came to an end a very\nunexpected thing happened.  The children's father, who was a very clever\nman, was chosen for an important post out of England.  It all came about\nin a great hurry, and Rafe and Alix have never since returned to the\ncountry house where, for most of the years of their life, they had been\nso happy.  And all this time their home has been a long way off.\n\nThey often speak of Ladywood, and declare that when they come back to\nEngland they _must_ go there and try to find the old caretaker again.\nBut I almost hope they will not do so; for, I am sorry to say, Ladywood\nhas been bought and all changed.  A new house has been built at last on\nthe site of the old one, and the foundations all opened out.  I feel\nsure Mrs Caretaker is no longer there.\n\nStill, there is no saying but that Rafe and Alix may come across her\nagain _some_ day and _some_ where.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\nThe End.","title":"An Enchanted Garden: Fairy Stories","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":33820}