{"collection":"folklore-oral-tradition","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_62328/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_62328","id":"gutenberg_62328","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62328","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Novels","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Dreams -- Juvenile fiction","Fairy tales"],"text":"The Dream Coach\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n                         THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n                  NEW YORK \u00b7 BOSTON \u00b7 CHICAGO \u00b7 DALLAS\n                        ATLANTA \u00b7 SAN FRANCISCO\n\n                        MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED\n                       LONDON \u00b7 BOMBAY \u00b7 CALCUTTA\n                               MELBOURNE\n\n                   THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.\n                                TORONTO\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n                                 _The_\n                              DREAM COACH\n\n           FARE: FORTY WINKS COACH LEAVES EVERY NIGHT FOR NO\n               ONE KNOWS WHERE * * AND HERE IS TOLD HOW A\n           PRINCESS, A LITTLE CHINESE EMPEROR, A FRENCH BOY &\n            A NORWEGIAN BOY TOOK TRIPS IN THIS GREAT COACH*\n           BY ANNE AND DILLWYN PARRISH * * WITH PICTURES & A\n                          MAP _by_ THE AUTHORS\n\n\n                                NEW YORK\n                         THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n                            * * MCMXXIV * *\n\n\n\n\n                            COPYRIGHT, 1924,\n                       BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.\n\n                        Set up and electrotyped.\n                       Published September, 1924.\n\n\n               _Printed in the United States of America_\n\n\n\n\n                                   To\n                       EVERETT AND ROLAND JACKSON\n\n\n\n\n                                CONTENTS\n\n\n                                                                                             PAGE\n\n THE DREAM COACH                                                                                3\n\n THE SEVEN WHITE DREAMS OF THE KING\u2019S LITTLE DAUGHTER                                           9\n\n GORAN\u2019S DREAM                                                                                 29\n\n A BIRD CAGE WITH TASSELS OF PURPLE AND PEARLS                                                 59\n   (Three Dreams of a Little Chinese Emperor)\n\n \u201cKING\u201d PHILIPPE\u2019S DREAM                                                                       87\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n                            THE DREAM COACH\n\n\n              If you have been unhappy all the day,\n              Wait patiently until the night:\n              When in the sky the gentle stars are bright\n              The Dream Coach comes to carry you away.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n        Great Coach, great Coach, how fat and bright your sides,\n        To please the child who rides!\n        Painted with funny men\u2014see that one\u2019s hose,\n        How blue! How red and long is that one\u2019s nose!\n        And under this one\u2019s arm a flapping cock!\n\n[Illustration]\n\n             Great dandelions tell us what o\u2019clock\n             With silver globe much bigger than the moon\u2014\u2014\n             Dream Coach, come soon! Come soon!\n\n[Illustration]\n\n              What pretty pictures! Angels at their play,\n              And brown and lilac butterflies, and spray\n              Of stars, and animals from far away,\n              Grey elephants, a bright pink water bird;\n              Things lovely and absurd.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n            As the wheels turn, they wake to lovely sound,\n            Musical boxes\u2014as the wheels go round\n            They play a little silver spray of notes:\n            \u201cSwift Runs the River\u201d\u2014\u201cBluebells in the Wood\u201d\u2014\u2014\n            \u201cThe Waterfall\u201d\u2014\u201cThe Child Who Has Been Good\u201d\u2014\u2014\n            Like splash of foam at keel of little boats.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n               Under a sky of duck-egg green\n               Have you not seen\n               The hundred misty horses that delight\n               To draw the coach all night,\n               And the queer little Driver sitting high,\n               And singing to the sky?\n\n[Illustration]\n\n          His hat is as tall as a cypress tree,\n          His hair is as white as snow;\n          His cheeks and his nose are as red as can be;\n          He sings: \u201cCome along! Come along with me!\u201d\n          Let us go! Let us go!\n          His coat is speckledy red and black,\n          His boots are as green as a beetle\u2019s back,\n          His beard has a fringe of silver bells\n          And scarlet berries and small white shells,\n          And as through the night the Dream Coach gleams,\n          The song he sings like a banner streams:\n          \u201cNothing is real in all the world,\n          Nothing is real but dreams.\u201d\n\n          Through sound of rain the Dream Coach gallops fast.\n          All those that we have loved are riding there:\n          I hear their laughter on the misty air.\n          I wait for you\u2014I have been waiting long:\n          Far off I hear the Driver\u2019s tiny song\u2014\u2014\n          Oh, Dream Coach! Come at last!\n                (From _Knee-High to a Grasshopper_.)\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n          The Seven White Dreams of the King\u2019s Little Daughter\n\n\nWhen the Driver of the Dream Coach reached the last small star in the\nsky, he unharnessed his hundred misty horses and put them out to pasture\nin the great blue meadow of Heaven. It was well he reached the end of\nhis journey when he did, for in another moment a mounting wave of\nsunlight and wind, rushing up from the world far below, blew out the\nsilver-white flame of the star so that no one could follow the strange\nDriver and his strange Coach to their resting place.\n\nResting place? What a mistake! The Driver of the Dream Coach never\nrests. You see, there are so many things to do even when he is carrying\nno passengers. There are new dreams to invent: queer dreams, funny\ndreams, fairy dreams, goblin dreams, happy dreams, exciting dreams,\nshort dreams, long dreams, brightly colored dreams, and dreams made out\nof shadows and mist that vanish as soon as one opens one\u2019s eyes. Then\nthere is the very bothersome matter of keeping the records straight,\nrecords of those who deserve good dreams, those who need cheering with\nridiculous dreams, and those, alas, who have been bad and naughty and\nhave to be punished (how the little Driver hates this!) with nightmares.\nIt is hard to keep all those dreams from getting mixed up, there are so\nmany of them. Indeed, sometimes, they do get mixed up, and a good child,\nwho was meant to have a dream as pretty as a pansy or as funny as a\nfrog, gets a nightmare by mistake. But the Driver of the Dream Coach\ntries as hard as he possibly can never to let this happen. He has so\nvery much to do that he never would catch up with his work no matter how\nquickly his beautiful horses galloped from star to star, from world to\nworld, if there was not some one to help him.\n\nThere are little angels who help the Driver of the Dream Coach.\n\nIn their gold and white book they keep a record of every one on earth.\n\nAs soon as the Driver of the Dream Coach had unharnessed his horses he\nwent to these angels and planned his next trip. What a busy night it was\nto be! If I should use all the paper and all the pencils in the world I\ncould not begin to tell you about all the dreams he arranged to carry to\nthe sleeping world.\n\nAnd yet there was one child who was nearly forgotten, a little Princess\nwhose name had been written at the top of a new page which the Driver\nhad neglected to turn in his hurry.\n\n\u201cSurely you are not going to forget the little Princess on her\nbirthday!\u201d pleaded the little angels, turning the page.\n\n\u201cOh, dear!\u201d said the Driver. \u201cThat will never do; now, will it? And\nyet\u2014I simply can\u2019t pack another dream into the Coach. I\u2019m sorry, but I\u2019m\nafraid\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, dear!\u201d echoed the angels.\n\n\u201cPerhaps\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nJust then one of the youngest angels, who happened to be leaning over\nthe parapet of Paradise, saw the Princess begin to cry, and took in the\nsituation instantly. So he hurried to the others and suggested that he\nhimself should carry a dream to the little Princess.\n\nThe Driver of the Dream Coach thought this was a splendid idea and\nthanked him again and again for his help.\n\nThat is how the seven white dreams of the King\u2019s little daughter were\ncarried to her by an angel, and as you know (or if you don\u2019t, I will\ntell you) the dreams carried in the moonbeam basket of the angels are\nthe most beautiful of all.\n\nWhat did the Princess dream?\n\nThat you shall hear.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nI cannot remember all the names of the King\u2019s little daughter, and\nindeed few can. The Archbishop who christened her says that he can, but\nhe is so great and so deaf a dignitary that no one would think of asking\nhim to prove it. They are all there, twelve pages of them, in the great\nbook where are recorded the baptisms of all the Royal babies, so that\nyou can look for yourself if none of the ones I can remember\u2014Angelica\nMary Delphine Violet Candida Pamelia Petronella Victoire Veronica Monica\nAnastasia Yvonne\u2014happen to please you.\n\nIt was the fifth birthday of the little Princess, and there were to be\ngreat celebrations in her honor. Fireworks would blossom in the night\nsky, and in the gardens lanterns were hung like bubbles of colored light\nfrom white rose tree to red, while the great fountains would turn from\npink to mauve, from mauve to azure, to amber, and to green, as they\nflung up slender stems and great spreading lacy fronds of water. Every\none from the King down to the smallest kitchen-maid had new clothes for\nthe occasion, and the Chief Cook had created a birthday cake iced with\nfairy grottoes and gardens of spun sugar, so huge and so heavy that the\nPrincess\u2019s ten pages in their new sky-blue and silver liveries,\nstaggered under the weight of it.\n\nThe little Princess had a new gown of white satin, sewn so thickly with\npearls that it was perfectly stiff, and stood as well without her as\nwhen she was inside it. It was standing by her bedside when the bells of\nthe city awoke her on her birthday morning, together with her silver\nbath shaped like a great shell, and her nine lace petticoats, and her\nhoops to go over the petticoats, and her little white slippers on a\ncushion of cloth-of-silver, and her whalebone stays, and her cobweb\nstockings, and her ten Ladies-In-Waiting, Grand Duchesses every one.\nWhen she opened her blue eyes they all swept her the deepest curtsies,\ntheir skirts of bright brocade billowing up about them, and said\ntogether:\n\n\u201cLong Life and Happiness to Your Serene Highness!\u201d and then the first\nGrand Duchess popped her out of bed and into her bath, where she got a\ngreat deal of soap in the Princess\u2019s eyes while she conversed in a most\nrespectful and edifying manner.\n\nThe second Grand Duchess, who was\nLady-In-Waiting-In-Charge-Of-The-Imperial-Towel, was even more\nrespectful, and nearly rubbed the Princess\u2019s tiny button of a nose\nentirely off her face.\n\nThe third Grand Duchess brushed and combed the little duck tails of\nyellow silk that covered the Royal head; and _oh_, how she did pull!\n\nThe fourth Grand Duchess was\nLady-In-Waiting-In-Charge-Of-The-Imperial-Shift, and as she was rather\nold and slow, although extremely noble, the Princess grew cold indeed\nbefore the shift covered up her little pink body.\n\nThe fifth Grand Duchess put on the rigid stays.\n\nThe sixth put on the stockings and slippers.\n\nThe seventh was very important and gave herself airs, for the nine lace\npetticoats were her concern.\n\nThe eighth Grand Duchess was\nLady-In-Waiting-In-Charge-Of-The-Imperial-Hoops.\n\nThe ninth put on the little Princess the dress of satin and pearls, that\nglowed softly like moonlit drops of water.\n\nAnd the tenth Grand Duchess, the oldest and ugliest and noblest and\ncrossest and most respectful of them all, placed on the yellow head the\nlittle frosty crown of diamonds.\n\nThen the Princess\u2019s Father Confessor, a very noble Prince of the Church,\ndressed in violet from top to toe, came in between two little boys in\nlace, and said a long prayer in Latin. It was so long that, I am sorry\nto have to tell you, right in the middle the Princess yawned, so of\ncourse another long prayer had to be said to ask Heaven to overlook such\nshocking wickedness on the part of Her Highness.\n\nThen the Chief-Steward-In-Attendance-On-The-Princess brought her\nbreakfast\u2014bread and milk in a silver porringer. The little Princess had\nhoped for strawberries, as it was her birthday, but the Chief Gardener\nwas saving every strawberry in the Royal gardens for the great Birthday\nBanquet that was to be held that evening.\n\nThen the little Princess went to say good morning to her Mother and\nFather, and this is the way she went.\n\nFirst came two heralds in forest green, blowing on silver trumpets. Then\ncame the Father Confessor and his little lace-covered boys. Then came\nthe Ladies-In-Waiting in their bright brocades, with feathers in their\npowdered hair, and after each lady came a little black page to carry her\nhandkerchief on a satin cushion. The ten pages of the Princess were\nnext, and after them came the Royal Baby\u2019s Own Regiment of Dragoons in\nwhite and scarlet. And last came four gigantic blacks wearing white loin\ncloths and enormous turbans of flamingo pink, and carrying a great\ncanopy of cloth-of-silver fringed with pearls, and under this, very\ntiny, and looking, in her spreading gown, like a little white hollyhock\nout for a walk, came the Princess.\n\n[Illustration: The nine lace petticoats were her concern.]\n\nAfter she had curtsied, and kissed the hands of her Royal parents, her\nFather gave her a rope of milk-white pearls and her Mother gave her a\nruby as big as a pigeon\u2019s egg, both of which were instantly locked up in\nthe Royal treasury. They then bestowed upon her, in addition to her\nother titles, that of Grand Duchess of Pinchpinchowitz, which took so\nlong to do that when she had said thank you it was time for lunch, which\nwas just the same as breakfast, except that this time the porringer was\ngold.\n\nAfter lunch the Prime Minister read the Princess an illuminated Birthday\nGreeting from her loyal subjects, which ran along so that the\nLadies-In-Waiting nearly yawned their heads off behind their painted\nfans, and the Princess had a nice little nap, and dreamed that there\nwould be strawberries for supper.\n\nBut instead there was bread and milk in a porringer covered with\nturquoises and moonstones.\n\nThen, as the younger Ladies-In-Waiting were thinking of the\nGentlemen-Of-The-Court who would be waiting for them among the rose\ntrees and yew hedges, to watch the colored water of the fountains and\nlisten to the harps and flutes, and as the older Ladies-In-Waiting were\nthinking of comfortable seats out of a draught in the State Ball Room,\nand having the choicest morsels of roasted peacock and larks\u2019 tongue pie\nand frozen nectarines, they popped the Princess into bed pretty\npromptly\u2014indeed, an hour earlier than usual\u2014and went off to celebrate\nher birthday.\n\nThe room in which the little Princess lay was as big as a church, and\nthe great bed was as big as a chapel. Four carved posts as tall as palm\ntrees in a tropic jungle, held a canopy of needlework where hunters rode\nand hounds gave chase and deer fled through dark forests. Below this lay\nthe broad smooth expanse of silken sheet and counterpane, and in the\nmidst, as little and alone as a bird in an empty sky, lay the King\u2019s\nlittle daughter.\n\nOne large tear rolled down her round pink cheek, and then another. The\nlong dull day had tired her, and the great dim room frightened her, and\nshe wanted to see the fireworks she had heard her pages whispering\nabout. She sat up among her lace pillows, and her tears went splash,\nsplash, on the embroidered flowers and leaves of her coverlet.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nOne of the youngest angels happened to be leaning over the parapet of\nParadise when the Princess began to cry, and he took in the situation\ninstantly, and hurried off to his Heavenly playmates to tell them about\nit. \u201cIt is her birthday,\u201d he said, \u201cand no one has given her as much as\na red apple or a white rose\u2014only silly old rubies and pearls that she\nwasn\u2019t even allowed to play marbles with! And now they have left her to\nweep in the dark while they dance and feast! I shall go down to her and\nsit by her bed till her tears are dry, and take her a white dream as a\ngift.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, let me send a dream too!\u201d cried another angel. \u201cAnd let me!\u201d \u201cAnd\nlet me!\u201d So that by the time the little angel was ready to start to\nearth there were seven white dreams to be taken as birthday gifts from\nHeaven, and he had to weave a basket of moonbeams to carry them in.\n\n\nThat night the Princess dreamed that she was a daisy in a field, dancing\ndelicately in the wind among other daisies as thick as the stars in the\nMilky Way. Feathery grasses danced with them, and yellow butterflies\ndanced above, and the larks in the sky flung down cascades of lovely\nnotes that scattered like spray on the joyous wind.\n\nSome poor little girls were playing in the field. Their feet were bare\nand their faded frocks were torn, but they danced and sang too. There\ncame a rumbling like thunder, and through a gap in the hawthorn hedge\nthe children and the daisies saw the King\u2019s little daughter driven past\nin her great scarlet coach drawn by eight dappled horses. They could see\nthe little Princess sitting up very straight with her crinoline puffing\nabout her and her crown on her head, and after she had passed all the\nchildren played that they were princesses, making daisy crowns for their\nheads, and hoops of brier boughs to hold out their limp little\npetticoats.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe next day the Princess looked in vain for a daisy as she took her\nmorning constitutional in the Royal gardens. There were roses and\nlilies, blue irises, and striped red and yellow carnations tied to\nstakes, all stiff and straight.\n\n\u201cHold up your head, Serene Highness!\u201d snapped one of the\nLadies-In-Waiting, who had had too many cherry tarts at too late an hour\nthe night before.\n\nBut daisies danced in the Princess\u2019s heart.\n\n\nThe next night the Princess dreamed that she was a little white cloud\nafloat in the bright blue sky. She floated over the blue sea and the\nwhite sand, and over black forests of whispering pines, and over a land\nwhere fields of tulips bloomed for miles, in squares of lovely colors,\ndelicate rose and mauve and purple, coppery pink and creamy yellow, with\ncanals running through them like strips of old, dark looking-glass. She\nfloated over rye fields turning silver in the wind, and over nuns at\nwork in their walled gardens, and finally over a great grim palace where\na King\u2019s little daughter lived. \u201cI would rather be free and afloat in\nthe sky,\u201d thought the small white cloud.\n\n\nWhen she took the air the next day, she looked up to see if any white\nclouds were in the sky. \u201cHer Highness is growing very proud,\u201d said the\nLadies-In-Waiting. \u201cShe holds her nose up in the air as a King\u2019s\ndaughter should.\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\nOn the third night, the Princess dreamed she was a little lamb skipping\nand nibbling the new green grass in a meadow where hundreds of lilies of\nthe valley were in bloom. They were still wet and sparkling with rain,\nbut now the sun shone and a beautiful rainbow arched above the meadow\nand the lilies of the valley and the happy little lamb.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThrough the rest of her life the gentleness of the lamb lay in the heart\nof the Princess.\n\n\nThe next night she dreamed that she was a white butterfly drifting with\nother butterflies among the tree ferns and orchids of the jungle, gentle\nand safe from harm, although serpents lay among the branches of the\ntrees and lions and tigers roamed through the green shadows.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nA white butterfly flew in at her window the next day. \u201cA moth! A moth!\u201d\ncried the Ladies-In-Waiting. \u201cCamphor and boughs of cedar must be\nprocured instantly, or the dreadful creature will eat up Her Highness\u2019s\nermine robes!\u201d\n\nBut the little Princess knew better than that.\n\n\nOn the fifth night she dreamed that she was a tiny white egg lying in a\nnest that a humming bird had hung to a spray of fern by a rope of\ntwisted spider\u2019s web. The nest was softly and warmly lined with silky\ndown, and above her was the soft warmth of the mother bird\u2019s breast.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nOn the sixth night she was a snowflake. It was Christmas night, and the\ntowns and villages were gay. Rosy light poured from every window,\nblurred by the falling snow, and the air was full of the sound of bells.\nHigh up on the mountain was a lonely wayside shrine with carved and\npainted wooden figures of the Mother and Her Child whose Birthday it\nwas. There were no bells there, nor yellow candle light, but only snow\nand dark evergreen trees. The snowflake, whirling and dancing down from\nthe sky, a tiny frosty star, gave its life as a birthday gift to the\nHoly Child, lying for its little moment in His outstretched hand.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe angel was distressed to find, on the seventh night, that the seventh\ndream had slipped through a hole in the moonbeam basket and was lost.\nCareless little angel! But it really did not matter, for instead of a\ndream, he showed himself to the Princess. And she liked that the best of\nall, for she had never had any one to play with before, and there is no\nplaymate equal to an angel. But the seventh dream is still drifting\nabout the world\u2014I wonder where? Perhaps it will be upon my pillow\nto-night\u2014perhaps upon yours. Who knows?\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n                             Goran\u2019s Dream\n\n\nCrack! went the Driver\u2019s whip, but it did not hurt the galloping misty\nhorses, for it was only a ribbon of rainbow that he liked to use because\nboth he and his horses thought it so pretty. And away went the great\nCoach, over the forests and over the seas, over the cities and plains,\nto a country where the sea thrusts long silver fingers into the land,\nwhere mountains are white with snow at the same time that the meadows\nare bright with wild flowers, and where in summer the sun never sets,\nand in winter it never rises. And here the Dream Coach drew up beside a\ncottage where a lonely little Norwegian boy was falling asleep.\n\n\u201cCome, Goran!\u201d called the Driver. \u201cCome, climb into the Coach and find\nthe dream I have brought for you!\u201d\n\nWho was Goran? What dream did he find?\n\nThat you shall hear.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nLittle Goran and his grandmother lived in a tiny house in Norway, high\nabove the deep waters of a fjord. When Goran was a baby they used to tie\none end of a rope around his waist and the other to the door, so that if\nhe toddled over the edge he could be hauled back like a fish on a line.\nBut now he was no longer a baby, but a big boy, six years old, and he\ntried to take care of his grandmother as a big boy should.\n\nIt was a lovely spot in summer, when the waterfalls went pouring down\nmilk-white into the green fjord, sending up so much spray that they\nlooked as if they were steaming hot; when rainbows hung in the sky; when\nthe small steep meadows were bright with wild flowers, and even the sod\nroof of the cottage was like a little wild garden of harebells and\npansies and strawberries that Goran gathered for breakfast sometimes. He\nwas happy all day then, fishing in the fjord, making a little cart for\nNanna, the goat, to pull, trying to teach Gustava, the hen, to sing,\nputting on his fingers the pink and purple hats that he picked from the\ntall spires of wild foxglove and monkshood, and making them dance and\nbow, and listening to the loud music of the waterfalls after rain.\n\nAnd in the evening after supper Goran\u2019s grandmother would tell him\nsplendid stories while they sat together in the doorway making straw\nbeehives, sewing the rounds of straw together with split blackberry\nbriers. The sun would shine on the straw and make it look so yellow and\nglistening that Goran would pretend he was making a golden beehive for\nthe Queen Bee\u2019s palace. For where Goran lived the sun never sets at all\nin the middle of summer, and it is bright daylight not only all day, but\nall night as well. You and I would never have known when to go to bed,\nbut Goran and his grandmother were used to it, and even Gustava, the\nhen, knew enough to put her head under her wing and make her own dark\nnight.\n\nBut with winter, changes came. The flowers slept under the earth until\nspring\u2019s call should wake them, and yawning and stretching,\n_s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g_, they should stretch up into the air and sunlight.\nThe waterfalls no longer flung up clouds of spray like smoke, but built\nroofs of ice over themselves. And, strangest of all, the winter darkness\ncame, so that the days were like the nights, and you and I would never\nhave known when to get up.\n\n\u201cI must go to the village for our winter supplies before the snow falls\nand cuts us off,\u201d his grandmother said to Goran one day. \u201cNeighbor\nSkylstad has offered me a seat in his rowboat to-morrow, and will bring\nme back the next day. You won\u2019t be afraid to stay here alone, will you,\nGoran?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Grandmother,\u201d said Goran. He pretended to be tremendously\ninterested in poking his finger into the earth in a geranium pot, so\nthat his grandmother shouldn\u2019t see that his eyes were full of tears and\nhis lower lip was trembling. For to tell you the truth he was\nfrightened. The little house was so far from any other house, and then\nGoran had never spent a night alone. Last year when the winter\u2019s\nsupplies were bought, he had gone to the village with his grandfather,\nand he had told Nanna and Gustava and Mejau, the cat, all about what a\nwonderful place it was, a thousand times over; the warm shop, with its\ngreat cheeses in wooden boxes painted with bright birds and flowers, and\nits glowing stove, as tall and slim as a proud lady in a black dress,\nwith a wreath of iron ferns upon her head; the other children who had\nlet him play with them while grandfather exchanged the socks and mittens\nknitted by grandmother for potatoes and candles. And they had slept at\nthe inn under a feather bed so heavy that you would have thought by\nmorning they would have been pressed as flat as the flowers in\ngrandmother\u2019s big Bible. But they weren\u2019t! They got up just as round as\never, and had a wonderful breakfast of dark grayish-brown goats\u2019-milk\ncheese, cold herring, and stewed bilberries. Grandfather had gone to\nHeaven since then, and Goran wondered if he could possibly be finding it\nas delightful as the village.\n\nHow he did want to go this time! But of course he knew that some one\nmust stay behind to feed Nanna and Gustava and Mejau, to tend the fire\nand water the geraniums and wind the clock. So he said as bravely as he\ncould: \u201cI\u2019ll take care of everything, Grandmother.\u201d\n\n\nSoon after his grandmother left, the snow began to fall. How that\nfrightened Goran! Suppose it snowed so hard that she could never get\nback to him! For when winter really began, the little house was often up\nto its chimney in snow, and they could get to no one, and no one could\nget to them.\n\nHow poor little Goran\u2019s heart began to hammer at the thought! He fell to\nwork to make himself forget the snow. First, seizing a broom made of a\nbundle of twigs, he swept the hard earth floor, which in summer had so\npretty a carpet of green leaves, strewn fresh every day by Goran and his\ngrandmother. Then he poured some water on the geraniums in the window,\nonly spilling a little on himself. Then he stroked Mejau, who was\npurring loudly in front of the fire; and all this made him feel much\nbetter.\n\n\u201cTime for dinner, Goran!\u201d said the old clock on the wall. At least it\nsaid:\n\n\u201cDing! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!\nDing!\u201d which meant the same thing.\n\nSo Goran ate the goats\u2019-milk cheese and black bread that his grandmother\nhad left for him; and then, and not before, he summoned up enough\ncourage to look out to see if the snow was still falling.\n\nIt was snowing harder than ever, and already everything had a deep\nfluffy covering. Oh, would his grandmother ever be able to get back to\nhim? But he must be brave, and not cry, for he was six years old. He\nsaid a little prayer, as his grandmother had taught him to do whenever\nhe was frightened or unhappy, and his heavy heart grew lighter.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll make a snowman,\u201d Goran decided. Perhaps then the time would seem\nshorter. Grandfather and he had made a splendid snowman after the first\nsnowfall last winter.\n\nIt was not late enough in the year to have the day as dark as night. It\nwas only as dark as a deep winter twilight, and the white snow seemed to\ngive out a light of its own for Goran to work by.\n\nFirst he found an old broomstick and thrust it into the snow so that it\nstood upright. Then he pushed the heavy wet snow around it, patting on\nhere, scooping out there, until there was a body to hold the big\nsnowball he rolled for the head. A bent twig pressed in made a pleasant\nsmile, and for eyes Goran ran indoors and took from the little box that\nheld his treasures two marbles of sky-blue glass that his grandfather\nhad given him once for his birthday.\n\nWhat a beautiful snowman! With his sky-blue eyes he gazed through the\nfalling snow at little Goran.\n\n\n\u201cDing! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!\u201d called the old clock, and that was the\nsame as saying:\n\n\u201cTime for supper, Goran!\u201d\n\nThe fire lit up the room with a warm glow, painted the curtains crimson,\nand made wavering gigantic shadows on the walls. The water bubbled in\nthe pot, and the boiling potatoes knocked against the lid. \u201cPrr-prrr!\u201d\nsaid Mejau, blinking in front of the blaze, and the old clock answered:\n\n\u201cTock! Tick! Tock!\u201d\n\nGoran had given their supper to Nanna and Gustava and Mejau, and had\ntaken one good-night look at his snowman. Now he put his bowl of boiled\npotatoes on the table in front of the fire, and pulled up his chair.\n\nLying on the floor where she had fallen from his box when he was getting\nhis snowman\u2019s blue eyes was a playing card, the Queen of Clubs. His\ngrandfather had found it lying in the road in the village, and had\nbrought it home as a present for Goran. The little boy thought the Queen\nwas very splendid, with her crown and her veil, and her red dress\ntrimmed with bands of blue and leaves and stars and rising suns of\nyellow. In one hand she held on high a little yellow flower. Now he\npicked her up and put her on a chair beside him, pretending the Queen\nhad come for supper to keep him from being lonely. Each mouthful of\npotato he first offered her, with great politeness, but the delicate\nlady only gazed off into space.\n\nGoran\u2019s supper made his insides feel as if a soft blanket had been\ntucked cozily about them, and he was warm and sleepy.\n\n\u201cWas there anything else Grandmother told me to do before I went to\nbed?\u201d he murmured.\n\n\u201cTick! Tock! Yes, there was,\u201d the Clock replied. \u201cShe told you to wind\nme up. Climb on a chair and do it carefully. Don\u2019t shake me. I can\u2019t\nstand that, for I\u2019m not as young as I used to be.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I want a drink!\u201d cried the youngest geranium, who was little, and\nhad been hidden by the bigger pots when Goran watered them.\n\n_Knock, knock, knock!_\n\nWhat a knocking at the door! Goran ran to open it, and the firelight\nfell on Nanna the Goat and Gustava the Hen against a background of\nwhirling snow. Nanna was wearing Grandmother\u2019s quilted jacket\u2014where in\nthe world had she found that? And Gustava had wrapped Goran\u2019s muffler\nabout herself and the little basket she carried on her wing.\n\n\u201cGood evening!\u201d began Nanna, rather timidly for her. \u201cMay Gustava and I\ncome in and sit by the fire? We thought you might be lonely, and then it\nis so cold in the shed. I did have a muffler like Gustava\u2019s, but I\nabsent-mindedly ate it. I\u2019m growing _very_ absent-minded. We\u2019ve come\nwith an important message for you, but I can\u2019t remember what it is. Can\nyou, Gustava?\u201d\n\n\u201cCluck! Clu-uck! No, I can\u2019t. But I\u2019ve brought my beautiful child to\ncall on you,\u201d said Gustava; and she lifted her wing and showed Goran the\nbrown egg in her basket.\n\n\u201cShut the door! Shut the door!\u201d several Geraniums called indignantly.\n\u201cWe are very delicate, and we shall catch our deaths of cold!\u201d\n\nSo in came Nanna and Gustava and Gustava\u2019s Egg, and Goran shut the door.\n\n\u201cPresent my subjects!\u201d commanded the Queen of Clubs, and Goran saw that\nshe was no longer a little card, but a lady as big as his grandmother.\nIn front she still wore her blue and red and yellow dress, but in back\nshe was all blue, every inch of her, with a pattern of gilt stars, and\nwhen she turned sideways she seemed to vanish, for she was only as thick\nas cardboard. But she was so proud and grand that Goran wished he had on\nhis Sunday suit, with the long black trousers and the short black jacket\nwith its big silver buttons, the waistcoat all covered with needlework\nflowers, and the raspberry pink neckerchief.\n\n\u201cThis is Nanna, our Goat, your Majesty,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cGoat, you may kiss my hand,\u201d said the Queen.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know whether I want to,\u201d replied rude Nanna, who had never been\npresented to a Queen before, and didn\u2019t know the proper way to behave.\n\n\u201cMercy on us! What manners!\u201d cried the Geraniums, blushing deep red that\nthe Queen should be spoken to in that manner, in what they thought of as\n_their_ house.\n\n\u201cBut I wouldn\u2019t mind eating your yellow flower,\u201d continued Nanna. \u201cI\nlike to eat flowers.\u201d And she looked at the Geraniums, who nearly\nfainted.\n\n\u201cYour turn next,\u201d said the Queen to Gustava. She had heard gentlemen say\nthat so often when they were playing _Skat_ with her and her companions\nthat she always repeated it when she could think of nothing else to say.\n\n\u201cSquawk! Cluck!\u201d cried Gustava. \u201cWould your Majesty like to see my\nbeautiful child?\u201d and she showed the Queen her Egg. \u201cJust look, your\nMajesty! Have you ever seen anything more lovely? Such a pale brown\ncolor! Such an innocent expression! Perhaps your Majesty is also a\nmother?\u201d\n\n\u201cTick! Tock! Don\u2019t forget to wind me!\u201d said the old Clock.\n\n[Illustration: This is Nanna, our Goat, your Majesty.]\n\n\u201cGustava Hen talks too much,\u201d the fat Teapot in the corner cupboard told\nher daughters the Teacups. \u201cWhen the Queen speaks to _you_, just say\n\u2018Yes, your Majesty,\u2019 and \u2018No, your Majesty,\u2019 and I dare say she will\ntake you all to Court and find you handsome husbands among the Royal\nCoffeecups.\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\u201cYour Majesty should see my beautiful home,\u201d went on Gustava. \u201cA nest of\npure gold!\u201d (She thought it was gold, but it was really yellow straw.)\n\n\u201cJust like my throne,\u201d replied the Queen. \u201cSpeaking of beautiful homes,\nyou _should_ see my Palace! There are fifty-three rooms!\u201d (She said this\nbecause it was the highest number she knew, for there are fifty-three\ncards in the pack, counting the Joker who keeps all the cards amused\nwhen they are shut up in their box. And she had seen a room in the\nPalace, because she had been used in a game of _Skat_ there, once in her\nearly youth. But that was long, long ago.)\n\n\u201cMy throne and the King\u2019s throne are pure gold, just like your nest, my\ngood Gustava. And the walls are painted red and white, in swirls, like\nstrawberries and cream. The stove has such a tall slender figure, and\nwears a golden crown. And then, just imagine, all the lamps are dripping\nwith icicles at the same time that the floor is covered with blooming\nroses!\u201d (For that is how she thought of the glass lusters on the lamps\nand the carpet on the floor.)\n\n\u201cIcicles! Ice! Freezing! _That_ reminds me of our important message!\u201d\ncried Nanna. \u201cYour Snowman, Goran. He looks so dreadfully cold out\nthere, we were afraid he would perish.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes! How could we have forgotten for so long! Cluck! Cluck! Cluck!\nHe will certainly be frozen to death unless something is done quickly!\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you mean to tell me that any one is out of doors on such a night as\nthis?\u201d questioned the Queen. \u201cHave him brought in at once! Your turn\nnext!\u201d And she looked so severely at Goran that he felt his ears getting\nred.\n\nSo Goran and Nanna brought the Snowman in, while the Queen gave orders\nfrom the doorway, Gustava sat on her darling Egg to keep it warm, Mejau\nwalked away with his tail as big as a bottle brush, and the Geraniums\ncried in chorus:\n\n\u201cShut the door! Shut the door! We shall all catch cold!\u201d\n\n[Illustration: The Queen and the Snowman.]\n\n\u201cPoor thing! How pale he is!\u201d exclaimed the Queen. \u201cAnd how dreadfully\ncold! Put him in a chair by the fire!\u201d\n\nThe Snowman looked out of wondering sky-blue glass eyes, but said never\na word, for he was very shy; and as he had only been born that\nafternoon, everything in the world was new to him.\n\n\u201cI want a drink!\u201d cried the youngest Geranium; and: \u201cTick! Tock! Tick!\nDon\u2019t forget to wind me!\u201d the old Clock repeated; but no one paid any\nattention to them.\n\n\u201cYour turn next!\u201d said the Queen to Nanna. \u201cMake a blaze, for this poor\ncreature is nearly frozen.\u201d So with a clatter of tiny hoofs, Nanna built\nup the fire, only pausing to eat a twig or two, until even Mejau was\nnearly roasted.\n\nBut the poor Snowman was worse instead of better. His twig mouth still\nsmiled bravely, and his blue eyes remained wide open, but tears seemed\nto pour down his cheeks, and he was growing thinner before their very\neyes.\n\n\u201cIf you please,\u201d he said in a timid voice, \u201cI\u2019m\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cGive him a drink of something hot,\u201d advised the fat Teapot, and that\nreminded the youngest Geranium, who began screaming:\n\n\u201cI want a drink! I want a drink! I want a drink!\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll be delighted to oblige with some nice warm milk,\u201d Nanna offered,\nso Goran milked a bowlful. But the Snowman could not drink it, and the\ntears ran faster and faster down his face.\n\n\u201cIf you please\u2014\u2014\u201d he began again, faintly.\n\n\u201cWe must put him to bed,\u201d the Queen interrupted, with a stern look at\nGustava who was sitting on her darling Egg in the center of\nGrandmother\u2019s feather bed. \u201cYour turn next!\u201d\n\nGrandmother\u2019s bed was built into the wall, like a cupboard. It was all\ncarved with harebells and pinecones and kobolds and nixies. The kobolds\nare the elves who live in the mountain forests, and the nixies are water\nfairies who sit under the waterfalls playing upon their harps and making\nthe sweetest music in the world. There was a big white feather bed on\nGrandmother\u2019s bed, and a big red feather bed on top of that, and two fat\npillows stuffed with goose feathers. And above all this was a little\nshelf with two smaller feather beds and two smaller pillows, and that\nwas Goran\u2019s bed. On dreadfully cold nights they pulled two little wooden\ndoors shut, and there they were, quite warm and cozy\u2014even quite stuffy,\nyou and I might think! The doors of the bed were painted with pink\ntulips and red hearts, and Grandmother said it made her feel quite young\nand warm to look at them, and Goran said it made him feel quite young\nand warm too. And Gustava the Hen thought they were beautiful, so there\nshe sat on her darling Egg, and as she could never think of more than\none thing at a time, she had forgotten all about the Snowman, and was\nhappily clucking this song to her Egg:\n\n                \u201cMake a wreath, I beg,\n                For my darling Egg!\n\n                \u201cFlowers blue as cloudless sky\n                When the summer Sun is high,\n                Harebells, little cups of blue,\n                Holding drops of crystal dew.\n\n                \u201cRain-wet pinks as sweet as spice,\n                Lilies white as snow and ice,\n                Lemon-colored lilies, too,\n                And the flax-flower\u2019s lovely blue.\n\n                \u201cStrawberries sweet and red and small,\n                And the purple monkshood tall;\n                Let the moon-white daisies shine,\n                Bring the coral columbine.\n\n                \u201cWeave the shining buttercup,\n                Bind the sweet wild roses up;\n                Poppies, red as coals of fire,\n                And the speckled foxglove spire.\n\n                \u201cAnd the iris blue that gleams\n                Knee-deep in the foamy streams.\n                Bring the spruce cones brown and long.\u201d\n                (Thus ran on Gustava\u2019s song).\n\n[Illustration]\n\n                         \u201cMake a wreath, I beg,\n                         For my darling Egg!\u201d\n\n                         \u201cMake a wreath, I beg,\n                         For Gustava\u2019s Egg,\u201d\n\nbroke in Nanna the Goat impatiently:\n\n                   \u201cWhy leave the Geraniums out?\n                   Add the Teapot\u2019s broken spout,\n                   Cheese, and brown potatoes, too;\n                   Anything at all will do.\n\n                   \u201cFeathers from the feather bed,\n                   Goran\u2019s mittens, warm and red,\n                   And the flower the Queen holds up,\n                   And the cracked blue china cup.\n\n                   \u201cBut the Queen has said\n                   _Kindly leave that bed!_\u201d\n\nSo Gustava had to flop off the bed with a squawk, while Goran handed her\nher Egg, and then they put the poor Snowman, what was left of him, into\nGrandmother\u2019s bed, and pulled the eiderdown quilts over him.\n\n\u201cIf you please,\u201d said the Snowman in a feeble whisper, \u201coh, if you\n_please_, I\u2019m\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI know this is the right thing to do, because it is the way we always\ntreat Snowmen at the Palace,\u201d broke in the Queen. To tell you the truth,\nshe had never seen a Snowman in her life before, but she would never\nadmit that she didn\u2019t know all about everything.\n\nThe Snowman looked at them with despairing sky-blue eyes, while his\ntears poured down, soaking Grandmother\u2019s pillow. He had tried\ndesperately to tell them something, but they would none of them listen.\nSuddenly Goran knew what it was.\n\n\u201cI believe we\u2019re melting him,\u201d said Goran. \u201cHe needs air.\u201d\n\n\u201cI need air,\u201d said the Snowman, his face shining with hope.\n\n\u201c_Air?_\u201d said the Queen. \u201cNonsense! He\u2019s had too much air. He needs a\nhot brick at his feet!\u201d\n\n\u201cI need air,\u201d faltered the Snowman.\n\n\u201c_Air?_ Nonsense!\u201d cried the fat Teapot and all her Teacup daughters,\nhoping the Queen would hear, and take them back to the Palace with her.\n\n\u201cI need air,\u201d sighed the Snowman, and now he looked discouraged.\n\n\u201cAir? Brrr-rrr!\u201d And Mejau squeezed himself under the chest of drawers,\nmuch annoyed with every one.\n\n\u201cI need air,\u201d breathed the Snowman, looking at Goran with imploring\neyes.\n\n\u201c_Air?_ Mercy on us, that will mean opening the door again!\u201d And the\nGeraniums shivered in every leaf and petal.\n\nBut Goran had helped the poor Snowman, now nearly melted away, out of\nbed, and was leading him to the door.\n\n\u201cI need\u2014\u2014\u201d whispered the Snowman, and his voice was so faint that Goran\ncould hardly hear it.\n\nAnd there, because he was melting away so fast, his mouth fell out and\nlay on the floor, just a little bent twig.\n\nPoor Snowman! Oh, poor Snowman! He could not make a sound now\u2014he could\nonly look at them, so sadly, so sadly!\n\nBut a little Mouse peeping with bright eyes out of its hole saw what had\nhappened, and, since Mejau was nowhere in sight, ventured to squeak:\n\n\u201cOh, please, Ma\u2019am! Oh, please, Sir! The poor gentleman\u2019s mouth is lying\non the floor!\u201d\n\nSo the Queen picked it up and pressed it into place again, but by\nmistake she put it on wrong side up, so that instead of a pleasant smile\nthe Snowman had the crossest mouth in the world, pulled far down at each\ncorner.\n\nAnd what a change it made in him!\n\nBefore, his voice had been a gentle whisper\u2014now it was an angry bellow\nthat made the Teacups shiver on their shelf and the Geraniums turn quite\npale, and the little Mouse dive back with a squeak into her hole,\nthinking to herself: \u201cWell, I _never_!\u201d\n\n\u201cHere, you!\u201d shouted the Snowman. \u201cGet me out of here, and get me out\nquick. Hop along, my girl, and open the door! Your turn next!\u201d (This was\nto the astonished Queen.) \u201cNow, then, carry me out!\u201d\n\n\u201cTick! Tock! I\u2019m feeling dreadfully run down,\u201d said the old Clock.\n\n                            \u201cTick! Tock!\n                            Wind the Clock!\n                            Tock! Tick!\n                            Wind it quick!\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\u201cTick\u2014Tock\u2014\u2014\u201d and he stopped talking.\n\nThe astonished Queen meekly threw open the door, and Goran carried the\nSnowman into the snowy darkness. Brr-rr! It was bitter cold!\n\n\u201cNow bring some snow and build me up,\u201d the Snowman ordered. \u201cLeave the\ndoor open so that you can see\u2014don\u2019t dawdle!\u201d\n\nThe firelight from the open door shone on his blue glass eyes, and made\ntwo angry red sparks gleam in them. Goran and the Queen, Gustava and\nNanna, scooped up handfuls and hoof-fuls and wing-fuls of newly fallen\nsnow, and patted it on to the Snowman until he stuck out his chest more\nproudly than he had done in the first place, and he was so fat that he\nlooked as if he were wearing six white fur coats, one on top of another.\nAnd all the time when he wasn\u2019t frightening the Queen half out of her\nwits by shouting: \u201cYour turn next!\u201d he kept muttering away to himself:\n\n\u201cMelt me over the fire! Smother me in a feather bed! Put a hot brick at\nmy feet!\u201d\n\nIt was when Goran was patting a little fresh snow on the Snowman\u2019s nose\nthat he accidentally knocked his twig mouth off again. And this time it\nwas put back right side up, so that the Snowman was as smiling as he had\nbeen in the beginning.\n\nHe stopped roaring. He stopped muttering. Did the fire die down? For the\nred sparks no longer gleamed in his gentle sky-blue eyes.\n\n\u201cOh, thank you so much!\u201d said the Snowman. \u201cYou have been so kind to me!\nAnd I know that you were trying to help me in the house. Forgive me for\nhaving been so cross! Will you please forgive me?\u201d\n\nAnd the Snowman looked so anxiously at Goran and the Queen and Nanna and\nGustava that they all answered:\n\n\u201cYes, yes, of course we will! And will you please forgive _us_ for\nnearly melting you?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd now go in, for this lovely air is cold for you, I know.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, it is bitter cold!\u201d agreed the Queen. \u201cBrr-rrr! It is bitter cold.\u201d\n\nBrr-rr! It was bitter cold!\n\n\nGoran rubbed his eyes. Only a few red embers glowed in the fireplace.\nHow stiff he was!\n\nHe must have slept in his chair all night, but he could not tell how\nlate it was, for the Clock had stopped. He had forgotten to wind it, he\nremembered now.\n\nThere sat the Queen in her chair, but she was just a little card again.\n\nThen he remembered the Snowman. He ran out of doors.\n\nThere the Snowman stood, as roly-poly as ever, with his twig mouth\nsmiling and his sky-blue eyes wide open. He said nothing, but Goran felt\nthey two understood each other.\n\nWhat a night it had been! Could it all have been a dream? But now the\nnight was over, and the storm was over; and, best of all, through the\ndim twilight he saw on the fjord far below him Neighbor Skylstad\u2019s\nrowboat, and seated in it, wrapped in her red shawl, his own dear\ngrandmother coming home to him.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration: _The Dream Coach stopped at the Princess\u2019s castle, then\nby road of stars to Goran\u2019s cottage in Norway next to the palace of the\nlittle Emperor, lastly to the house in France where Phillipe visited his\nGrandparents_]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n             A Bird Cage With tassels of Purple and Pearls\n\n\nThe Driver of the Dream Coach paused as he turned over the pages of the\ngreat white and gold book in which are kept the names of all those who\nhave ridden or are to be given rides in the brightly painted Coach.\n\n\u201cI see,\u201d he said, addressing the little angels who helped him keep these\nrecords, \u201cI see the name of the Little Chinese Emperor. And there is a\ncross opposite his name. Has he been naughty?\u201d he asked. \u201cHas he been\npicking the sacred lotus flowers of his honorable ancestors? Has he\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, please,\u201d interrupted one of the smallest angels, \u201cI put that cross\nthere to remind me to tell you something about the Little Emperor. You\nsee he hasn\u2019t been naughty\u2014not exactly\u2014but he\u2019s made a mistake. He\ndoesn\u2019t understand,\u201d said the smallest angel, with his eyes round and\nserious.\n\n\u201cAnd can I help the Little Emperor understand?\u201d asked the Driver of the\nDream Coach.\n\n\u201cOf course you can!\u201d cried the smallest angel, beaming brightly. \u201cIt\u2019s\nthis way. The Little Chinese Emperor has a friend of mine fastened up in\na cage, where he is very sad\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cAn angel in a cage?\u201d asked the Driver. \u201cI never heard of such a thing!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, not exactly an angel, a\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nBut what it was, and how the Driver helped the little angel\u2019s friend\u2014\u2014\n\nThat you shall hear.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nThe Little Emperor was dreadfully bored. He yawned so that his round\nlittle face, as round and yellow as a full moon, grew quite long, and\nhis nose wrinkled up into soft yellow creases, like cream that is being\npushed back by the skimmer from the top of a bowl of milk. His slanting\nblack eyes shut up tight, and when they opened they were so full of\ntears that they sparkled like blackthorn berries wet with rain.\n\n\u201cOh, dear! Oh, dear!\u201d cried his aunt, Princess Autumn Cloud. \u201cThe Little\nEmperor is bored! What shall we do, oh, what shall we do to amuse him?\nFor when he is bored, he very soon grows naughty, and when he is\nnaughty\u2014oh, _dear_!\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAnd she began to cry. But then she was always crying. When she was born\nher father and mother named her Bright Yellow Butterfly Floating In The\nSunshine, but she cried so much that by the time she was five years old\nthey saw that name wouldn\u2019t do at all, and changed it to Autumn Cloud\nPouring Down Rain Upon The Sad Gray Sea.\n\nShe cried about anything. If her Lady-In-Waiting brought her a bowl of\ntea with honeysuckle blossoms in it, she would cry because they weren\u2019t\njasmine flowers. If they were jasmine, she would cry because they\nweren\u2019t honeysuckle. When the peach trees bloomed she would cry because\nthat meant that spring had come, and that meant summer would soon\nfollow, and then autumn, and then the cold winter. \u201cAnd oh, how cold the\nwind will be then, and how fast the snow will fall!\u201d sobbed Princess\nAutumn Cloud, looking through her tears at the bright pink peach\nblossoms.\n\nShe cried because her sea-green jacket was embroidered with storks\ninstead of bamboo trees.\n\nShe cried because they brought her shark-fin soup in a bowl of green\nlacquer with a gold dragon twisting around it, instead of a red lacquer\nbowl with a silver dragon.\n\nShe cried if the weather was hot.\n\nShe cried if the weather was cold.\n\nAnd hardest of all she cried whenever the Little Emperor was naughty.\n\nWhenever she began to cry a Lady-In-Waiting knelt in front of her and\ncaught her tears in a golden bowl, for it never would have done to let\nthem run down her cheeks, like an ordinary person\u2019s tears; they would\nhave washed such deep roads through the thick white powder on her face.\nEvery morning Princess Autumn Cloud (and, indeed, every lady in the\nCourt of the Little Emperor) covered her face with honey in which white\njasmine petals had been crushed to make it smell sweet, then when she\nwas all sticky she put on powder until her face was as white as an egg.\nThen she painted on very surprised-looking black eyebrows and a little\nmouth as red and round as a blob of sealing wax. It looked just as if\nher mouth were an important letter that had to be sealed up to keep all\nsorts of secrets from escaping. Princess Autumn Cloud and Princess\nGentle Breeze and Lady Gleaming Dragon Fly and Lady Moon Seen Through\nThe Mist and all the rest of them would have thought it as shocking to\nappear without paint and powder covering up their faces as they would\nhave thought it to appear without any clothes.\n\nSo Princess Autumn Cloud leaned over as if she were making a deep bow,\nand let her tears fall in a golden bowl, and then, because they were\nRoyal tears, they were poured into beautiful porcelain bottles that were\nsealed up and placed, rows and rows and rows of them, in a room all hung\nwith silk curtains embroidered with weeping willows.\n\n\u201cOh, _what_ shall be done to amuse the Little Emperor?\u201d sobbed Princess\nAutumn Cloud. \u201cPerhaps he would like some music!\u201d And she clapped her\nhands, with their long, long fingernails covered with gold fingernail\nprotectors.\n\nSo four fat musicians, dressed in vermilion silk and wearing big\nhorn-rimmed spectacles to show how wise they were, came and kowtowed to\nthe Little Emperor. That is, they got down on their knees, which was\nhard for them to do because they were so fat, and then, all together,\nknocked their heads on the floor nine times apiece to show their deep\nrespect.\n\nThen one beat on a drum, boom boom, and one clashed cymbals of brass\ntogether, crash _bang_, and one rang little bells of green and\nmilk-white jade, and the oldest and fattest beat with mallets up and\ndown the back of a musical instrument carved and painted to look like a\nlife-sized tiger with glaring eyes and sharp white teeth.\n\nThe Little Emperor sprawled back in his big dragon throne under the\nsoftly waving peacock feather fans, stretched out his arms and legs, and\nyawned harder than ever.\n\n[Illustration: Four fat Chinese musicians.]\n\n\u201cOh! Oh! Oh! _What_ shall be done to amuse him?\u201d wailed Princess Autumn\nCloud, bursting into tears afresh. \u201cCan _no_ one suggest anything?\u201d\n\nAnd although the Mandarins and the Court Ladies thought to themselves\nthat what they would really like to suggest for such a spoiled little\nboy would be to send him to bed without his supper, they none of them\ndared say so, but tried to look very solemn and sympathetic.\n\n\u201cWould the Little Old Ancestor enjoy some sweetmeats?\u201d suggested Lady\nLotus Blossom. \u201cOld Ancestor\u201d is what you call the Emperor if you are\nproperly brought up, _and_ polite, _and_ Chinese.\n\nSo Gentlemen-In-Waiting came and kowtowed and offered the Little Emperor\nlacquered boxes of crystallized ginger, of sugared sunflower seeds, and\nof litchi nuts. But do you think he was interested? Not at all. He would\nnot even look at them.\n\n\u201cThe wind is blowing hard. Would it amuse the Little Old Ancestor to\nwatch the kites fly?\u201d asked old Lord Mighty Swishing Dragon\u2019s Tail.\n\nThe Little Emperor didn\u2019t know whether it would or not. However, he\ncouldn\u2019t be more bored than he was already, so he climbed down from his\nthrone and went out into the windy autumn garden.\n\nFirst marched the musicians, beating on drums to let every one know that\nthe Emperor was coming.\n\nThen came the Court Ladies tottering along on their \u201cgolden lilies,\u201d\nwhich is what they call their tiny feet that have been bound up tightly\nto keep them small ever since the ladies were babies.\n\nThen the Mandarins with their long pigtails and their padded silk coats\nwhose big sleeves held fans and tobacco and bags of betel nuts and\nsheets of pale green and vermilion writing paper.\n\nThen Princess Autumn Cloud in a jade green gown embroidered with a\nhundred lilac butterflies, a lilac jacket, and pale rose-colored\ntrousers tied with lilac ribbons. In her ears, around her arms, and on\nher fingers were jade and pearls, and her rose-colored shoes were\ntrimmed with tassels of pearls and were so tiny that she could hardly\nhobble. In her shiny black hair she wore on one side a big peony, the\npetals made of mother-of-pearl and the leaves of jade. Each petal and\nleaf was on a fine wire so that when she moved her head they trembled as\nreal flowers do when the wind blows over them. On the other side were\ntwo jade butterflies that trembled too. In front of her, walking\nbackward, went her Lady-In-Waiting holding the golden tear bowl, in case\nthe Princess should suddenly begin to cry.\n\nAnd last of all, surrounded by his Gentlemen-In-Waiting, came the Little\nEmperor, dressed from head to foot in yellow, the Imperial color, so\nthat he looked like a yellow baby duckling. And as he came every one in\nthe Palace and in the Garden had to stop whatever they were\ndoing\u2014gossiping, teasing the Royal monkeys, chewing betel nuts, or\nsweeping up dead leaves\u2014and kneel down and knock their heads on the\nground until he had passed.\n\nHow the wind was blowing! It sent the willow branches streaming, it\nwrinkled the lake water and turned the lotus leaves wrong side out, it\nscattered the petals of the chrysanthemums. It tossed the kites high in\nthe air. How brightly their colors shone against the gray sky! Some were\nmade to look like pink and yellow melons with trailing leaves, some were\nlike warriors in vermilion, some were golden fish, others were black\nbats, and the biggest one of all was a great blue-green dragon.\n\nAs for the Little Emperor, he took one look at them and then yawned so\nhard that they were afraid he would dislocate his jaw.\n\nA little brown bird the color of a dead leaf had been hopping about on\nthe ground under the chrysanthemums looking for something for its\nsupper, and now suddenly flew up into a willow tree and began to sing.\n\n\nThe Little Emperor clapped his hands, and all his servants dropped on\ntheir knees and began to kowtow.\n\n\u201cCatch me that little brown bird with the beautiful song!\u201d he said. He\nstopped yawning, and his eyes grew bright with eagerness.\n\n\u201cBut, Little Old Ancestor, that is such a plain little bird,\u201d said his\naunt timidly. \u201cSurely you would rather have a cockatoo as pink as a\ncloud at dawn, or a pair of lovebirds as green as leaves in spring\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nThe rude Little Emperor paid not the slightest attention to her, but\nstamped his foot and shouted:\n\n\u201c_Catch me that little brown bird!_\u201d\n\nSo his servants chased the poor little fluttering bird with butterfly\nnets. The wind whipped their bright silk skirts, and their pigtails\nstreamed out behind, and they puffed and panted, for they were most of\nthem very fat.\n\n[Illustration: His servants chased the bird with butterfly nets.]\n\nAnd at last the bird was caught, and put in a cage trimmed with tassels\nof purple silk and pearls, with drinking cup and seed cup made like the\nhalves of plums from purple amethysts on brown amber twigs with green\njade leaves.\n\nFor a time the Little Emperor was delighted with his new pet, and every\nday he carried it in its cage when he went for a walk. But it never\nsang, only beat against the bars of its cage, or huddled on its perch,\nso presently he grew tired of it, and it was hung up in its cage in a\ndark corner of one of the Palace rooms, where he soon forgot all about\nit.\n\n\nHow could the little bird sing? It was sick for the wide blue roads of\nthe air, for wet green rice fields where the coolies stand with bare\nlegs, sky-blue shirts, and bamboo hats as big as umbrellas, for the\nyellow rivers, and the mountains bright with red lilies. How could it\nsing in a cage? But sometimes it tried to cry to them: \u201cLet me out!\nPlease, _please_ let me out! I have never done anything to harm you! I\nam so unhappy I think my heart is breaking! _Please_ let me go free!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a sweet song!\u201d everybody would say. \u201cRun and tell the Little\nEmperor that his bird is singing again.\u201d\n\nAfter a while the little bird realized that they did not understand, and\nit tried no longer, but drooped, dull-eyed and silent, in its cage.\n\n\nOne night the Little Emperor had a dream. Perhaps you won\u2019t wonder when\nI tell you what he had for supper.\n\nFirst he had tea in a bowl of jade as round and white as the moon,\nheaped up with honeysuckle flowers.\n\nThen, in yellow lacquer boxes, sugared seeds, sunflower and lotus flower\nand watermelon seeds, boiled walnuts, and lotus buds.\n\nThen velvety golden peaches and purple plums with a bloom of silver on\nthem.\n\nPork cooked in eleven different ways: chopped, cold, with red beans and\nwith white beans, with bamboo shoots, with onions, and with cherries,\nwith eggs, with mushrooms, with cabbage, and with turnips.\n\nDucks and chickens stuffed with pine needles and roasted.\n\nSmoked fish.\n\nShrimps and crabs, fried together.\n\nShark fins.\n\nBoiled birds\u2019 nests.\n\nPorridge of tiny yellow seeds like bird seed.\n\nCakes in the shapes of seashells, fish, dragons, butterflies, and\nflowers.\n\nChrysanthemum soup, steaming in a yellow bowl with a green dragon\ntwisting around it.\n\nNot one other thing did that poor Little Emperor have for his supper!\n\nWhen he was so full that he couldn\u2019t hold anything more, not even one\nsugared watermelon seed, they took off his silk napkin embroidered with\nlittle brown monkeys eating pink and orange persimmons. He was so sleepy\nthat he did not even stamp his feet when they washed his face and hands.\nThen they took off his red silk gown embroidered with gold dragons and\nblue clouds and lined with soft gray fur, his yellow silk shirt and his\nred satin shoes with their thick white soles. But he went to bed in his\npale yellow pantaloons, tied around the ankles with rose-colored\nribbons.\n\nI must tell you about his bed. It was made of brick, and inside of it a\nsmall fire was built to keep the Little Emperor warm. On top of this\nthree yellow silk mattresses were placed, then silk sheets, red, yellow,\ngreen, blue, and violet, then a coverlet of yellow satin embroidered\nwith stars. Under his head were pillows stuffed with tea leaves; and\nabove him was a canopy of yellow silk, embroidered with a great round\nmoon whose golden rays streamed down the yellow silk curtains drawn\naround him.\n\n\nHe fell asleep, and this is what he dreamed.\n\nThe long golden rays seemed to turn into the bars of a cage. Yes, he was\nin a huge cage! He tried frantically to get out! He beat against the\nbars! Then he saw what looked like the roots of trees, and brown tree\ntrunks, a grove all around the cage. But the trees moved and stepped\nabout, and, looking up the trunks, instead of leaves he saw feathers,\nand still farther, sharp beaks, and then bright eyes looking at him.\nThey were birds!\n\nWhat he had thought were the roots of trees were their claws, and the\ntrunks of the trees were their legs. But what enormous birds! They were\nas big as men, while he was as small as a bird.\n\n\u201cLet me out!\u201d he shouted. \u201cDon\u2019t you know I am the Emperor, and every\none must obey me? Let me out, I say!\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, he is beginning to sing,\u201d said one bird to another.\n\n\u201cNot a very musical song. Too shrill by far! Take my advice, wring his\nneck and roast him. He would make a tender, juicy morsel for our\nsupper.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: \u201cPlease, _please_ let me out!\u201d]\n\n\u201cOh, let me out! Please, _please_ let me out!\u201d cried the poor Little\nEmperor in terror.\n\n\u201cHe is singing more sweetly now,\u201d remarked one of the birds.\n\n\u201cToo loud! Quite ear-splitting!\u201d said a lady bird, fluffing out her\nbreast feathers and lifting her wings to show how sensitive she was.\n\n\u201cIf he were mine I should pluck him. His little yellow silk trousers\nwould line my nest so softly.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, please, _please_ set me free!\u201d\n\n\u201cReally, his song is growing quite charming! But one can\u2019t stand\nlistening to it all day.\u201d\n\nAnd with a great whir and flap and rustle of wings the birds flew away\nand left him in his cage, alone.\n\nHe called for help and threw himself against the bars until he was\nexhausted. Then bruised, panting, his heart nearly breaking out of his\nbody, he lay on the floor of the cage. Finally, growing hungry and\nthirsty, he looked in his seed and water cups, drank a little lukewarm\nwater, and ate a dry bread crumb. Now and then birds came and looked at\nhim. Some of them tried to catch his pigtail with their beaks or claws.\n\n\nNext day the Little Emperor was thoughtful. Could it be, he wondered,\nthat a little bird\u2019s nest was as dear to it as his own bed with its\nrainbow coverlets and its moon and stars was to him? That a little bird\nliked ripe berries and cold brook water as much as he liked ripe peaches\nand tea with jasmine flowers? That a little bird was as frightened when\nhe tried to catch its tail in his fingers as he was when the birds tried\nto catch his pigtail?\n\nAnd then he thought of how he had felt when the lady bird had wanted his\npantaloons to line her nest, and, hot with shame, he remembered his\nglistening jewel-bright blue cloak made of thousands of kingfishers\u2019\nfeathers. It had made him miserable to think of their taking his\nclothes, but suppose his clothes grew on him as their feathers did on\nthem? How would he have felt then, hearing the bird say: \u201c_I_ should\npluck him. His little silk trousers would line my nest so softly\u201d?\n\nHe went to bed thinking about his little brown bird, and before he shut\nhis eyes he made up his mind to set it free in the morning.\n\n\nThen he fell asleep, and once again he dreamed that he was in the golden\ncage.\n\nWhir-rr! One of the great birds flew down by the cage door. With his\nclaw he unfastened it\u2014opened it!\n\nOh, how exciting! The Little Emperor tore out, so afraid he would be\nstopped and put back in the cage!\n\nOh, how he ran across the room and through the open door! Free! He was\nfree! Tears rushed to his eyes, and his heart felt as if it would burst\nwith happiness.\n\nBut it was winter. The garden was deep in snow that was falling as if it\nwould never stop. The peaches and plums were gone, and the lotus pond\nwas frozen hard as stone.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe Little Emperor had never been out in the snow before except when he\nwas dressed in his warm padded clothes, with one Gentleman-In-Waiting\ncarrying his porcelain stove, and another bringing tea, and a third with\ncakes in a box of yellow lacquer, and a fourth holding between the\nsnowflakes and the Imperial head a great, moss-green umbrella. So small\nand helpless in so big and cold a world, what could a little boy find to\neat or drink? Where could he warm himself? He ran frantically through\nthe snow. The rose-colored ribbons that tied his pantaloons came untied\nand trailed behind him, and the cold snow went up his bare legs.\n\nPausing to catch his sobbing breath, he looked up to see the thick snow\nsliding from a pine tree branch, and jumped aside just in time to keep\nfrom being buried beneath it. Then on he plunged again, growing with\neach step more weak and cold and hungry; stopping now and then to call\nfor help in a quavering voice that grew feebler every time; blinking\nback the tears that froze on his lashes as he tried to remember that\nemperors must never cry; then struggling on through the blinding snow, a\nlittle boy lost and alone.\n\nThen, as it began to grow dark, he saw two great lanterns shining\nthrough the snow, coming slowly nearer. Perhaps his aunt and his Chief\nGentleman-In-Waiting, Lord Mighty Swishing Dragon\u2019s Tail (Lord Dragon\nTail, for short) had missed him and had come with lanterns to look for\nhim! He tried to go toward them, to call, but he was too exhausted to\nmove or make a sound.\n\nAnd then, imagine his terror when he realized that the glowing green\nlights were not lanterns at all, but the eyes of a great crouching\nanimal\u2014a cat!\n\nGathering all his strength for one last desperate effort, he tried to\nrun. But with a leap the cat was after him, and with a paw now rolled\ninto a velvet ball, now unsheathing sharp curved claws, tapped him first\non one side, then on the other, nearly let him go, caught him again with\none bound, and with a harder blow sent him spinning into stars and\ndarkness.\n\n\nSome one was shaking him. Was it the cat? The Little Emperor opened his\neyes and saw the frightened face of Princess Autumn Cloud bending over\nhim, as yellow as a lemon, for she had jumped up out of bed when she\nheard him cry out in his sleep, and there hadn\u2019t been time to put on the\nhoney and the powder, to paint on the surprised black eyebrows or the\nround red mouth.\n\n\u201cWake up, wake up, Little Old Ancestor!\u201d she was crying as she shook\nhim. \u201cYou\u2019re having a bad dream!\u201d\n\n\u201cAren\u2019t you the cat?\u201d asked the Little Emperor, who wasn\u2019t really awake\nyet.\n\n\u201cCertainly _not_, Little Old Ancestor!\u201d replied his aunt, rather\noffended.\n\nThe Little Emperor climbed out of his bed. The room was full of the\nstill white light that comes from snow, and looking out of the window he\nsaw that the plum trees and the cherry trees looked as if they had\nblossomed in the night, the snow lay so white and light on every twig.\nSoftly the snow fell, deep, deep it lay, and the people who passed by\nhis windows went as silently as though they were shod in white velvet.\n\nThe Little Emperor thought of his dream, and decided that his little\nbird might suffer and die if he let it go free before winter was over.\nBut he explained to the bird, and tried to make it happier.\n\n\u201cWhen summer comes, you shall fly away into the sky,\u201d he told it. He\nbrought it fruit and green leaves to peck at, talking to it gently. And\nthe little bird seemed to understand. The dull eyes grew brighter; and\nthough it never sang it sometimes chirped as if it were trying to say:\n\u201cThank you.\u201d\n\n\nOn the first night of summer when the moon lay like a great round pearl\nin the deep blue sea of the sky, the Little Emperor slept, and dreamed\nagain that the cage door opened for him and let him go free. But oh,\nwhat happiness now, happiness almost too great for a little boy to bear.\n\nPeonies were in bloom, each petal like a big seashell, and blue\nbutterflies floated over them in the warm sunshine. Half hidden in the\ngrass the Little Emperor found a great purple fruit\u2014a mulberry. How good\nit was!\n\nThe dewy spider webs glistened like the great tinsel Bridge to Heaven\nthey built for him on every birthday. How happy he was! How happy! Free\nand safe! With the sun to warm him and the breeze to cool him; with food\ntumbling down from Heaven or the mulberry trees, he wasn\u2019t sure which,\nwith a crystal clear dewdrop to drink on every blade of grass. How happy\nhe was!\n\nThe lake was full of great rustling leaves and big pink lotus flowers.\nVenturing out on one of the leaves, he paddled his feet over its edge in\nthe gently lapping water. Then, climbing into one of the pink blossoms,\nhe lay, so happy, so happy, looking up at the blue-green dragon flies\ndarting overhead, and rocking gently in his rosy boat.\n\nNo, it was not the lotus flower that rocked him on the water. It was\nPrincess Autumn Cloud who was gently shaking him, and saying: \u201cWake up,\nif you please, dear Little Old Ancestor!\u201d And hard as it is to believe,\nshe was really smiling. The Little Emperor had been so good lately, and\nthen it was such a beautiful day!\n\nHe could not wait until after breakfast to let his little brown bird go\nfree. As soon as he was dressed he ran as fast as he could to the room\nwhere the bird cage hung. Pat-a-pat-pat went his little feet in their\nblue satin shoes, and thud, thud! puff, puff! his fat old\nGentlemen-In-Waiting lumbered along behind him.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve come to set you free!\u201d he whispered, as he carried the cage with\nits tassels of purple and pearls out into the beautiful day. For one\nminute he wanted to cry, for he had grown to love the little bird. But\nhe remembered again that emperors must not cry. He opened the door of\nthe cage.\n\n\u201cLittle Old Ancestor\u2019s bird has flown away!\u201d cried the Mandarins.\n\n\u201cIt has flown so high in the sky that we can hardly see it,\u201d the Court\nLadies answered; and they all wished that the Little Emperor would stop\ngazing up into the sky at the little dark speck, so that they might go\nin and have their breakfasts.\n\nBut the Little Emperor, the empty bird cage in his hand, still looked\nup. High, high in the sky! And now, really, he could no longer see it.\nBut a thread of song dropped down to him, a silver thread of song, a\ngolden thread of love between the hearts of a little bird and a little\nboy.\n\n\u201cThank you, oh, thank you, my Little Emperor!\u201d\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n                        \u201cKing\u201d Philippe\u2019s Dream\n\n\nUp into the sky rose the hundred horses and their great Coach, until the\nroof of the Little Emperor\u2019s Palace with its bright yellow tiles looked\nonly as big as a yellow autumn leaf\u2014as a jasmine petal\u2014as nothing at\nall! And along the Road of Stars they galloped, while notes of music\nsprayed from the wheels of the Coach, and, dropping to earth, gave the\nnightingales ideas for beautiful new songs.\n\nOn through the sky and above the earth until the night was over, and at\nlast, instead of a road, the hundred horses were galloping along a\nriver. All along the river bank tall poplars rustled and whispered in\nthe wind of the Coach\u2019s passing, and little waves, stirred up by the\nhorses\u2019 hoofs, slapped against the small houses that rose from the\nwater, small pink houses and blue houses and white red-roofed houses,\neach with its rowboat tied to its steps. White swans and green ducks\nrocked on the ripples, their feathers gilded by sunshine, for it was\nbright day now, and the rain that had been pouring down had stopped. It\nwas bright day, and yet no one saw the Dream Coach except a little\nFrench boy, whose eyes were falling shut in one little pink cottage.\n\n\u201cPhilippe! Philippe!\u201d the Driver called. \u201cOne last dream is left for\nyou!\u201d\n\nWhat was Philippe\u2019s dream?\n\nThat you shall hear.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\u201cHold still then, my little monkey!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut mother,\u201d wailed Philippe, \u201cI have the soap in my eye!\u201d\n\n\u201cSoap is it, my angel?\u201d asked his mother, lifting his face in her two\nwet hands. \u201cOh, but there is really no soap at all to speak about, just\na bubble or two of suds. _There!_\u201d and with the corner of her apron she\nwiped away the thick white lather around his eyelashes, so that Philippe\nlooked like a little boy made of snow, except for his eyes which were\nlarge and brown and filled with tears from the painful smarting. From\nhead to ankles he was covered with a froth of soapsuds, and his feet had\nstirred the warm water in the bottom of the wooden tub into\nrainbow-tinted mounds of bubbles which grew and grew and cascaded over\nthe sides with a tiny fizzing sound.\n\n\u201cYou are giving our young one a very thorough tubbing,\u201d remarked\nPhilippe\u2019s father. He was sitting under the narrow window of their\ncottage, cutting the yellow-white sprouts from a bag of potatoes which\nhe intended to plant in the dark of the next moon.\n\n\u201cIndeed I am. I shall scrub and rub and polish until he looks like a wax\nimage, or as pink and shining as the inside of the seashell his Uncle\nPabl\u00f4t sent him from Paimpol.\u201d\n\nPhilippe\u2019s father held a large brown potato at arm\u2019s length, and,\nregarding it with his head cocked to one side, said: \u201cVery fine! Yes,\nvery fine!\u201d\n\n\u201cA good size,\u201d agreed his wife, looking over her shoulder, while she\nabsently bored into the ear of her long-suffering son with a bit of\nsoapy rag.\n\n\u201cYes\u2014but I was thinking rather of Philippe\u2019s Uncle Pabl\u00f4t. It is he who\nis very fine, a grand gentleman who carries a gold-headed cane and has\ntraveled far\u2014to the very borders of our beloved France, and even beyond,\nso I hear.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, very much beyond! He has been in every country in the world,\naccording to the wonderful stories he tells, and the world, Pierre, I\nunderstand to be of a tremendous bigness; indeed, if what I am told is\nthe truth, it must be three or four times as big as our own country!\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that so?\u201d replied Pierre doubtfully, starting to cut the pallid\nsprouts again with quick motions of his work-hardened hands. \u201cIt may all\nbe the truth, my good wife, but I have always taken the words of Pabl\u00f4t\nwith a grain of salt; I think, for that matter, that he is a little\ninclined to blow.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018Blow\u2019?\u201d asked Philippe from his tub. \u201cI thought it was only the wind\nthat could blow.\u201d\n\nBut of course no one answered him, for he was only a little boy, and not\nexpected to understand; instead, his father bent over his bag of\npotatoes to hide his smile, and his mother remembered that the\n_pot-au-feu_ (which is a thick soup made of odds and ends and bits and\nscraps and almost everything you can think of mixed with water in a\nlarge pot and left on the fire to bubble sluggishly for many hours)\nneeded stirring right away.\n\n\u201cTake care,\u201d warned her husband, \u201cthat you do not drop soap into the\nsoup from your wet hands, for I know of nothing that gives it a more\ncurious flavor.\u201d\n\n\u201cJust the same,\u201d said Philippe\u2019s mother, turning from the hearth, her\ncheeks flushed rosy red by the bright, hot embers, \u201cjust the same, it is\na good thing that our little one should be invited to meet such a fine\ngentleman. It will teach him how to say the most ordinary thing\nelegantly, and how to carry his head high as if he were a born dandy.\nPhilippe, repeat to your father the little speech you are to say when\nyou meet your uncle.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood health to you, my dear and illustrated uncle! It gives\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, my pet, \u2018my dear and _illustrious_ uncle,\u2019 and was there not\nsomething that you forgot?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Mother. I forgot to make my bow. Shall I make a new beginning?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo so.\u201d\n\nWhereupon Philippe bent nearly double over the edge of the tub,\nscattering drops of water upon the floor.\n\n\u201cGood health to you, my dear and illustrious uncle. It gives me the most\ngreat pleasure to have\u2014_eugh!_ soap in my mouth.... _Ptu!_\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWait, then, until you are dressed in the new suit I have sewn for you,\u201d\nand his mother, taking an earthen jar of water from the side of the fire\nwhere it had been put to warm, poured it over his head, leaving him no\nlonger a snow boy, but a boy made of the shiniest china you can imagine.\n\u201cIs that pleasant, my brave one?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is warm, like rain,\u201d said Philippe, lifting his arms above his head.\n\u201cI will not need another washing for a long, long time, will I, Mother?\u201d\n\n\nPhilippe\u2019s grandparents lived the distance of twelve fields, a small\nwoods, three stiles, and the width of a brook from his own home. Just\nhow far that is, is hard to say. You see it makes such a difference whom\nyou ask. Ask the swallows and they will tell you airily that it is no\ndistance at all, just a flick of the wing, and you are there. But ask\nthe snails who live under the broad leaves of the flowering mulleins,\nand after pondering a long time, they will tell you that it gives them a\nheadache to think of such a tremendous distance, that it would surely\ntake several lifetimes to travel so far, and as for themselves, they\nwould consider it very foolish to start out on such a dangerous\nadventure when there were plenty of young lettuces so close at hand! To\na small boy of eight, it was quite a long journey, taken alone,\nparticularly when he could not take the short cut by wriggling through\nthe tangled copse for fear of tearing his new suit, or being covered\nwith last year\u2019s burrs and barbed seeds of the undergrowth. But he\nreached his Grandparents\u2019 house at last.\n\nIt was a little house built by the side of a river, actually touching\nthe water on one side, so that you could step out of a door, down a\nstep, and into a rowboat. And there were white swans and yellow-breasted\nducks with bronze-green backs swimming in the reflection of the pink\nwalls. On the land side was a poplar tree, very tall and dressed in\nsilvery blue leaves, standing erect like a giant soldier on guard before\na toy house. Once Philippe\u2019s Grandfather had explained to him how he\ncould tell the time of day by the shadow this tree cast: when it struck\nacross the chimney at the corner of the house, it was time to go into\nthe fields; when it crossed the front door, it was time to enter therein\nfor the midday meal, and when it pointed out toward the fields, that was\na signal for Grandmother to ring the great bell that would call the\nworkers home.\n\n\u201cAnd what,\u201d Philippe had asked, \u201cdo you do, Grandfather, when the sun is\nunder the clouds, and there is no shadow to tell the time?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then we must needs look at the clock which ticks on the\nmantelshelf over the fire,\u201d Grandfather said with a twinkle of his old,\nblue eyes, eyes half hidden by the tufts of white eyebrows.\n\nAlthough the day had commenced unusually fine, and the calm, blue sea of\nsky had been without an island reef or bar of cloud to wreck the golden\ngalleon of the sun, by the time Philippe had been tubbed, scrubbed,\ndressed in his best, had been rehearsed in his address to his uncle,\nkissed good-by, and given a little nosegay of pansies and lilies of the\nvalley in a paper twist for his Grandmother, and had crossed the twelve\nfields and picked his way carefully through the woods to avoid the sharp\nbrambles that reached out after him with long and sinuous arms\u2014by the\ntime all this had come to pass, and Philippe was actually in sight of\nhis grandparents\u2019 cottage, it began to rain from a sky as heavily gray\nas it had been brightly blue before. It started so suddenly that\nPhilippe had to run across the last field to keep the big drops from\nruining his new black velvet cap.\n\nThe inside of the house was very dark, with only two windows, like\nhalf-closed eyes, looking out on the world. Through these windows\nentered shafts of pale, watery light that cut blue paths in the wreaths\nof wood smoke creeping around the rafters. Pots, pans, and kettles of\nburnished copper hung from hooks in the ceiling, and mirrored in tiny\npoints the flames leaping on the hearth. It was like another world,\nsmall but complete, inside Grandmother\u2019s and Grandfather\u2019s house: the\nfloor was the earth itself, trampled until it was as hard as brick, the\nwreaths of smoke were thin clouds flung across a dark sky where yellow\nand red stars winked and twinkled. At one end of the room, where\nGrandmother and Anjou, the cat, were busy preparing dinner over the\nbright fire, it was gay and warm: _Day_; but at the farther end, where\nGrandfather sat stroking his long white beard, it was dark and chilly:\n_Night_.\n\nWhen Philippe entered, he had to blink his eyes for some time before he\ncould adjust himself to the darkness. Then he handed his Grandmother the\nbouquet he had carried so carefully, politely wishing her health and\nhappiness.\n\nThere were tears in Grandmother\u2019s eyes as she bent over and kissed her\nGrandson\u2019s pink and shining cheek, but then there were always tears in\nGrandmother\u2019s eyes\u2014why, Philippe never could understand. Did she weep\nbecause of the stinging smoke that the chimney seemed too small to carry\noff? Or because she was sad? Not sad, thought Philippe, or Grandmother\nwould not be all the time smiling.\n\n\u201cHey-O!\u201d sang Grandmother in her high little voice, dropping a tear in\nthe yellow heart of a purple pansy. \u201cWhat pretty flowers you have\nbrought me, my Philippe, and see, here is a raindrop in one of them\nshining as prettily as a glass bead!\u201d\n\nPhilippe did not like to tell her that it was her own tear.\n\n\u201cThen it is raining out?\u201d she asked. \u201cIt will make a wet home-coming for\nyour uncle, but it is lovely, nevertheless, and if it comes down hard\nenough, it will make the river flow along more happily than it has for a\nlong day. Won\u2019t that be beautiful, Philippe?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Grandmother Marianne,\u201d Philippe agreed politely, and then asked:\n\u201cWhen will my Uncle Pabl\u00f4t be here? Mother has taught me what to say\nwhen I make my bow to him, and if he is too long in coming, I am afraid\nthat I may forget it.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe will come,\u201d said Grandmother, \u201cwhen he has a mind to.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd is he coming from a great distance, maybe all the way from Paris?\u201d\n(Philippe thought that Paris was the only city in the world, built on\nthe world\u2019s very edge.)\n\n\u201cMaybe, and then maybe not,\u201d Grandmother told him. \u201cThere is no telling\nwhere your uncle will come from; he is apt to blow in from any quarter.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, then that explains it!\u201d remarked Philippe innocently. \u201cFather said\nhe always thought Uncle Pabl\u00f4t was a little inclined to blow.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow did he!\u201d Grandmother was frowning and smiling at one and the same\ntime. \u201cHave you spoken to your Grandfather yet?\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not know that Grandfather Joseph was home; I did not see him,\u201d\nsaid Philippe truthfully.\n\n\u201cUse your young eyes sharply and look into every corner,\u201d advised\nGrandmother. \u201cAnjou!\u201d she cried warningly, \u201cyou will burn your nose if\nyou get too close to that roasting duck.\u201d\n\nPhilippe gazed into the farthest corner of the room where he saw two dim\nspots of white glowing like snow in the night; he had to advance quite\nnear before he could be sure that what he saw was the long white hair\nand the long white beard of Grandfather.\n\n\u201cGood day, Grandfather Joseph,\u201d said Philippe, bowing low before the old\nman who sat huddled in a chair, the arms of which were worn shiny by the\ngrip of thin fingers.\n\n\u201c\u2018Good day\u2019? A very _bad_ day, Grandson. Though I no longer hear nor see\nas I used to, I can feel that it is raining. Tell me, is it raining?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Grandfather,\u201d replied Philippe from the top of a churn where he\nhad climbed to look out of the small window at the river. \u201cIt is falling\nso hard that the raindrops are bouncing from the surface of the water.\u201d\nRemembering what his Grandmother had told him, he added, \u201cIt will make\nthe river flow along more happily than it has for a long time, and that\nwill be very beautiful!\u201d\n\n\u201c_Horrible!_\u201d said Grandfather with a sigh that was almost too soft to\nbe heard. \u201cIt makes me feel weak clear through,\u201d he continued. \u201cGive me\nthe sharp cold and the sparkling frost when the river freezes so hard\nthat it cracks and roars like a cannon. When I was a boy, I used to\nspread my cape and let the wind push me across the slippery ice\u2014\u2014 This\nsoft weather will be the end of me!\u201d\n\nThere were three people living in the house that Philippe visited;\nbesides Grandmother and Grandfather, there was little Avril, their\ngrandniece, and therefore Philippe\u2019s cousin. Avril was a child of tender\nbeauty, younger than Philippe, quite a baby in the sight of eyes that\nwere eight long years old. Avril was very shy, so shy that she had\nhidden under the table when Philippe had entered the door, and it was\nnot until he had paid his respects to Grandmother and Grandfather that\nhe saw her there, peeking out at him like a flower from the dark shadow\nof a garden wall. \u201cHello, my little cousin,\u201d said Philippe with a grand\nand grown-up air. \u201cWould you like to play a very important game with me\nthat I have just thought of?\u201d\n\nAvril laughed her pleasure.\n\nIt was a most excellent game, so Philippe thought. He was King,\nenthroned on the churn, and Avril was his slave, and had to bring him\nanything he might request, with the penalty of having her head chopped\noff if she failed. King Philippe had just commanded the brightest star\nin the heavens to be brought him, when there was all at once a loud\nrapping and rattling of the wooden latch. The door flew open before\nanyone had time to answer, and a gust of chilly wind swept through the\nroom, breaking the weaving rings of smoke, making the fire leap up the\nchimney, causing Grandmother in her excitement to drop the wooden spoon\ninto the pudding, and even waving Grandfather\u2019s beard like a white flag.\n\n\u201c_Behold!_ I am here!\u201d cried Uncle Pabl\u00f4t from the threshold,\nwithdrawing his right arm from the voluminous folds of his cape and\nmaking a magnificent sweeping gesture ending with his fingertips being\npressed lightly against his expanded chest.\n\n\u201cSo I see,\u201d said Grandfather in a thin, complaining voice from his dark\ncorner. \u201cClose the door,\u201d he pleaded, tucking the end of his waving\nbeard into his blue smock. \u201cClose the door\u2014the rain makes me feel very\nweak\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nBut no one paid the least bit of attention to him. Grandmother ran\nforward with squeaking noises of delight, throwing her arms around the\nnewcomer, draping him with a link of sausage, which she had forgotten to\nput down in her hurry, in the manner of a necklace. Avril shyly\nretreated beneath the table again, and Philippe tried desperately to\nremember the pretty sentences with which he was to address the great\nman. He was in the very middle of trying to remember when his\nGrandmother took him by the hand.\n\n\u201cAnd here is your little nephew,\u201d said Grandmother, \u201cwho has come all by\nhimself a great distance to welcome you.\u201d\n\nPhilippe stared dumbly, wishing that he had had the presence of mind to\nslip under the table with Avril.\n\n\u201c_Come!_ What do you say to your uncle, Philippe?\u201d asked Grandmother.\n\n\u201cI forget what I say,\u201d answered Philippe miserably, \u201cbut I am very glad\nto see you, my\u2014my\u2014\u2014Ah! Now it comes to me!\u201d And he started again: \u201cGood\nhealth to you, my dear and illustrious uncle. It gives me the most\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cFiddlesticks!\u201d interposed Uncle Pabl\u00f4t, laughing.\n\n\u201c\u2014the most great pleasure to welcome you, and\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes\u2014\u201d said Uncle Pabl\u00f4t, cutting him short again. \u201cBut what do you\nsay to this?\u201d and he reached into the folds of his cape and handed\nPhilippe something small and shining.\n\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d asked Philippe.\n\n\u201cHo! That is better. At least you did not learn that by heart, did you,\nmy boy? Here, I will show you.\u201d Whereupon he put the bright present to\nhis lips and blew a shrill blast that rattled the pots and made\nGrandmother drop her sausages in alarm. (She dusted them very carefully\nbefore putting them in the hot pan that was waiting to cook them.)\n\n\u201cA _whistle_!\u201d shouted Philippe, dancing with joy. Then he ducked under\nthe table to show his beautiful new present to Avril.\n\n\u201cAnd here is a present for the other little one,\u201d said Uncle Pabl\u00f4t,\nhanding the shyly smiling girl a toy spade with a bright green handle\nand a wreath of early spring flowers painted on the tiny blade.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWhat a feast they had in honor of their distinguished guest!\n\n\u201cI suppose,\u201d said Grandmother to Uncle Pabl\u00f4t, \u201cthat you have traveled a\ngreat distance since last you visited us?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d said Uncle Pabl\u00f4t, flourishing the wing of a duck. \u201cI have\nbreezed about a bit, here, there, and everywhere. Would you like to hear\na little about my travels?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, _please_!\u201d begged Philippe, although the question had not been\naddressed to him.\n\n\u201cNow there is India,\u201d commenced Uncle Pabl\u00f4t, \u201ca very hot country, but\nas gay as a circus\u2014\u2014\u201d And over the roast duck he told them many things\nin his soft and flowing voice, of elephants, their enormous bodies\npainted brilliantly in curlicues, circles, and zigzags, swaying through\nnarrow streets like clumsy ships of the land, ridden by dark-skinned\npotentates robed in ivory satin and scarlet brocades, wearing precious\njewels more sparkling than broken bits of colored glass ... of softly\nstepping and treacherous tigers prowling in deep jungles, of lions and\nleopards, crouching panthers and laughing hyenas and all manner of\nbeasts ... of birds with emerald crests, sapphire wings, breasts of\nflaming orange, long, sweeping tails and screaming falsetto voices that\nseemed to shatter the air into sharp and hurtling splinters ... of\ngorilla fathers with so terrible a power in their long arms that they\ncould uproot a tree as easily as one would pick a dandelion, and gorilla\nmothers holding babies to their breasts as gently and lovingly as any\nhuman mothers ... of chattering pink monkeys shouting in derisive\nlaughter from their hiding places in the tree tops at passers-by.\nLeaving the wildness of the tropic forests, he told them of queer-shaped\ntemples and pagodas, lifting to the blue of the sky, made of stone\ncarved as beautifully as lace, where lived the leering and laughing gods\nof the heathen.\n\nBy the time Grandmother had put the crisp green lettuces on the table,\nUncle Pabl\u00f4t had carried his little audience to far-away China and,\nwithout so much as a \u201cby your leave,\u201d into the gardens of mandarins and\nemperors where jasmine filled the air with sweetness, and rose and white\npeonies bowed their heavy heads around the lily ponds. Far away and far\naway they flew on Uncle Pabl\u00f4t\u2019s winged words: over snowy mountains\ntinted with the pink and lavender radiance of the dawn, through the\nfiery furnace of desert sands where haughty camels plodded their weary\ncourse to the beat of Arab drum and the mystical rhythm of Arab song, up\nbroad rivers where crocodiles basked in the sun ... past cities with\ntowers and turrets, through the courtyards of palace and castle, into\nthe riot of crowded markets with their laughter and shouting, buying and\nselling, into a land where the streets were water, where the buildings\nhad wings that turned and turned, where the men and boys wore tight\nlittle jackets of velvet fastened with brass buttons, and trousers as\nbig as two sacks sewn together. \u201cOh, yes,\u201d said Uncle Pabl\u00f4t, \u201cand they\nall wear wooden shoes so that they can walk safely across the streets of\nwater without sinking.\u201d\n\n\u201cRemarkable!\u201d said Grandmother.\n\n\u201cIf true,\u201d said Grandfather, but he spoke so low that every one thought\nthat he was merely choking, and paid no attention to him.\n\n\u201cMore!\u201d pleaded Philippe.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\u201cAnd I was in England the other day,\u201d continued Uncle Pabl\u00f4t, who needed\nlittle urging, \u201cwhere I visited the Royal Family. That is nothing,\u201d he\nsaid, in answer to a look of proud astonishment from Grandmother. \u201cI\nhave a great many acquaintances in all walks of life. Once I mussed up\nthe hair of a prince and ran off with the parasol of a duchess, just by\nway of a little joke, you know. Did I ever tell you\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nBut if he ever had, he told them again, and at such length that, though\nthe dinner had come to an end, and Grandmother had cleared away the\ndishes and given Anjou a saucer of milk and a bone, he was still telling\nthem this and other monstrous adventures in his quick, easy voice. How\nthrilling it all was to Philippe. It seemed to him that the gay words\nflew from his uncle\u2019s mouth and over his head like flocks of wild birds.\nSome of them were quite ordinary little words, as sparrows are ordinary\nlittle birds, but others were long and strange like the queer birds his\nuncle had told him about. Or again\u2014this tale of other lands and peoples\nwas like music to which the crackling of the fire and the drip, drip of\nthe rain outside made a soothing accompaniment. He tried hard to keep\nhis eyes and ears wide open, but, to tell the truth, he had eaten very\nheartily of Grandmother\u2019s delicious dinner, and that, with the darkness\nof the room, the lullaby singsong of his uncle\u2019s voice, and the soft\npurring of Anjou, made him heavy-headed and in danger of falling into\nsleep at any moment. Voices came to him through the fog of smoke,\nsounding far, far away. He heard his uncle say, \u201cBut you, Grandfather\nJoseph, you should go about the world a bit and see for yourself these\nwonderful things.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am content,\u201d replied a soft, old voice.\n\n\u201cYes, you are content to stay where you are put, or at best to drift\naround a bit, eh?\u201d\n\nAnd then the old man saying, \u201cI drift\u2014I drift\u2014I drift\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\nMaybe it was then that Philippe went to sleep, or, on the other hand,\nmaybe it was then that Philippe overcame his drowsiness and woke up to a\nnew interest in things. Certainly, strange and exciting happenings took\nplace in rapid succession.\n\nIt started with Grandmother going to the window where she stood on\ntiptoe and looked out at the river. \u201cOh,\u201d she cried, and her voice was\nyounger and happier than Philippe had ever heard it before. \u201cOh! The\nriver has grown up; never before have I seen my darling child so strong\nand beautiful. And how he runs and laughs! In another minute he will be\nat the sill of the window. I will open the door and invite him in.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no!\u201d cried Grandfather weakly, jumping up from the chair and\nstaring wildly about the room. \u201cIt will be the end of me.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut think, Joseph, how my child will love it! He will splash and\nlaugh\u2014why, even now I can see him creeping under the door in his\neagerness.\u201d\n\nWithout a word, gathering the baby Avril into his arms, Grandfather\ndashed out of the other door; and they watched him running across the\nfields and meadows, his white hair and beard flying back over his\nshoulders in the mad speed of his flight.\n\n\u201cNow there is a strange man,\u201d Grandmother said to Uncle Pabl\u00f4t.\n\nPabl\u00f4t only whistled softly and looked wise.\n\n\u201cOne would think,\u201d continued Grandmother, \u201cthat he would be grateful for\na nice trip on the back of my child. He will come to my way of thinking\nall in good time.\u201d She looked around her critically. \u201cThe fire!\u201d she\nsaid. \u201cHow fiercely the fire is burning! It quite makes me boil with\nanger; I won\u2019t have it, I hate it!\u201d and she ran upon it, scattering the\nembers with a great hissing sound. \u201cThere now!\u201d turning again to Pabl\u00f4t.\n\u201cDo you think that the room is in readiness for my son? Shall I open the\nfloodgates and let him in?\u201d\n\n\u201cHow about Anjou?\u201d asked Uncle Pabl\u00f4t.\n\n\u201cAnjou can ride in his basket.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd Philippe?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe little cradle by the bed that Avril sleeps in\u2014an excellent boat!\nJump in, Philippe, run and jump in, for we are going to make a voyage.\nI\u2014let me see\u2014this tub will suit me nicely; I have a fondness for tubs;\nand you, Pabl\u00f4t, can run along the bank. Into your basket, Anjou,\n_quick_! You look strangely unhappy, my pet. Are we all ready? _Enter,\nmy son!_\u201d\n\nGrandmother unlatched the door facing on the river; it flew back against\nthe wall with a crash. What happened next was very confused in the mind\nof the startled Philippe. There was a great, swishing roar as the water\nof the river, swollen to unheard-of heights by the hard rain, leaped and\ntumbled into the room in masses and billows of silver foam. Tightly he\nclutched the rail of the crib as his strange boat tossed and turned and\nducked and pitched and bobbed and spun around and around in the currents\nand cross currents and boiling waves. At last, when the water in the\nroom had reached the level of the water outside, and therefore had\nsuddenly quieted, he dared to look about him. Uncle Pabl\u00f4t had\ndisappeared; Grandmother was calmly sitting in her tub with a rapturous\nsmile on her old face. \u201cSo impulsive!\u201d she remarked conversationally to\nPhilippe. \u201cMy son, the River,\u201d she explained. \u201cHe is so very glad to see\nme. Did you notice how he jumped and romped when I let him in? It made\nme very proud! But we must not waste our time floating idly here; there\nis to be a very important reunion of my whole family.\u201d And with that\nthey were caught in an eddying current and swept out of the door: Anjou,\nwith tail as erect as a mast; Philippe, wide-eyed and silent in his\ncradle boat; and Grandmother in her wooden tub, pleased and proud, the\nhappy tears streaming down her cheeks.\n\nOnce you get over being frightened, it is really great good fun, so\nPhilippe found, to go racing along a swift-flowing river in a little\nboat that nods to each passing wave. They passed tall reeds and rushes\nthat waved gracefully to them from the shore, weeping willow trees,\ntheir wands gray-green and crystal with rain, gently caressing the\nsurface of the water, emerald fields patterned with yellow flowers\nshining wet, mallows by the River\u2019s edge, white with glowing hearts of\ndeep pink, deep pink with hearts of white.\n\nSometimes swiftly, sometimes slowly, but always and ever onward,\n\u201cGrandmother\u2019s Son\u201d carried them on his strong back; now through\nlowlands, and now between high banks of dark chocolaty mud, where, from\nthe black portals of burrows and tunnels, the bright eyes of water\nanimals gazed at them in astonishment. Yes, it was thoroughly\ndelightful, but it was puzzling to Philippe; there were many things that\nhe did not understand. He decided that he would ask Grandmother, who was\nfloating close to him in her wooden tub.\n\n[Illustration: Grandmother in her wooden tub.]\n\n\u201cGrandmother Marianne,\u201d he called to her, \u201cwhy do you call the river\nyour son?\u201d\n\n\u201cLook at me, Philippe. Have I not changed?\u201d asked Grandmother. \u201cI am no\nlonger Grandmother Marianne,\u201d she said, \u201cI am Grandmother Rain!...\nWithout me there would be no puddles, no pools, no lakes, no ponds, no\nrills and runs and rivulets, no brooks and streams, no waterfalls, no\nrivers\u2014their lovely and happy voices would die from the land. They are\nall my children. And if it were not for my children, there would be no\nocean.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is the ocean?\u201d asked Philippe, who had never been to the seashore.\n\n\u201cThat, my Philippe,\u201d said Grandmother Rain, \u201cis where I was born, and\nwhere all my children return. It is a beautiful place! And how your\nuncle loves to play there\u2014a decidedly worthy man, your uncle, though at\ntimes a trifle flighty.\u201d\n\nThey passed a grove of trees, their bright branches reaching out over\nthe water.\n\n\u201cHow fresh and strong they look,\u201d cried Grandmother Rain. \u201cThey are\nalways glad to see me, I can assure you. Oh, I have strange adventures,\nPhilippe. Sometimes I am buried in the soft, brown earth, and you would\nthink that would be the end of me, now wouldn\u2019t you? But no! I creep\nback into the air through trunks of trees, through blades of grass and\nstalks of flowers, and through the shoots of young corn. I trickle\nthrough an endless maze of underground passages into deep wells, or\nuntil I find a place where I can come bubbling up to the surface. Every\nliving thing needs me and every living thing loves me, except sometimes\nlittle boys kept in from play\u2014eh?\u201d\n\nPhilippe felt guilty, and was about to apologize when Grandmother Rain\nput him at rest. \u201cThat is not quite true. There are others,\u201d she said,\n\u201cwho do a good deal of complaining about me; they say that I am an old\nspoil-sport just because I try to make myself pleasant at their parties\nand picnics. But if I were to leave them forever\u2014\u2014\u201d she made an odd\nlittle gesture of despair. \u201cWould you like me to sing you a song?\u201d she\nasked unexpectedly. \u201cIt might serve to pass the time.\u201d\n\n\u201cPlease,\u201d said Philippe, who was getting a bit tired of floating\naimlessly and never arriving anywhere.\n\n\u201cVery well.\u201d And this is what she sang:\n\n\n  _GRANDMOTHER RAIN\u2019S SONG_\n\n  _\u201cPitapat, pitapat, drip, drip, drip\u2014\n  Pitapat, pitapat, slip, slip, slip,\n  Over roofs and windows, over garden walls,\n  Over fields and meadows\u2014the gray rain falls!_\n\n  \u201cI fall upon the countryside, upon the city square;\n  I tap the silk umbrellas that are opened everywhere;\n  I wash away the dirt and dust that cloud the flower\u2019s face;\n  I fall on royal palaces, and in the market place\u2014\u2014\n  For no one is too regal, and no one is too low\n  To receive the crystal blessing that I scatter as I go.\n  I freshen up the thirsty world, and make it clean and green,\n  The grass grows tall, and flowers bloom wherever I have been.\n  Although I lie in gutters, and slip through hole and crack,\n  And sometimes have my little joke by running down your back,\n  I make small children happy, for on me they may float\n  Their shiny bright, their red and white, their little new toy boat.\n  So think not that because I fall like tears I may be sad:\n  The sparkle in each drop of me is proof that I am glad!\n\n  \u201c_Pitapat, pitapat, drip, drip, drip\u2014\n  Pitapat, pita\u2014\u2014_\n\n\u201cAh! _There_ he comes!\u201d cried Grandmother Rain excitedly, forgetting to\nfinish her song.\n\n\u201cWho?\u201d asked Philippe, curious, like most boys.\n\n\u201cWho indeed?\u201d replied Grandmother. \u201cLook up the shore. Now we will have\nsome sport!\u201d\n\nPhilippe did as he was told, and saw a small figure hurrying toward them\nat a great pace. As the figure drew nearer, he saw that it was Uncle\nPabl\u00f4t, running along the edge of the water and stirring it to frenzy.\n\n\u201cHold tight!\u201d warned Grandmother from her tub.\n\nPhilippe needed no warning, for as Uncle Pabl\u00f4t drew opposite to them,\nwaves broke the smooth surface of the river and tossed his little crib\nabout like a cockle shell. He could see, as he was twisted about, that\nthe rising waves were creeping over the edge of Grandmother Rain\u2019s tub\nand swamping it\u2014it was sinking lower and lower. \u201cBe careful,\nGrandmother!\u201d he cried frantically.\n\n\u201cThis is what I call delightful!\u201d replied that remarkable woman, tipping\nher tub until the water ran in and filled it with a deep gurgle. As she\nsank into the river she clapped her hands, whereupon there was a\nblinding flash and a peal of sharp thunder. A bigger wave than the rest\nwashed Philippe, cradle and all, upon the shore. He was too dazed to\nunderstand for some moments just what had happened, but at length he\nspied Grandmother, already at some distance, riding the waves and\nswimming strongly with the current.\n\n\u201cNow I shall be in high time for the reunion!\u201d she called back to him,\nthe growing space between them making her voice very faint.\n\nPoor, dear Grandmother! Whatever would become of her? She would drown\nmost surely. But perhaps Uncle Pabl\u00f4t, who had raced on down the bank,\ncould save her\u2014\u2014But no! He was strolling back; he had given up. Philippe\nran to meet his uncle with tears in his eyes.\n\n\u201cHello! So there you are, safe and sound and high and dry, eh? You see,\nI veered about; I thought we might take a little stroll together,\u201d\nexplained Uncle Pabl\u00f4t airily.\n\n\u201cSave her!\u201d pleaded Philippe tearfully.\n\n\u201cWho? Grandmother Rain? Be calm, my boy, she is quite in her element.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut unless we do something, the river will carry her far away!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich is exactly what she wishes. She will be back again, never worry.\nShe makes these little trips to the ocean quite frequently. Look,\nPhilippe, the sun is coming out! The sun and Grandmother Rain do not get\nalong well together; he always hides as soon as she has made her\nappearance, and when she has gone, he goes about mopping up the whole\ncountryside.\u201d\n\nUncle Pabl\u00f4t\u2019s calmness gave Philippe some comfort. He was grown up, and\ntherefore wise; perhaps he knew the meaning of these strange things. \u201cDo\nthey always disagree, Grandmother and the sun?\u201d asked Philippe.\n\n\u201cNot always. Sometimes, though rarely, you may see them together, and\nthen they hang a rainbow flag across the sky as a sign of their truce.\nBut come! We have much land to cover, we must hurry a little more.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere are we going, Uncle Pabl\u00f4t?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a silly question! How am I to know? I go wherever it pleases me at\nthe moment, sometimes for days in one direction, and at other times this\nway and that quicker than you can think. And please do not call me Uncle\nPabl\u00f4t; I am your Uncle Wind.\u201d\n\nPhilippe felt rebuked; he trotted silently beside the tall, lean fellow,\nthinking him a not very pleasant companion. He would gladly have walked\nhome alone, but he had no idea where he was, and he was afraid to be\nleft alone. At length his Uncle Wind spoke to him:\n\n\u201cDo not think unkindly of me, little Philippe. If I was cross to you, it\nis because I am given to complaining at times, but I am a good fellow at\nheart. With Grandmother Rain\u2019s help, I keep the world a nice clean place\nto live in. And do you know, Philippe, the best part of it is that I am\nsuch a humorous fellow; I am all the time playing the most amusing\njokes! Why\u2014once I mussed up the hair of a prince and ran off with the\nparasol of a duchess.... There now! I think I told you that once before,\ndidn\u2019t I? But where and when it is quite past my ability to remember.\nWell, that gives you the idea. Hats? There is nothing quite so much fun\nas hats! Snatch a hat and run, drop it until its owner is just about to\npick it up, and then snatch and run again. There\u2019s nothing that draws\nsuch a large and appreciative audience as the hat trick. Though, of\ncourse, umbrellas are great sport\u2014but I need Grandmother Rain to help me\nwith that trick. Maybe you think I am only a practical joker? Not at\nall! Do you remember that day you were sick, and your head felt as if it\nwere on fire? Do you remember how I came and cooled it for you, and\nplayed with the tassels of the curtains until sundown to keep you\namused? If I get a bit angry and rough at times, I am gentleness itself\nat others, and particularly am I loved in places that are hot and stuffy\nand saddened by ill health. I am one of the housekeepers of the earth,\nand I must be everlastingly at it to make things comfortable and\nshipshape. Oh! The dirt and the dust, the smoke and the foul smells\npeople throw into my face in the cities, little dreaming that if it were\nnot for me the earth would be unfit to live on. But I am strong without\nend and do my best. Yes, Philippe, I may bluster and blow and play\ntricks, but for all that I am a very excellent fellow. And I am a\ntraveler and adventurer over land and sea, such as one has never read of\nin the most thrilling books! No one has seen more of the world than I. I\nhave seen strange parts of the world, looked behind walls of ice, where\nno living thing has ever been. Only the other day\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nOn and on talked Uncle Wind, and on and on traveled the two together.\nOver more meadows they went than Philippe thought could possibly be\ncrowded into the world, and past innumerable herds of cows and flocks of\nsheep. It had grown warm with the coming of the sun, and often would\nworkers in the fields spread wide their arms and speak words of welcome\nas they passed. The grass and the yellow wheat bowed as they stepped\nlightly over them and even the trees nodded in friendly recognition.\nBirds, stretching their wings, took rides on Uncle Wind\u2019s shoulders. At\ntimes Uncle Wind would go quite fast, so that Philippe had to run, and\nagain, so slowly that they were scarcely creeping, until, after a long\ntime, they stopped quite still on the top of a high hill.\n\n\u201cI often lie down and rest at sunset,\u201d explained Uncle Wind in a voice\nthat was scarcely above a whisper.\n\nFar, far away, Philippe saw, through a twilight haze of gold, what he\nhad never seen before: the deep ocean where Grandmother Rain was holding\nher family reunion. The crimson sun was rolling over the blue edge of\nthe world into its sparkling heart. He sat down in the crevice of a rock\nand thought long and wonderingly of the things that had come to pass\nthat day, and he tried to see, in the land that was spread like a map\nbefore his eyes, the red roof and clump of trees that would be his own\nhome. He did so long to be with his darling mother again! And very soon\nit would be dark.... Silver stars began to shine in a pale green sky....\nGolden stars were lit in a sky of deepening purple.... More and more\nstars in a sky dark blue. Night had suddenly closed in around him, and\nhe was frightened and started to cry.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\u201cUncle Pabl\u00f4t\u2014I mean, Uncle Wind\u2014I want to go home!\u201d\n\nBut where was Uncle Wind? There was no answer, no sound, and search as\ncarefully as he would, Philippe could find no trace of him. It was as if\nhe had utterly vanished, which, indeed, he had, for the time being.\n\nWhat was poor Philippe to do? The hilltop stones that surrounded him\ntook menacing forms; he was sure that he saw the shining eyes, green and\nglowing, of prowling beasts. He summoned all his courage and bravely\nstarted to walk\u2014where? Downhill, for he remembered that Grandmother Rain\nhad told him, as they floated along the river, that that was the only\nway any sensible person would ever care to travel. Besides, when you\nwere on the top of a hill, unless you stayed there, there was no other\nchoice. Where else he was bound for he had no idea, but anything would\nbe better than the unbroken stillness of the haunted rocks. How far he\nwalked, at times ran, through the dark night, falling over roots and\ntearing his way through scratching brambles, pursued by unseen terrors\nof darkness, before he came to the old man, he had no idea.\n\nAt first he was timid of approaching the bent figure sitting huddled on\na stump, so dim under the starlight. But loneliness and the longing for\ncompanionship overcame his fear.\n\n\u201cPlease, sir,\u201d he said, drawing slowly closer, \u201cplease, sir, could you\ntell me\u2014\u2014 _Grandfather Joseph! Grandfather Joseph!_\u201d\u2014and he flung his\narms around Grandfather\u2019s neck, the hot tears streaming down his cheeks.\nBut how cold Grandfather was! The touch of Grandfather\u2019s face against\nPhilippe\u2019s burned like ice.\n\n\u201cWatch out!\u201d said Grandfather sharply, \u201cYou are so insufferably warm you\nwill melt me, if I do not succeed in freezing you first. And, young\nPhilippe, be careful the names you call people. Look carefully at me\nagain; do you not know me?\u201d\n\nPhilippe was doubtful. Surely it was Grandfather Joseph, and\nyet\u2014Grandfather had never been so cold, nor so strange in his behavior.\nDid he know him?\n\n\u201cYes\u2014no,\u201d answered Philippe, not being able to decide.\n\n\u201cYes, _Snow_, that is right! I am Grandfather Snow.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s very upsetting!\u201d remarked the puzzled boy.\n\n\u201cIs it?\u201d replied Grandfather Snow coldly.\n\n\u201cBut I may stay here with you, Grandfather? I was so frightened alone in\nthe black night. I was out walking with Uncle Wind, and\u2014and he seemed to\ndisappear, and then I lost my way.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou may stay if you do not come too close. So Uncle Wind vanished, did\nhe? Your Uncle Wind is a fickle, changeable, unreliable fellow, but he\nhas a will of his own and will turn up in time. I am very dependent on\nUncle Wind; I can do nothing but lie around, without him.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is very nice, isn\u2019t he, Grandfather?\u201d ventured Philippe.\n\n\u201cAye, sometimes,\u201d replied the old man. \u201cHe was all gentleness this\nafternoon, but wait until you see him to-night! If I\u2019m not mistaken in\nthe signs, he will be in a fury. Then watch out for yourself, Young\nImpudence! When Uncle Wind is in a fury, he is a hard master and drives\nevery one before him with a stinging lash. You\u2019ll see!\u201d\n\nSince Grandfather was in such a chilling mood, Philippe did not bother\nto talk with him, but sat at a little distance, thankful for\ncompanionship, and watched the winking of the stars, which, even as he\nwatched them, sparkled and went out like sparks in the soot of a\nchimney, or as if a black curtain were being drawn across the black sky.\nAfter a long while, after the last star had vanished and the noiseless\nquiet of the night hemmed them in like an invisible wall, Grandfather\nSnow sprang to his feet and stood tensely listening with his hand to his\near.\n\n\u201cWhat is it, Grandfather?\u201d Philippe asked, alarmed.\n\n\u201cHush!... Hush!... Ah\u2014now I hear it plainly!\u201d\n\nPhilippe put his hand to his ear as he had seen Grandfather do, and\nlistened intently, holding his breath that he should not miss the\ntiniest sound. Nothing. Yes\u2014a far away and tiny sound. It sounded to\nPhilippe like the little gasping noises he had made when he was learning\nto whistle, before ever he had been able to attempt a tune, the noise of\nair breathed in and out through rounded lips.\n\n\u201c_He is coming!_\u201d Grandfather told him in a voice trembling with\nexcitement. \u201cAnd he is perfectly furious; seldom have I heard him\nwhistle more beautifully. _Listen!_\u201d\n\nPhilippe no longer had to strain to hear the far-away whistling; it was\ngrowing nearer every second, and as it approached it became high and\nshrill. \u201cIs that my Uncle Wind making all that noise, Grandfather?\u201d\n\n\u201cAye!\u201d said Grandfather shortly, crouching close to the ground in the\nposition of a runner about to start a race.\n\n\u201cI shall run and meet him,\u201d cried Philippe, delighted at the idea of\nseeing his old friend again, who was now evidently very close. He had\nnot run twelve steps when something spinning through the dark ran\nsquarely into him, bowled him off his feet and rolled him along the\nground as easily as if he had been made of thistledown. It was a\nterrific struggle he had to gain his feet again, and even when he had,\nand would have liked to stop to catch his breath and dust off the new\nsuit his mother had made for him, he found himself being shoved roughly\nfrom behind.\n\n\u201cFaster! Faster! _Faster!_\u201d screamed a voice in his very ears. And if he\ntried to slow up ever so little, \u201cRush! Rush! _Rush!_\u201d the voice would\ncommand.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cFaster! faster! _faster!_\u201d]\n\n\u201cPlease, Uncle Wind\u2014oh, please, Uncle Wind\u2014I can\u2019t go any faster\u2014my legs\naren\u2019t long enough!\u201d\n\n\u201c_Faster!_\u201d screamed Uncle Wind in anger, prodding poor Philippe so hard\nthat he was fairly lifted off his feet.\n\nAbove them, and all around them, there was the noise of tearing leaves\nand crashing branches, there was the groaning of tortured trees as Uncle\nWind lashed them with his invisible cat-o\u2019-ninetails. Dim shadows\nstreaked past like flying beasts. \u201cRush!\u201d shrieked Uncle Wind,\n\u201cR-U-SHSHSHshshshshsh\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nSomething cold and stinging struck across Philippe\u2019s face, and it was\nthen, in spite of his breathless panic at the mad flight, that he wanted\nto burst out laughing, for he saw that Grandfather, who had all this\ntime been running at his side, was going so fast that he was actually\nlosing his whiskers! \u201cYour whiskers, Grandfather! The wind is tearing\nyour whiskers off!\u201d But the old man, who was speeding along more lightly\nthan any rabbit, paid no attention. In truth, it seemed no great\ncalamity, for as fast as Uncle Wind would tear off his whiskers and his\nhair and scatter them on the ground, new would grow immediately\u2014and so\nthick and fast they grew that the ground became covered with white. But\nwhiskers were not cold and wet when they brushed across one\u2019s face: they\nscratched and tickled, as Philippe had found out on occasions when he\nhad kissed Grandfather. This was snow! Grandfather Snow was spreading\nhis white blanket over the earth.\n\nAll night long Uncle Wind and Grandfather Snow sped across the dark\ncountry like mad men, and when little Philippe grew too tired to stand\nit any longer, Uncle Wind would lift him up in his strong arms and carry\nhim. And the snow grew deep, and eddied and twisted into great mounds\nand high drifts with sharp, curved edges like the thin crests of\nwaves\u2014so that in the cold, pale light of the coming morning, the world\nlooked like a beautiful dream cut from marble.\n\nAnd with the coming of dawn, Uncle Wind suddenly stopped driving them.\n\n\u201cThat was a great run!\u201d said Uncle Wind. \u201cIt has left me completely out\nof puff. Philippe, my boy, I hope it hasn\u2019t tired you too much?\nGrandfather Snow, didn\u2019t I drive you beautifully?\u201d\n\n\u201cAye.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you have not done so badly. It will be some days before we are in\nshape for another run like that. Well, good-by! I think I shall do my\nfamous vanishing act again. How about you, Grandfather?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot quite yet. I shall linger on a bit. There are a few touches, a few\nlight touches I neglected in my hurry last night that I would like to\nattend to this morning. You see,\u201d he explained to Philippe when Uncle\nWind had vanished, \u201cI am quite an artist. Some people think I am very\nlittle use and only good for lying around. Not at all! I make excellent\nsnowballs, for one thing, and Uncle Wind is not the only member of our\nfamily who has knocked a hat off! But of course I would never tell you\nof such a thing if I did not know that you were too much of a gentleman\nto use me for such a purpose. No, no, my child, I work as hard for the\nthings that grow, in my own way, as Grandmother Rain does in hers, but\nchiefly I delight to make things beautiful. See that naked gray tree?\nHow bare and cold it looks! It needs a few high lights that I could not\nstop to give it last night\u2014\u201d whereupon Grandfather Snow touched each\nbranch and twig with a powdering from his white beard, and the twig and\nbranch of every tree around, until the whole world above the level of\nthe ground was a tracery of gleaming, fairy lace. \u201cNot bad, Philippe,\nnot a bit bad! Can you see anything else that needs touching up? Speak\nout before it is too late, for my supply is nearly exhausted.\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\u201cPlease, Grandfather, it is beautiful, but I am cold and tired, and I\nwould like to go where it is warm.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course you would, my child. Look! Below us in the valley it is\ngreen, and even from here one can see that there are flowers. Run on\ndown\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want to run; I\u2019m tired of running!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, well,\u201d laughed Grandfather, \u201cwalk then, if you wish. After a\nwhile, when the warm sun comes to view my handiwork, I, too, will slip\ndown into the valley, but I shall not stop there. No, I have a long way\nto travel before I join Grandmother Rain once more.\u201d\n\nPhilippe turned slowly away, touched by the purity and peace that\nsurrounded him. \u201cGood-by.... Good-by ...\u201d said Grandfather Snow gently,\nvery, very gently!\n\nAs Philippe reached the green valley below, the sun broke through a thin\nveil of silver clouds. It had risen brilliant and white from its all\nnight dip into the distant ocean, and its cheering warmth was gratefully\nreceived by the tired adventurer. A fragrance, mingled of evergreens and\nflowers, herbs and damp earth, filled the motionless air, and from the\nend of the grass-grown lane, along which he walked lazily, there was an\namazing confusion of sounds, as if thousands of birds were singing at\none time. The lane led him to a gate, and on the gate was a sign which\nsaid:\n\n                           PHILIPPE\u2019S GARDEN\n\n\u201cI must have been away a long time for my garden to have grown so big,\u201d\nPhilippe told himself.\n\nStanding inside the gate was little Avril in a new green smock prettily\nembroidered with wreaths and garlands of flowers. She curtsied so low\nbefore him that the hem of her dress brushed the young shoots of grass;\nand she smiled at him tenderly.\n\n\u201cAnd who are you?\u201d asked Philippe warily.\n\n\u201cWhy, Philippe! Don\u2019t you know me?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I think I do; but I thought that I knew Grandmother Marianne and\nshe turned out to be Grandmother Rain. Uncle Pabl\u00f4t, it seems, was not\nUncle Pabl\u00f4t at all, but Uncle Wind. And my Grandfather Joseph is\nGrandfather Snow and lies just above us on the hill. It is very\npuzzling; can I be sure that you have not changed your name?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have quite a number of names,\u201d explained the little girl. \u201cSome call\nme Spring, some call me Flora, but you may call me Avril. Avril:\nApril\u2014it is all the same. Would you like me to show you your garden? It\nis very lovely, and I have worked hard to get it all in readiness for\nyour coming.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes. I am your gardener, but I have had a lot of help. Every one has\nbeen so kind! Uncle Wind helped me plant it, Grandfather Snow prepared\nthe ground in fine shape, and Grandmother Rain has been here often and\noften, giving my little plant babies their bottles. It has been a lot of\nworry and care, Philippe,\u201d Avril told him in a curiously grown-up voice,\n\u201cbut when you see my beautiful children, I am sure that you will think\nthat it was worth while.\n\n\u201cNow here,\u201d she said, smiling happily and taking him by the hand, \u201care\nsome of my first babies: the snowdrops, named in honor of their\ngodfather, Grandfather Snow. And here\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n[Illustration: From flower to flower they wandered.]\n\nFrom bed to bed, from border to border they wandered, looking at the\nflowers, breathing the sweet perfume, and watching the clumsy but clever\nbees, out marketing for honey which they would pay for with golden\npollen dust carried on their velvet backs. There were soft-petaled\npansies as dark as midnight, as purple as a queen\u2019s dress, as yellow as\nthe sun, and sometimes of many colors curiously combined to form impish\nand laughing faces. There were lilies of the valley and violets,\nstonecrop and candytuft, peonies and roses, larkspur and bridal\nwreath\u2014so many flowers that Philippe could not remember their names, but\ngave himself up to the enjoyment of their soft and gorgeous colors,\ntheir delicate and magnificent shapes. Farther along the maze of paths\nwhere he was led by Avril, the flowers were still furled in tight buds,\nand at length they came to beds where the dark loam was scarcely more\nthan broken by lifting sprouts. \u201cThese are for later,\u201d explained his\nfairylike guide.\n\n\u201cAnd these?\u201d asked Philippe, when they had entered into a new part of\nthe garden where straight rows of green-growing things were marked off\nin beds of checkerboard design.\n\n\u201cThese funny little fellows,\u201d Avril told him, \u201care not as beautiful and\nproud as the flowers; they hold their heads less high, but they are all\nextremely worthy and one would find it difficult to get along without\nthem.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey look good enough to eat,\u201d said Philippe, who was beginning to feel\nvery empty.\n\n\u201cThey are,\u201d said Avril.\n\n\u201cAnd is all this garden mine?\u201d asked Philippe.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d answered the little girl, curtsying again before him, and added:\n\u201cAll yours\u2014King Philippe!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you mustn\u2019t call me \u2018King,\u2019 that is, when we\u2019re not playing games,\nyou know,\u201d Philippe warned her, rather shocked. \u201cKings are grand people\nwith treasures hidden away in strong chests, and they wear crowns of\ngold and have thousands of servants. I know, because I have read all\nabout them in a book which my mother gave to me. I am a farmer\u2019s son,\nand can never be so wonderful a person as a King.\u201d\n\nHis companion looked at him very thoughtfully, and at last spoke:\n\n\u201cYou are a King, Philippe. Sun, Moon, and Stars shine down upon your\nhead a crown; the whole earth is yours, the great strong chest of hidden\ntreasures. From the time the first small star hung like a lonely spark\nin space, your servants have been preparing for you a kingdom, the\nkingdom of Earth, than which there is only one greater. And that\nkingdom, too, will be yours some day if you rule wisely and well in\nthis, and are kind, and strong-and gentle.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt may be true,\u201d said Philippe, rather bewildered by the wonderful\nthings he was hearing. \u201cBut I am quite sure that I have no servants;\nwhy\u2014little though I am, even I must help my father in the fields.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are all your servants. Is it not true, Grandmother Rain?\u201d\n\nA shower suddenly passed over the garden, decking the flowers in crystal\nsplendor, and from a small cloud overhead Philippe could distinctly hear\nthe voice of Grandmother: \u201cYes. I have worked for Philippe\u2019s father and\nhis grandfathers from the very beginning of things, and I hope to work\nfor his children and his childrens\u2019 children for time evermore. Do not\nthink badly of me, Philippe, if I do not come and go just to your\nliking, for I am very busy, with much important work to attend to.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it not true, Grandfather Snow?\u201d\n\n\u201cAye, so it is!\u201d came a voice from the bright hill beyond the garden\nwall.\n\n\u201cIs it not true, Uncle Wind?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, well! I am just in time,\u201d remarked Uncle Wind, sauntering up the\ngarden path, the flowers nodding to him as he passed. He had cast aside\nhis great cloak, but even then looked a little warm. \u201cJust wandered up\nfrom the Southlands,\u201d he continued. \u201cYes, my little darling, it is true\nenough what you are telling Philippe, but of course we are not to be\nbossed about like ordinary servants; we serve and yet we keep our\nindependence; we have been at our various tasks so long that we know\nexactly what to do without being told, and if we seem a little lazy at\ntimes, or a little too enthusiastic at others, remember that we may have\nour own very good reasons. Yes, indeed,\u201d he went on, commencing to\nbluster a bit, \u201cthere are often reasons hidden in the strangest things\nwe do. Did I ever tell you how once I mussed up the hair of a prince and\nran off with the parasol of a duchess\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cThe wind is capable of being a little monotonous at times,\u201d Avril\nwhispered into Philippe\u2019s ear, but he could hardly hear her, for the\ngarden was being filled with other voices, coming from here, there, and\neverywhere\u2014from the grass, and the flowers, and the vegetables, and the\ntrees, from the stones, and even from the brown earth itself, and they\nall were saying in their own way, the one thing: \u201cWe serve!\u201d\n\n\u201cPlease listen to us a moment,\u201d pleaded the fragile voices of the\nflowers. \u201cWe serve too, though many consider us too delicate and\nconcerned about our own looks to be of much use. But do not forget us,\nPhilippe! Do not forget us when you are grown up and your mind is\ncrowded with worries and cares and a lot of things that will seem more\nimportant to you than they really are. Keep a place for us in your mind\nand heart, and we will repay you in our mysterious way a hundredfold and\nmore. Do as we ask; treasure beauty, purity, and truth\u2014for though you\nmay love us now, you will not understand the full importance of our\nmessage until you have grown up. Do not forget\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cThe flowers are very talkative to-day,\u201d remarked one little lettuce to\nanother.\n\n\u201cThe flattery of the bees has quite turned their heads,\u201d agreed a radish\nwho was notably sharp, whereupon some of the more sensitive flowers who\nhad overheard blushed deeply.\n\nBut Philippe heard none of this chatter of the vegetables, for it seemed\nthat the whole world, the ox and the ass, the horse and the cow, the\ntame beasts of the fields and the wild beasts of the spaces beyond, the\nfox and the rabbit, the mouse and the beetle, the creatures that crawled\nand the creatures that ran, the cricket and the grasshopper and the\ninhabitants of air and ocean, the little hills and high hills, the\nvalleys and forests, the voice of water through the land, sky and\nearth\u2014all, _all_ were joining in a great, droning chant: \u201cWe serve\u2014we\nserve\u2014we serve\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat utter nonsense!\u201d shouted a little bird saucily, flying from the\nlow branches of a tulip tree. \u201cI serve no one; I just have lots of fun,\nand I\u2019m going to have an exciting fly\u2014and that\u2019s something little boys\ncan\u2019t do, for they haven\u2019t even any pin feathers!\u201d\n\nThe cocky way the little bird flapped her wings and tossed her head made\nPhilippe double up with laughter.\n\n\u201cSee!\u201d said the little rebel\u2019s mate, flying close. \u201cYou have made the\nKing laugh, so your empty boasting has broken like a bubble, for\nlaughter is one of the greatest services in the world! And as for going\non your wild flight, have you forgotten our pretty blue eggs in their\nsoft brown nest?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am a King!\u201d said Philippe in a daze of wonderment. \u201cMy darling Avril,\ntell me what I can do to show my gratitude to all my servants.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey love nothing better than that you use them, Philippe. Use them\nwisely and well, and not only for yourself\u2014but for others.\u201d And gentle\nSpring kissed him upon the lips, filling his heart with love and\nhappiness.\n\n\u201cIt is high time,\u201d said Philippe\u2019s mother to Philippe\u2019s father, \u201cthat\nour little one was back. Soon it will be dark.\u201d\n\nShe went to the doorway and gazed across the fields.\n\n\u201cHere comes Pabl\u00f4t,\u201d she called back into the room, \u201cand he is carrying\nthe child in his arms.\u201d\n\n\u201cSh-h-h-h-h!\u201d breathed Uncle Pabl\u00f4t, drawing close. \u201cTake your son\ngently into your arms; he has been sleeping bravely all the way from his\ngrandparents\u2019. And here,\u201d said Uncle Pabl\u00f4t, \u201cis his little silver\nwhistle, by which I hope that he will remember me when he wakes up and\nfinds me gone.\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                          TRANSCRIBER\u2019S NOTES\n\n\n 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.\n 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.\n 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.","title":"The Dream Coach","tradition":"folklore-oral-tradition","translated_text":null,"word_count":22844}